His Eyes (5 page)

“And you get a paycheck,” Mrs. Edmund added.

She and I shared a terribly awkward laugh, and I slid out the door with Tristan. I sighed once we were seated in my car. “Good to be out of there, huh?”

“Yeah.” Tristan rubbed his chin with his hand while I brought my Camry to life. “So, you know how to get to Clarence?”

“Uh huh.” I pushed my car into Drive. I’d never been inside, but being a Grayfield native, I knew my way around.

“We’re going to be late,” he said matter-of-factly. Then he was silent and I knew, I just
knew
, that he was waiting for me to tell him why.

I tried to be quiet while the silence closed in. I focused on the headlight beams bouncing on the dark road...I listened to the gentle patter of rain as it began to fall on the hood of my car...and, in a torrent of words, I caved. “It was my family! Ten years ago, my brother left home. He was my age. He’s never come back and, I know it sounds weird, but my mom has these memorial dinners for him that I
can’t
miss. And I just left, even though we hadn’t eaten dessert.”

“What are you talking about?” Tristan cut in.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why had I opened my mouth? I’d said too much. I tried to cover for my word vomit. “Nothing.”

Tristan turned toward me. “No, it was something. Something about your brother and dessert...?”

He was either actually curious or a very convincing liar. I shook my head, wondering how I could explain. “My family’s crazy.”

“My family—you don’t know the half of it.” He gave a short laugh.

What? Was someone not accepted to Harvard? I replied unconvincingly, “Oh, really?”

Blatantly changing the subject, Tristan said, “You should probably know, there was never an official statement.”

I frowned. “Huh?”

“An official statement to the Clarence student body about,” he sighed, “what happened to me.”

“You never told them anything?!”

He said dismissively, “Well, Clarence isn’t a very big school and my mother knows people on the school board....”

“Leaving it up to the rumor mill—that’s always the way to go,” I scoffed.

“Oh they’re pros.”

I found the entrance to Clarence, which was marked by a large, gold-lettered sign. My car creaked when I turned into the parking lot. I was immediately confronted by the realization that I seemed to possess, amongst the other forty-or-so cars, the only vehicle that was worth less than $50,000. I
carefully
slid my Camry in-between a Hummer and a Ferrari.

Tristan and I walked around Clarence on a sidewalk lined with manicured shrubs and not a single weed. By the parking lot lights, I could see that the cement was surprisingly devoid of cigarette butts or even old wads of gum, unlike my school. We turned the corner, to the front of the school, and I gasped at the sight. Clarence High was beautiful in gothic style, an impressive building of gray stonework. In the midst of its circular drive, there was a tiny park of two ancient oak trees and a marble statue of a panther, the school’s mascot.

As we approached the heavy entry doors, a black limousine screeched to a halt in the drive. The door to the car was flung open and I could hear a girl yelling, “Could you come back in an hour? I can’t imagine them dragging this out too long.” The blonde climbed out and glanced briefly at us, before focusing on adjusting her skintight skirt. “Aren’t you glad it’s almost over?” She looked up again, longer, and her mouth fell open. “Tristan?!”

He nodded in her direction and I shifted my feet awkwardly.

“Ohmygosh! You’re here!” she gasped and then locked onto me, raising an eyebrow at my homespun skirt. “Who are you?”

“I’m Amy Turner.” I held out my hand and tried to smile.

“Kristy Whitton.” She shook my hand tightly and smiled a perfectly fake smile. “It’s a pleasure.”

I could tell by the glint in her eye that she had a million questions that she wanted to ask me, but Tristan said, “We’re already late. We should head in.”

“You’re right.” I dragged him forward.

Kristy pulled open the door and said, “Well, I’m sure we’ll talk later, Amy,” before charging inside.

We entered a long hallway with short, navy blue carpeting. Carpeting—what high school has carpeting? Sure, it wasn’t shag, but it was still unnatural. The walls bore hundreds of plaques for excellence in various sports and academics. Further down the dim hallway, I could see lockers painted maroon and closed wooden doors. Really, the place reminded me more of an office than a school.

Tristan’s hand unexpectedly slid down from my arm to wrap around my waist. I shivered as he breathed into my ear, “Just pretend.”

Oh, I could do that. Wait—what was I pretending?

I had no chance to ask. I had been following Kristy at a distance, so when she turned a corner and entered a room on the right, I did too. As soon as we walked in, everyone inside turned to look. I felt myself turn all shades of red while Tristan pulled me closer. And then I knew what we were pretending as plainly as if he had told me: we were letting his classmates tell themselves that he wasn’t blind, that he had been on some mysterious adventure with a mysterious girl. Me, the prop.

Chapter 5

If I was in my right mind, I would have walked out right then. But I was frozen. We were in a large room, probably the size of two classrooms put together, and there were about fifty Clarence seniors staring at me. They were all in Rodeo Drive-level outfits and seated at round tables covered—
honestly
—with white cloths. At the head of the room, a large screen was suspended from the ceiling and onto it was projected what appeared to be the layout for their graduation. An older man was standing behind a podium, his laser pointer burning into the screen while he, too, stared.

I grimaced, ducked my head, and pulled Tristan toward the closest table. As I moved a chair to sit, he bumped his leg into the seat next to me. He removed his hand from my hip and, discreetly feeling along the chair, managed to sit down. At the front of the room, the man cleared his throat, reclaiming everyone’s attention, and explained, “Now, as I was saying before Mr. Edmund decided to grace us with his presence, you will all be seated alphabetically. We will begin....”

I was distracted by the whispering of the other students. At first, I could only hear bits and pieces. Then, I clearly heard a girl’s voice. I turned to see Kristy, sitting at a nearby table with four other girls. One was whispering, “So, I was talking to this girl who dated Tristan when he was a sophomore—”

“Really, who
didn’t
date him?” asked another.

“You did, Kristy,” said a third.

Kristy shot, “Yeah, but that was junior year, when he was hot. Now look at him.” All of the girls turned and I quickly snapped my head back toward the screen. “He’s wearing sunglasses indoors. He didn’t use to have to try that hard to be cool.”

Hey, I didn’t think he looked bad! Not that I didn’t wonder what he looked like without the glasses.

“Do you think he
is
blind?” the fourth girl asked.

The first girl said impatiently, “As I was saying, I was talking to this girl who dated Tristan and
she
said that he wanted to spend all of his time riding his horse! Can you believe it?”

“
Come on
.” I could almost hear Kristy’s eyes roll. “Tristan and I were
always
fooling round.”

“But I don’t think he even dated anyone this year,” hissed another, “you know,
before
he disappeared.”

I bit my cheek and kept my head facing forward. They were just rumors. Just rumors. Who cared about his dating history, anyway? I tried to focus at the man who was droning, “Now, if you will welcome your Valedictorian, Joseph Eccles. He will run through his speech notes with you and would certainly welcome any constructive criticism you may have to offer. After all, Clarence speeches have a history of....” Blah. Blah.

Unable to resist any longer, I leaned close to Tristan and whispered, “So, exactly how many of the,” I glanced around the room, “thirty girls in your class did you date?”

“Only one’s a senior, but I’ve dated thirteen girls from Clarence,” he answered easily. “But more would’ve dated me, if I’d asked.”

I muttered, “Way to be humble, Romeo.”

Breathing shallowly, I tried not to think about why it bothered me that he had dated so many girls. Because it didn’t matter—it didn’t!
I
had dated before, though not nearly that many guys... Whatever.

I vaguely heard applause as Valedictorian What’s-His-Name finished speaking. The older man, who I guessed was the headmaster, reclaimed his podium. “Thank you, Joseph. I look forward to your speech tomorrow. Now, we will have a short break. If you all would care to indulge, the PTA has provided refreshments. In ten minutes we will hear Salutatorian Sarah Tyson’s speech notes and then the Student Government will tell you their plans for the post-graduation dance.”

The conversations that I’d heard whispered grew a few decibels louder. I pushed my chair away from the table and asked with forced politeness, “Do you want anything?”

Seeming uncomfortable, Tristan folded his arms and said, “I don’t know—a Coke?”

“Okay.” I walked off toward the side of the room where a table held cans of pop and plates of cookies. I was staring at the numerous types of pop, wondering what kind to get for myself, when I felt someone stand close to me. I turned and jumped, seeing Kristy staring at me from barely six inches away. I plastered a smile on my face. “Oh, hi!”

“Hey. Amy, right?” She nonchalantly reached down and picked up a sugar cookie. “So, are you dating Tristan?”

“What?” I was surprised by the forwardness of her question. “Uh, no. I’m his...assistant.”

“Oh, assistant?” Kristy leaned further into my bubble. “Then Tristan really
is
blind? Or is he faking because he didn’t want to come back to school?”

“I don’t think so.” I looked over at Tristan, who seemed to be staring off into space while the room buzzed around him. This, an elaborate scheme to get out of school? I hadn’t thought about it before. I said tentatively, “Once, I saw him trip....”

Kristy nodded, but continued to tower over me. “If I were you, I’d want to know for sure. He could just be skipping school because he wants to avoid—someone.” She looked away for a second and I knew she was referring to herself. “And he hates root beer. There’s no way he’d drink it, if he could see the can.”

I hesitated, looking from the can of Coke in my hand to the inviting can of root beer on the table. Couldn’t he have tripped to scare me away, so I wouldn’t discover his lie? Even his brother had said that he thought I wouldn’t come back... My fingers closed around the root beer and I walked back to the table. Snapping the top, I pushed the can into his hand. My stomach tightened with anticipation as I said, “Here you go.”

The room grew quiet—maybe because the Salutorian had stepped up to the podium—when Tristan brought the can to his lips. The world seemed to go into slow motion. I watched as he took a large gulp of the pop and immediately gagged. He slammed the can down and hissed, “
Sick
! You think that was funny?” He threw back his chair and stood up. “I’ll get it myself!”

The room was now most certainly, and completely, and utterly silent. I could feel a hundred eyes staring in our direction and then the laughing began. It was awful, muffled snickering. Worst of all, I could see the noise reflected in the horror on Tristan’s face when he realized the scene we’d just caused. He quickly took a step forward, intending to flee, but my chair was in his way and, in one dreadful movement, he crashed onto his knees.

All traces of doubt were wiped from my mind: he was most definitely blind. And I was an awful person.

The quiet laugher rippled and rose into a wave of wicked whispers as I scrambled to his side. I spoke under my breath, “Oh no, oh no.”

Above the gossip, I could hear Kristy gasp, “He really
is
blind.”

Feeling my touch, Tristan ripped away and growled, “Get off of me!”

Well, I’d successfully placed myself back into square one. Wait a minute—I wasn’t going back to square one! I’d made a bad,
bad
mistake, but I couldn’t run away and let him return to moping. With renewed spirits, I wrapped my arm around his waist and helped him to his feet. “Come on. We have to get out of here.”

This time, he didn’t resist.

We made it outside where a light rain was still falling from the sky. Not knowing what to say, I wordlessly guided him to the passenger door. As I headed toward the driver’s side, I heard him declare quietly, “I’m going home.”

This time, I didn’t lecture on his word choice.

* * *

The drive back to the Edmunds’ house was a blur of horrible darkness and rain. I felt like I was sinking into myself, into a dark solitary place and I wondered if this was what Tristan felt like without his sight. I numbly pulled my car up to the stairs and he moved to get out, but paused with his hand on the door handle. He said in a low voice, “Tomorrow, I have to be there at seven. Don’t be late this time.”

With that, he climbed out and slammed the door shut. I shuddered at the gust of cold air that filled my car. I watched until he had made his way into the house; I knew, tonight, he didn’t want any more of my help. As soon as I saw the door to the house close, I sped out of the driveway. In a movement of true driver-safety, I reached down and dug around in my purse to find my cell phone. Hitting speed dial, I pressed it against my ear.

The phone rang for a second and then a familiar voice asked, “Hello?”

“Hey, Ahna.”

“
Amy
?” She sounded like she thought I was dying. “Ohmygosh, what’s wrong?!”

I laughed shakily at her tone. “Nothing. Just ruining my life, that’s all.”

“Are you
crying
?”

“What?” I touched my cheek and was surprised to find that it was wet. “Uh, yeah.”

I could feel Ahna getting into serious-mode because I wasn’t a crier—okay, maybe when watching Disney movies, but that was it. “Tell me what happened.”