NEWBORN: Book One of the Newborn Trilogy (14 page)

“Having a good time?”

Gabriel is beside me. Getting into a floating
position, he searches with his hand for a moment before finding
mine. I breathe deeply, hoping the water won’t take me under. I
return the squeeze of his hand and listen as the gently lapping
water sounds in the near distance. “Yes,” I answer. “This was a
good idea!”

“No it wasn’t!” Gabriel exclaims with a
laugh. “It was the worst idea ever! I can’t believe you fell for
it!”

I burst out laughing and nearly go under. But
he tightens his grip on my hand, restoring my balance on the cool
waves. This truly feels wonderful – being weightless on water and
warm from the magic of his wand. The entire beach to ourselves and
not a soul to worry about, except our own.

“Look at the stars,” I say. I want to point
but I know better, for if I dislodge my arm I will go under.
“They’re beautiful. They’re so beautiful! That’s why I came to
Olympia – to see the stars.”

“That’s the dumbest reason ever,” Gabriel
says, but his tone is shallow with awe as he gazes upward.

“I know,” I tell him, failing to stifle a
giggle. “I couldn’t help myself!”

We are silent.

“Why did your parents get divorced?”

Startled, I glance over at him. “What?”

“I want to know,” he says.

Where the hell did this come from? We were
having a good time. Geez, he doesn’t know when to ask these type of
questions. “How do you know they got divorced?” I ask him, trying
to remember back. “I didn’t tell you. Or did I?”

“You did,” he says. “One of the first things
you said to me. You said your mom knew the relationship wouldn’t
last and so she demanded your last name be hyphenated. Don’t you
remember?

“I do,” I murmur. “I guess I was so taken by
your oddness I didn’t know what I said. That’s kind of a personal
question, Gabriel.”

He’s rubbing my knuckles in the water. “Why
is it personal?”

“It just is,” I say. “It’s family stuff.”

Stars twinkle overhead. “Should it be
personal?” Gabriel asks. “I’m a student of love. I
want
to
learn about these things. To understand why stuff doesn’t work out
sometimes. My curiosity is unending, Nora. Do you ever feel like
you want to know everything about everything?”

“Not really,” I say.

“I do,” he continues. “I’m fascinated by
relationships. They’re part of my life I never got right. You saw
my attitude when I came on campus. Truth is I don’t have any
friends – not back home. I have admirers – yes, many of those – but
no real friends. My peers have respect for me. Not affection.”

His honesty is disarming. Despite having
known him for a short time, none of what he’s saying surprises me.
But he shared, so I should share too. I clear my throat and swish
the water with my arms. “They’ve been separated two years,” I tell
him. “Divorced for one – I…” I stop because of tightness in my
throat.

Gabriel waits patiently for me to
continue.

“I – I don’t really know why they separated,”
I say, already feeling my body growing heavier in the water. “They
even renewed their vows after ten years.” The water is beginning to
lap at the tops of my knees, then over them. “I don’t really know
what happened. But I have a guess.”

His voice is quiet. “What’s that?”

“They just stopped loving each other.”

* * *

“Nora! Nora! Are you okay?”

I splutter water from my mouth as my eyes
snap open. Gabriel is beside me on the beach looking terrified. I
struggle to sit up and collapse back down. I’m shaking all over. I
can’t control it. “I’m fine,” I croak.

“What the hell is the matter with you?”
Gabriel exclaims, looking more scared than angry. “You stopped
swimming! You went right under! It was a moment before I knew what
happened. You could have died!”

I try and sit up but he pushes me back down.
“I don’t know what happened,” I tell him hoarsely. “I can’t
remember what happened. I must have lost consciousness. You –
you
saved my life!”

He doesn’t respond to this. Instead, he waits
for my breathing to calm before helping me to my feet. “Never do
that again!”

Geez, he’s really worried about me. Maybe he
does like me.

I realize I’m still naked. Luckily, Gabriel
hasn’t yet lit his wand. But he’s up and moving in that direction.
Hastily, I cup myself in one hand and lay a forearm across my
breasts, effectively covering my nipples if nothing else. It may
seem trivial to worry about such things after nearly drowning, but
I don’t care. I never miss an opportunity to feel self-conscious or
embarrassed.

Gabriel reaches his clothes. “I’m lighting my
wand,” he says loudly. “I’ll keep my eyes closed, okay?”

“Fine,” I squeak. I’m not shaking anymore, so
when his wand alights I scuttle over the sand to my clothes and
hurriedly pull them on. I don’t bother with my bra, but hang it
over my shoulder. “Dressed,” I tell him. Geez, it’s so tempting to
look over now I’m safe. I can’t help it. I look.

His backside is facing me, illuminated in the
light of the wand lying in the sand. From the back he is fit and
muscular. His cheeks are sweet to behold. How can I be thinking
about sex after nearly dying, you ask? I have no answer.

Clothed, Gabriel turns around and catches me.
“Hey! You were looking!”

I’m too exhausted to lie. “Sorry,” I say. I’m
blushing maroon.

“It’s understandable,” he remarks in a self
satisfied tone. “I’m hard to resist.”

Yes you are!

“Egotistical much?” I ask him. “Gabriel, it’s
late. We should get back. I have to do another wash tonight. This
was my only pair of clean jeans. Now…” I gesture hopelessly to
their sand covered sides.

Swiping his blond hair to the side of his
forehead, Gabriel picks up his wand from the sand. “You forget,
Nora,” he says, coming next to me and touching my jeans with his
wand. “You always forget. Amendi!”

As though freshly washed and dried my clothes
resettle on me, warm to the touch and cleaner than when brand new.
The perpetual tea stain is gone from my tank top. Sighing with
amused irritation, I gaze up at him. “I want magic,” I tell him.
“It’s just not fair. Being an Immag sucks.”

Startlingly white teeth are revealed. “I
agree. Immags suck.”

“That’s not what I said!” I exclaim in mock
outrage, but a giggle escapes me. “How you twist my words!”

“I reinterpret them is all,” he says, his
hand finding the small of my back and guiding me in the direction
of the path. “Point is you don’t have to do a wash tonight. Get
some sleep so you can study tomorrow.”

I roll my eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

Gabriel asks, “Did you like our date?”

I take a long, luxurious moment before
answering. “Yes. I liked it very much. Except for that one hiccup
it’s the best I’ve ever had.”

“How many have you had?”

I determinedly stow my smile. “One.”

I spend the rest
of the weekend holed up in my dorm. I reflect on my date with
Gabriel. In retrospect I can’t describe what happened in the water.
A near death experience? Perhaps. I’m seeing colors a little
brighter, feeling air a little fresher, and smelling aromas a
little sweeter since Gabriel saved my life.

If Gabriel hadn’t been there I would’ve died.
I feel my affection growing for him, for the boy who lured me into
the murky unknown only to save me from the same.

Now he’s away. Hunting vampires. Or else
studying for the one class he’s taking. I still haven’t asked him
what class it is. I’m thinking less about school and homework and
more about Gabriel. About the turquoise fire in his eyes and the
smooth movements of his hand as he swipes his blond hair to the
side. His mere existence is captivating even when he’s not
around.

Despite my fantasy-filled daydreams I am
doing homework. I can’t help it. Now that it’s on my iPad,
The
Great Gatsby
is nothing less than enveloping. Perhaps I’m just
admiring the device while I read. But I do get lost in the prose
and appreciate the subtle nature of Fitzgerald’s masterpiece.

It’s Sunday evening and I have one chapter
left to read. Setting my iPad aside, I stare at the backboard of my
desk. I’m surprised Kiri isn’t back yet. She said she’d be back
sometime today. I’m bursting to tell her about my date and get her
opinion on Gabriel. My guess is she’ll be as blindsided as me by
his charm.

As of today, it’s been a full week since I
arrived at Evergreen State College. A remarkably short time in
which to get infatuated with a boy. A long time in which to only
have two meals. Yet my anxiety has quieted.

I am still losing weight. I realize if this
continues I could run into trouble – either healthwise or with
people who have a tendency to notice such things. I determine to
force myself to eat more. Yogurt I can handle. I decide to consume
a yogurt a day to the best of my ability. Skipping today.

Gabriel didn’t say when we’d hang out again.
We have a bad habit of not making plans, so we always end up
meeting randomly. I should assume if he wants to see me he’ll find
me. That’s one way to go about a relationship.

But are Gabriel and I dating? We’ve had
a
date. But are we dating?
Dating
sounds plural,
implying more than one. We’ve only had one, so by that standard we
aren’t dating yet. I’ll have to ask Kiri about the mechanics and
finer points of relationship jargon. Gabriel
did
say I can
go vampire hunting with him. Can that constitute date two?

I need to stop filling my brain with question
marks before I get a headache. It won’t help my studying. So
ignoring my Victorian Era Literature book – which has unfortunately
become custom – I dive back into
Gatsby
.

I’m thrilled by the ending. So much more so
than I had been in high school. Basking in the glow of my matured
literary comprehension, I go to the bathroom, brush my teeth and
get ready for bed.

Tucking myself in, I realize something. I
will never tell my parents about my nearly dying. It will worry
them and they have enough to worry about. And somebody will know.
Somebody will always know. That’s how it should be. For a near
death experience is not something to keep to one’s self. Gabriel
will know. Gabriel will always know. He will know he saved my
life.

* * *

I wake at 9:33. Geez, I nearly slept through
class! Again. There’s no time for a shower. Again. Lucky I took one
yesterday. Dressing quickly, I hurry into the bathroom. I put my
contacts in and spray my perfume, brushing my hair out so it
doesn’t look like I fell out of bed and went to class.

It’s another cloudy, rainless day in Olympia.
I try to hurry. I pass the dining hall feeling guilty. There’s no
time for breakfast. Again. My resolution to eat a yogurt everyday
will have to go fuck itself for now.

I – of course – arrive late. Dr. Renaus has
everybody sitting in a circle and he looks on with interest as I
join the group. He seems to want to say something to me but can’t
remember my name, so he contents himself with opening his
notes.

“Did everyone manage to read
Sailing to
Byzantium
by W. B. Yeats over the weekend?” Dr. Renaus asks.
“And how is everyone coming along with
Sordello
?” An
unintelligible murmur sweeps the room. “I know it’s a lot,” Renaus
continues, “but it provides you with a distinct understanding of
Browning’s inspirations. You have this fantastical character
walking around in the 1200s. Does he bare any resemblance
whatsoever to the original person? How can we decipher this
mystery?”

Unfed and watered, my sleep state having
existed so recently, I find myself nodding off in my chair. I
forget we’re all sitting in a circle. Forget everyone can see me. I
lean forward in my chair as sleep takes me.

Gasping, I catch myself just in time. Just
before falling forward face first.

Chuckles fly around the room. I shake myself
and sit up straight, determined to stay awake and hoping Dr. Renaus
didn’t catch my momentary lapse. Too late. “Would you like to add
something, Miss?”

“Saynt-Rae,” I say, blushing against so many
amused faces.

Dr. Renaus nods thoughtfully. “Saynt-Rae –
I’ll try and remember. Well? Would you like to add something?”

I’m royally screwed. I have yet to open my
Victorian Era Literature book.

“I found it interesting,” I say slowly,
pulling words right out my ass, “that Browning decided to write
about a character that lived in the 1200s when he was writing in
the 19th century. Maybe he was so horrified by what he was seeing –
you know, with industrialization and everything – that he decided
to write about ancient history rather than the more disturbing
present.”

Dr. Renaus is stroking his chin with his
thumb. “A very interesting revelation, Ms. Saynt-Rae. Yes – I think
you may be onto something here. Correct me if I’m mistaken, but it
seems you’re suggesting that Robert Browning may have been feeling
nostalgia for ‘simpler times.’ Brought on of course by the tirade
of roaring machinery that characterized the steam era.”

“Uh – yeah.”

“Good,” Dr. Renaus says admiringly. “Very
good. Ms. Saynt-Rare is approaching this material in the correct
way. That is to say she’s not only developing an in-depth and
coherent analysis of the works themselves but is actively
constructing an in-depth and thorough analysis of the times the
works were written in. This is the
correct
approach,
especially when trying to get to the root of an artist’s
inspiration. Never forget to ask
why
somebody did something,
wrote something, or created something. The answer is often in the
times. A very good analysis, Ms. Saynt-Rae.”

Startled by this response to my bullshit, I
blink back at Dr. Renaus. Geez, I hope he won’t expect more insight
from me later. I must endeavor to stay awake so as to avoid putting
myself forward. Literally.