Seers (4 page)

Is this American Lit?”

Finally my fingers wrapped around my pencil and I drew myself back up. My eyes fell on the newcomer, standing almost awkwardly in the open doorway. A broad shoulder kept the door propped open and a long-fingered hand curled around one strap of his bag, keeping it from sliding off his shoulder. He wore a light blue button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He had beautiful skin—not white, but definitely not tanned. His eyes were pure blue, and surprisingly penetrating. His jaw was perfectly sculpted, and his high cheekbones were prominent and strong. His nose was long, and dark brown hair curled onto his forehead. His pale-but-not-pale skin was covered with a very light dusting of freckles.

Mr. Benson was twisting in his desk, fighting to view the door that was at his back.

“This is,” he assured the boy in the doorway. “And you must be the transfer student Mrs. Jems mentioned. What was your name? O’Connor?”

“O’Donnell,” he said, his Irish accent strangely hypnotic.

“Patrick O’Donnell.”

I knew I was staring at him, though he had yet to even glance in my direction. I could feel Aaron’s eyes on my face, though, and I knew I needed to stop openly appreciating the new guy. So I pressed down the top of my mechanical pencil, forcing the lead out. I stared at the white paper resting on the desk in front of me, trying to get a grip. I traced out my name, focusing on each individual letter while struggling to remember what the real assignment was supposed to be.

Mr. Benson was speaking again. “Well Patrick, you haven’t 22 K • • •

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missed much at all. Grab one of those desks and join the circle.

Right now we’re . . . ” he proceeded to re-explain the assignment, and I quickly began writing; glad when Aaron finally stopped staring at me and started his own work.

I didn’t have a favorite book—whatever book I was reading at the moment was generally the best I’d ever read. But since it was thoughts of my dad that swam in my mind, I found myself saying my favorite was Peter Pan. It had long been a favorite of my dad’s, and he used to read it to me when I was young—a chapter every night. As I grew older, I started to read it to him. To me, it was a story that inspired the reader to have fun, no matter the circumstances. To never let life’s struggles get you down. Never lose your positive spirit. Though I wasn’t sure if I’d followed the story’s promptings in my own life, I decided to describe the possible moral anyway.

A few sentences into my explanation, I heard his low voice beside me. “Can I slide in here?” I glanced to my right and saw Patrick O’Donnell standing next to my desk. His deep gaze—riveted firmly on my face—

reminded me of this morning, with the invisible man. The stare was just so intense; so real, and undeniable. It was like a tangible thing. All I could do was stare right back at him, thinking that his eyes were the clearest blue I’d ever seen.

And then Mr. Benson was interrupting us with a hesitant cough. “Uh, Kate—could you make room for Patrick?” I jerked my eyes away. “Um, yeah,” I told them both, fighting the flushing of my skin and losing miserably. I stood and pushed closer to Aaron, who was watching the exchange a bit too closely.

Of course that didn’t help the blushing, and I was very grateful that I’d left my hair down today so it could slide over my shoulders and shield my red face from view.

I resumed my seat and didn’t look in his direction. But I could hear Patrick fitting his desk in beside mine before he tossed his bag to the floor, up against the chair. He sat, dug briefly for a

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pencil, and then set that pencil to paper.

I watched him through my peripheral vision, and was shocked when he didn’t move again. I’d never seen anyone sit so still before.

He didn’t shift his weight, stretch his legs, or raise his head. He was immovable. Truthfully, the stillness was making me nervous.

He certainly wasn’t doing the assignment.

A few times during class I felt his intense stare through the curtain of my hair, but I never once acknowledged his attention.

Call it uneasiness, or a way to avoid more blushing. Regardless, I didn’t want to be caught in his enchanting stare again. Not with my boyfriend sitting right next to me.

With class nearly over, Mr. Benson called for us to pass our papers to the right. Some people had filled a complete side and had written more on the back. My small handwriting had managed to fill one side, but I’d decided against writing more. I felt like I’d rambled enough about my father for one day. Aaron handed his paper to me, along with the others from that side of the circle, and then I handed the stack on to Patrick, with mine hidden neatly on the bottom. I don’t know why I didn’t want him seeing my work, but I didn’t.

That’s when I saw his page.

It was blank, except for two elegantly written words.

Patrick O’Donnel

I stared at those words until Patrick passed the stack on. And then I couldn’t help but stare at him. He’d been sitting so intently, and he’d written only his name? What sort of person took an AP

class, and then didn’t do the easy assignment—even a little bit?

As I watched him while he returned his pencil to his bag, I realized something even more disturbing than his lack of work.

Patrick O’Donnell didn’t have an aura. Or rather, it wasn’t like any other aura I’d ever seen. There was no gold lining, no soft cloud of color pulsating around him. He was outlined in a simple silver thread, and there was no color emanating from him. It was 24 K • • •

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impossible to know his mood, discern his emotions.

I’d been freaked out by the colors so long, I hadn’t realized that there might be something more unsettling. What did this absence of aura mean? Was something wrong with him? Or was it a problem with my vision?

No . . . A quick glance around the room reassured me of that.

Mr. Benson was surrounded by the familiar gold lining, and a cloud of yellow and tinges of pink hovered around his body. The red-head beside him—Andrea—was gold and gray, tinged with some purple jealousy.

I focused back on Patrick. Silver, then . . . nothing. I’d never seen anything like this before, and I was honestly freaking out.

The hairs on my arms and neck were rising in some instinctual warning. It was like not only my vision but my body was screaming at me: He’s different. Something’s wrong.

That’s when I got my second punch in the gut. No, he wasn’t the first. The Hispanic in the elementary school parking lot—the one Lee hadn’t been able to see—he’d been the same. Silver outline, no . . . mood-aura. How had I not realized that before? Why hadn’t the anomaly struck me before now?

But though their auras—or lack of them—were similar, the boy sitting beside me was very different from the Invisible Man, mostly because Patrick O’Donnell wasn’t invisible. He was sitting next to me—turning toward me now—staring at my stare. And Aaron, sitting beside us, could see us staring at each other. So he was real. He was here. That left only one question.

What in the world was going on?

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Three

The instant the bell rang I rose to my feet.

While I moved my heel caught on the edge of my bag and I stumbled back, off-balance. Aaron caught my arm even as my pencil went spinning through the air.

Suddenly Patrick was on his feet. With one hand he caught the pencil as it made its decent, and then he held it out to me on his open palm.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, reaching for the pencil and not daring to look up into his eyes.

“Of course,” he said, his accent lilting his voice into a gentle cadence. Then he turned, stooped to grab his bag, thrust the strap over his shoulder and then walked out the door and into the seething hall.

“You okay?” Aaron spoke behind me, slowly releasing my arm.

I glanced up at him and nodded. “I think so. Just lost my balance for a minute.”

Aaron’s brow was furrowed as he glanced toward the open classroom door. “He’s kind of a weird guy, isn’t he?” I shrugged, and bent to retrieve my backpack. Aaron’s rhetorical question would be better left unanswered. I stuck my pencil into my bag, then started walking toward the door. I was anxious to reach history so I could tell Lee about what had happened. I wanted to know what she would think about silver auras, because personally I was drawing a blank. All I had to go on was my gut

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feeling, which kept telling me that something was wrong with Patrick O’Donnell.

Aaron followed close behind me as we left the room and entered the hall. At the first intersection we began to move our separate ways, with a promise to meet up for lunch. Or rather, Aaron suggested it, and I nodded a quick agreement.

The history classroom was almost full already, with still two minutes before class. I hesitated in the doorway, scanning the room quickly for Lee.

Her dark long hair was easy to spot, there in the back corner.

I took two steps toward her, then stopped when I saw who Lee was sitting next to—Patrick O’Donnell. Just at the sight of him and his strange silver aura the hairs on my body rose once more.

I wanted to sit as far away from him as possible, because that’s what instinct told me would be safest. But then, seeing the way he stared at Lee . . . I couldn’t abandon my best friend. If something truly was wrong with him, it seemed that I was the only one who could recognize it. I would have to risk the proximity in order to protect the unsuspecting Lee.

I hurried through the desks and sat directly in front of Lee, who looked up at me with a smile that definitely didn’t go with her Gothic appearance. “Hey Kate. You’ll never believe where this guy’s from—”

“Ireland?” I asked, turning in my chair and glancing toward those bright blue eyes that were just now focusing on me.

“Wow—how’d you know?” Lee took a double take of Patrick.

“I mean, he’s not a red head and he’s not drinking beer.” Patrick looked toward her with a cocked eyebrow, and Lee raised a defensive hand. “No offense, of course.”

“None taken,” he assured her in his deep but lilting voice.

“And actually, most Irish people have brown hair.”

“Seriously?” Lee asked. “What about the beer part? Isn’t that true?”

He cracked a thin smile at her. “Maybe a little.”

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“We’ve actually already met,” I interjected, unwilling to have this stranger focused exclusively on my best friend. Not until I understood more about him, anyway.

Lee looked back at me, looking far too interested. “Really?

When?”

“First period,” Patrick explained, retaking control of the conversation. “We have American Lit together.” He turned back toward me. “She must have guessed the Ireland part, though.” My arm hairs were sticking straight up, but I forced a smile.

“Well, between the name and the accent, I thought it was a rea-sonable guess.”

He nodded his dark head, giving me that.

Then the teacher walked in, and I turned toward the front of the class. Only then did I realize my back would be left exposed to him the entire hour, and I’d be unable to keep an eye on Lee. I sighed deeply, hoping the hour would pass quickly.

s

The bell rang at last and Patrick told Lee goodbye before walking toward the door. He didn’t even look at me, thank heavens.

Lee sighed hugely. “Oh my Oreos—did you see him!?” It was her habit to use random words to accentuate a point without profanity. Her new favorite curse word was her favorite cookie.

Normally it made me laugh—right now, I was too freaked to even smile. “I’ve never seen such gorgeous eyes. And his body! Goodness, he’s got to be the fittest guy I’ve ever seen in my life. Did you see him?”

“Yeah, I did—and guess what?” I hissed lowly, careful not to let anyone else hear. “He doesn’t have an aura.” Lee cocked her head at me, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? Like, no colors whatsoever?”

I nodded quickly. “He’s outlined in silver—not gold. And where there’s usually color—nothing!” Lee considered this, her eyes narrowing slowly in thought.

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“You’ve never seen this before? Not in anyone?” I nearly brought up the Hispanic man, but something stopped me. Maybe it was because my saner half realized that trying to use an invisible man as proof probably wouldn’t do either of us a bit of good. “No. And, honestly, I thought I’d lost my sight or something, when I first realized he didn’t have one.” I shook my head, deeply frustrated. “And every time I hear his voice I get all . . .

weird.”

“Oh, I was feeling that,” Lee grinned.

“No—not like a good weird. He made me uneasy.”

“You’re just freaked ‘cuz you can’t see into his soul, psychic.” She patted me on the shoulder, sympathy in her eyes. “Look, don’t let this ruin your first day back. I mean, maybe it would be nice to have a friend you can’t read, or whatever. Come on—the bell’s going to ring soon.”

Without waiting for me she turned for the door, and reluctantly I followed. We walked down the emptying hall together until she reached her lab. I continued on alone, until I reached Trig. Upon stepping into the room and searching for an empty desk, I wanted to scream when my eyes met his.

It was him. Again. Three periods in a row! And the only empty seat was right behind him. The last place I wanted to go was closer to him and his strange aura, but what choice did I have? It’s not that I believed he was evil or anything, but I couldn’t deny the way my body reacted to him. The tightening in my stomach, the rising hairs, the loss of focus when he stared at me . . .

I quickly walked past him and sat down. I knew he knew I was there, but he didn’t turn around. He was chatting with the girl beside him. She was a cheerleader named Virginia. She was a total blond, and she always looked perfect. She was giggling at something he’d said, and was leaning closer to him from across the small aisle. Though I was close, I couldn’t tell what she whispered to him. But watching her perfectly sculpted eyebrow raise, and her gorgeous eyes get larger, and her lips twist meaningfully . . . well,