Shining Sea (27 page)

TRUST

“I don’t want you alone for a second.”

Bo is actually walking me
in
to the school—or, trying to. But the front doors make a bottleneck, and we’re unexpectedly stuck in the crowd on the front steps. More than a few girls—and a couple of guys—glance at Bo. At his face, or his form, at his light hair shimmering in the morning sun. Some people turn away after a quick look, moving off as if pursued. Others are rooted, unable to leave Bo’s orbit. None of them can meet his eyes.

“I won’t be alone. There are at least twenty people in each of my classes.”

“What about in between? The hallways. Bathrooms.”

“Fine, I’ll tell Mary when I have to pee.” Bo’s brows draw down. “Sorry, I know it’s not funny. But the halls are crowded. Plus, Mary and I usually walk to class together, except gym.”

“Do you have gym outside?”

“On a day like this, definitely.”

“Then you need to play sick, go to the nurse.”

“I can’t, I did that yesterday.” Only I hadn’t been playing. “The PE teacher warned me about missing any more—crap.”

Bo follows my gaze. “Nice boots.”

“I’ll have to borrow Mary’s sneakers. I can’t miss gym.”

“What about Delaine?”

“What about him?”

“Ask him to walk you. When you go outside.”

“But you said—”

“Forget what I said. I’ve been thinking about your ardent admirer. If Nick sees you with Logan, his attention might be torn. That might mean extra time. I’ll be close by, so if—”

“Do you really think Nick Delaine will come
here
?”

“I don’t know, but if he does, Logan might act as a distraction, even a deterrent, and—”

Bo breaks off, his expression becoming unreadable.

“And what?”

“And he’ll do anything for you. Trust me on that.”

Trust. The word seems to waver.

“Just get him to walk you, Arion.”

It may be a little late for that now that I’ve lied to his face and acted like a total bitch.

Bo narrows his eyes. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I’ll talk to him. That was the bell for the end of homeroom. I’ve got to go.”

Only going isn’t so easy. Something’s nagging me, some thought I’ve tucked away in a corner of my mind, a dark corner, where the wriggly-as-eel thoughts about Bo have recently taken up residence. But finally, after exchanging a look with Bo—a kiss would be impossible—I start down the hall, leaving him behind.

As I walk away, I feel his eyes on my back. It’s reassuring, but also . . . also . . .

Another eel thought slip-slides away before I can catch it.

Continuing down the hall, I become aware that I feel slightly nauseous.

The lovesickness. It’s getting worse. It kicks in right away now, as soon as I leave Bo’s side. The Siren sickness. I’ll never be able to leave him now. Not ever.

BODYGUARD

Logan emerges from the classroom with a girl who’s obviously crushing on him. She keeps touching his arm as she talks, and now she brings her lips to his ear, as if sharing a secret.

Secrets.
I have to tell him, tell him everything.

“Surprise, surprise,” Logan says when he sees me. He stops walking and makes a show of saying goodbye to the girl, whispering in her ear like she’d done with him. But when she runs a hand through his hair, he jerks his head away in annoyance, waggling his fingers in farewell. “What’s up, Rush?”

“Have you forgiven me?”

“You mean for lying to me? Or for telling me my brother’s note is bullshit?”

Briefly, I close my eyes. This was a very bad idea.

He taps the pointy tip of my red cowboy boot with the blunt toe of his black motorcycle boot. “Where’s your master?”

Keeping my eyes on our boots, I say, “What, did you get a motorcycle or something?”

“Why, you wanna ride? That why you’re lurking outside my class?”

“Something like that.” I kick lightly at one of his boots.

“Our
disagreements
aside, Rush, you totally ignored me today in homeroom.”

“Yes, well, I was late. I was there for like, half a minute.”

And the last time I talked to you in homeroom, you kissed me—then walked off the set.

Our eyes lock and he grins. He’s thinking of the kiss, he has to be.

“You know what?” I start to turn away. “Never mind.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” He pulls me into an empty classroom.

“Nothing. I have to go.”

“There it is again, sweet nothing. And where do you have to go in such a hurry?”

“Hello? Class? Why, what are you going to do, cut next period? I can’t just do that.”

“Why not? Boyfriend breathing down your neck? Why, yes, as a matter of fact, he is. Okay, then, bye-bye, see you around.” He turns away, about to step into the hall.

“Logan.”

He turns back. “Hmm?”

“Will you—will you walk me to the gym?”

“Since when do you need an escort to PE?”

Wordlessly, I look at him. Stare, although I know I shouldn’t. His long eyelashes cast shadows on his cheekbones as he looks down at me. Now the full bow of his mouth curves into a smile. “Rush.” He shakes his head. “Why do you fight it?”

“Hey, I’m not the fighter,” I manage to say, dropping my gaze to his bandaged hand. “Who was on the receiving end?”

“No one you know. Listen—”

“Come on, what happened? Tell me.”

“Yeah, no, it’s just a scratch—”

“Are you okay?” My voice gives something away I didn’t even know I had. One of Logan’s dark brows lifts slightly. He heard it too.

“Arion.” With his other hand he touches my forehead—the space between my eyebrows. The tight scowl I hadn’t known I was wearing relaxes and my shoulders soften. Logan’s fighting makes me sick with worry, but now that he’s touched me, something besides worry buzzes through me.

“We have some crazy chemistry,” he says softly, running his fingers down my arm. “You can’t deny it. Even with the Silver Surfer acting like he owns you—”

“Stop, okay? Nobody owns me.” But my voice falters. His lips twitch. I narrow my eyes. “Delaine, what the hell are you trying to do?”

“Me? Nothing. Well, maybe something. A little something. ’Course it doesn’t feel little, it feels big. Heavy. I’m like that guy, what’s his name? You know, the guy who pushes the boulder up the hill, and it keeps rolling down, and he’s got to keep hauling it back up, forever?”

“Sisyphus,” I say drily.

“Right. I’m Sisyphus. And you’re the boulder. I get you to the top of the hill, but you won’t look at the view—”

“That’s ridiculous! There’s no view in that story. The view—”

“Is everything. But you won’t see it. The truth, I mean. You just . . . roll away from it.”

But he’s laughing now, and I start laughing too. And suddenly it’s all so—Logan. So familiar, the mix of sulking and laughter, anger and . . . that thing he does to me.

“Come on, Logan, I’ve got gym. But seriously, we have to talk, okay? I can’t argue with you, we can’t have these fights, it’s crazy.”
I have to tell him, he deserves to know.

“Stupid crazy. Total waste. But okay. We’re talking.” He leans against the doorframe.

“I mean,” I give him a pointed look, “we need to
talk
.”

“What, we’re not talking? Sounds like we’re talking.” He reaches out—lays a finger across my lips. “That—is not talking. Not. Talking. Look—now I’m not talking either.”

Automatically my gaze moves to his mouth, his full lower lip. My stomach goes into a spin as I take in the unshaven shadow along his jaw, his cheekbones, and finally, his light eyes with their impossibly long lashes. My lips pulse beneath the gentle pressure of his finger—

I slap his hand away. “You’re a jerk.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, laughing, grabbing my arm as I whirl to go. “A jerk?”

“That’s what I said.” I yank my arm back.

“Yeah, well, I’d like to hear what else you have to say. So, okay, let’s talk. I mean, let’s
plan
a time
to talk. That’s what you want, right? Such a girl thing,” he scoffs.
“Let’s talk,”
he adds in a mincing tone.

“I can see why someone hit you.”

“No one hit me. Although if you want to take a shot—”

“You’d probably like it.”

“That’s a distinct possibility.”

I roll my eyes and move toward the door. He moves at the same time and we collide. He chuckles. The sound I make is closer to a growl. I dodge around him.

“So when are we going to have our girl talk?” he asks as he follows me down the hall.

“Why don’t you phone me tonight?”

“Tonight? Not soon enough. How about we meet up on the front steps after school?”

“What, you don’t have a phone? Oh, I remember now—you don’t know how to use it.”

“Man, I’ve really rubbed off on you. You used to be such a nice girl.”

“Still am.” The smile I give him is saccharine.

“Yeah, you are. Now if you could just get rid of the boyfriend—hey, why are you suddenly allowed to hang out with me?”

“I was never
not
allowed to hang out with you.” I glance down the empty hall. We’re both going to be late.

“Whatever, he’s got you on a tight leash.”

“
He
wants us to be friends.”

“Summers
wants
us to be friends? That—does not make sense. Why?”

“He knows you make me happy, that you’re my—friend.”
God, could I tell a bigger lie?

“The guy is even weirder than I thought.”

“He’s not so bad, you know.”

“Yeah? Tell me about him.” And for a second, I think maybe Bo’s right, that maybe Logan wants to find out more about the Summers, through me. But the thought is barely complete before Logan adds, “Tell me something real.”

Real, like Logan.

Unfortunately, it’s the unreal aspect of Bo that Logan wants to know about, he just doesn’t realize it.

“Logan, there’s . . . nothing I can tell you about Bo that you don’t already know.”

We stop and I look up at him, willing him to accept what I’m saying without questioning me further, needing it to be enough. Because how can I tell him—
you’re right, the Summers had something to do with Nick’s disappearance. They made Nick immortal, and he wants to destroy them for that. But they were only trying to
help
your brother, even after he tried to murder his girlfriend, Beth, the girl who loved you.

“What I know is that you need to stop seeing him. Whatever happened—or didn’t happen—to Nick, that’s not what I’m talking about right now. The hold Bo has on you, I saw it in action the other day. It’s sick. I’m saying this as your friend. You’ve gotta get away from him.”

And hearing Logan say it, I know it’s true. But his words are an answer that only brings more questions. Questions like,
how?
And,
when?
And,
why—why can’t I be with someone I want to be with so badly?
But I know why. And Logan’s right. I have to let him go.

Only, when I open my mouth to say
I know
, what comes out is “I can’t.”

“Ah. The cage of can’t. You
can’t
? Or you
won’t
? Is there a reason you can’t?”

Logan’s gaze is penetrating, but he’ll never be able to guess my secrets. He only knows I’m holding something back. And after another moment, when he realizes I’m not going to say anything else, he recognizes I’m offering something too. His pale eyes search my face, and I guess he finds what he wants there, because he decides to take the atonement, incomplete as it is for him. It’s a compromise, but love always is. No one knows that better than me.

“I’ll call you,” he says.

“When?”

He sighs and shakes his head a little, looking away. “As soon as I can.”

We’ve been standing in front of the open doors to the cafeteria, and now he says, “Hey, is this close enough?” The track and playing fields are visible through the windows on the other side of the sea of tables. My class is already out there.

I force a smile. “What’s your hurry? Thought you were going to cut, Big Talker.”

“Are you kidding? Kenninger’d kill me, even if he is the Existentialism teacher. Thanks for making me late, by the way.”

“Anytime. And yes, this is close enough.”

TRIO

Logan jogs off and I start into the cafeteria, then remember: Mary’s sneakers.

Two long hallways and one wrong turn later I arrive at the art room. Quietly, I slip in the door and make my way over to her.

“Hey! Cutting gym so you can be with me every second of the school day?”

“You sound like Logan. Actually, I need to borrow your sneakers.”

“Fine. Use me for my shoes.” She jots down the combination to her locker. “They’re really comfortable—don’t let the smell put you off.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

After swinging by her locker, I make my way back to the cafeteria, planning on cutting through. But as soon as I enter the lunchroom, I hear a single leaping note from a violin arc through the air—and I jerk to halt.

Then, as if I’ve surprised the music, instead of the other way around, it simply stops.

I start across the cafeteria—

The sound of shimmering strings fills the room. Violin. Viola. Cello. The piece is a trio, the instruments so drenched in effects—they swell and bloom into something grander sounding. The music is dark, and lovely, but also—somehow violent.

The composition cuts off abruptly, leaving a foreboding echo reverberating in the air. Then the final vibrations are completely obliterated as jangly guitar chords burst through the speakers.

“Carry me, across the threshold, push me down the rabbit hole for tea.”

Curious to see who’s responsible for the bizarre playlist and why they’re DJing for an empty cafeteria, I start walking toward the radio station’s picture window.

“Smiling while our lips and teeth grow cold, we will walk a plank into the sea.”

On the other side of the glass Alyssa sits in a swivel chair behind a desk covered in CDs.

Behind her—stands Bo.

“And, so the story goes. I try to fix it . . .”

He’s facing me but looking down at Alyssa. Now she passes a disc over her shoulder.

He steps forward to take it—

She laughs and yanks it back.

Bo scowls in frustration and steps closer to her, reaching again for the CD—

Quick as a cobra, she spins around in the chair. Standing practically in the same moment, she brings the full length of her body against Bo’s, lifting her face to his—

“Then you give me your lips to kiss . . .”

Surprise darkens Bo’s expression—a cloud crossing the sun. He takes a step backward but she moves with him, dropping the CD, grasping his hips.

He brings his hands to her shoulders, as if to push her away—

But as he moves, so does she, sliding her hands up his body, twining her arms around him. She closes her eyes—

Which means she misses the horrified look spreading over Bo’s face.

She’s a big girl, and now her arms tighten around his torso. Then she reaches up with one hand—her fingers twisting among the golden strands of his hair. Her mouth, red with lipstick, is mere inches from his.

Bo looks at her lips—

And on his face, anger takes the place of horror—then turns to desire.

My knees stop working, and I sink to the floor. I have to help her. But I can’t move, like a nightmare, where you can’t run. Transfixed, I kneel on the cafeteria tiles.

“You say, ‘I love you’ . . .”

Love.

Bo.

“No!” I scream.
“No!”
And then my body is a bullet.

I spring to my feet, fists pounding the window. Hitting it so hard I’m sure the glass will shatter. But the window remains intact, my fists, my screams bouncing off like so many raindrops, ineffectual thunder. What are the alternatives? Even as I continue to pound on the glass, I’m frantically considering. Even if I run, by the time I make it through the cafeteria doors and around the corner to the entrance of the radio station, it will be too late. It’s
already
too late. I scream out—

“Alyssa!”

Maybe it’s the sound of her name, or maybe the sound of my fists thudding against glass that finally reaches her—

Or maybe she’s just realizing—she’s made a terrible mistake. Because suddenly she’s wide-eyed with panic, twisting her body, trying to turn her head—

But Bo holds her firmly, his mouth battened on hers.

Then all at once he looks up—away from the face of his prey. The aureate rings around his pupils appear to ignite with shock. With obvious effort, he pushes Alyssa away—

Released from his hold, she stumbles backward. Her eyes seem to clutch at me—

Then she falls—arms sliding across the desk, sending CDs everywhere. She crashes to the floor.

Time stops.

In a sort of slow motion, I look at Bo, his eyes blazing in his pale face. I want to run to him. Run away. My heart splits in two, and I look down at Alyssa—

She’s dead.

Staring in disbelief, I try to move. Can’t.

Bo looks at Alyssa too now, then at me. His voice comes from the other side of the glass, as if from underwater—

“She’s breathing!”

My eyes fill with tears. “You
wish
!”

As if the two words have released me, I bolt around the corner and through the door of the radio station—Bo is gone. I crouch next to Alyssa’s prone body—

She
is
breathing!

But as I stare at her ashen face, her blue-tinged lips, trying to figure out how to help her—

Her body begins to convulse.

Racing to the main office I burst through the door. “Call nine-one-one!”

The secretary who basically runs the school looks at me as if I’ve gone insane.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She eyes me skeptically, one of those people who doesn’t believe there’s trouble unless there’s blood.

“No! It’s Alyssa—Alyssa Saffer. Sh-she’s in the radio station!”

“That girl’s been into one thing or another since the day she got here from New York City.” The secretary cocks her head to one side. “You two get in a fight?”

Lunging toward her desk, I grab the phone. Punch 9-1-1.

“The high school, send an ambulance! She can’t breathe, she’s convulsing—”

“We’re sending someone now. Please stay on the line.” The woman on the phone seems to be from the same slow-moving world as the office secretary. “State your name, please.”

“Arion Rush.”

“Tell me what happened please, Miss Rush. Who’s having trouble breathing?”

But all of a sudden it’s me—I can barely breathe myself.

“Hello? Miss? Can you tell me what happened?” The voice on the phone seems to bend, slowing and warping, becoming unintelligible as the questions continue. “Can. You. Tell. Me.”

No! No, I can’t tell anyone!

Or, maybe I can.

My boyfriend’s a Siren. He dropped me off at school today. Guess he couldn’t handle it.

But it’s me,
I
can’t handle it, can’t handle any of this.

“An accident.” My voice is a whisper now. “Hurry.”

The receiver lands on the desk with a
thunk
. The secretary is at the office door now, the principal right behind her. I follow them into the hall—

Then turn the other way, and start running, running . . .

An ambulance passes me. A police car. A van from TV Twelve.

I don’t stop running until I get to the harbor. Luckily, Dad is there. I tell him I’m sick—

Then throw up on Mary’s sneakers.