Starcrossed (6 page)

Helen saw the other boy lunge at her, but he was stopped by Lucas,

who threw out an arm and sent him flying back into the lockers behind

them. Then her whole body stopped and strained.

“Cassandra! Stay where you are,” Lucas called over Helen’s

shoulder, his face no more than an inch away from hers. “She’s

very strong.”

Helen’s arms burned and the little bones in her wrists felt like

they were grinding together. Lucas was holding her by the wrists to

keep her hands away from his neck, she realized. They were locked

in a stalemate, and if she could get her fingers half an inch closer,

she could reach his throat.

And then what? a little voice in her head asked. Choke the life out

of him! answered another.

Lucas’s achingly blue eyes widened in surprise. Helen was winning.

One of her long nails grazed the pulsing skin covering the fat

artery she itched to slit. Then, before she could process what was

happening, Lucas spun her around and clamped her to his chest,

restraining her arms against her breast and standing between her

legs. The position he’d forced her into kept her off balance and unable

to bring her heel down on his instep. She was immobile.

“Who are you? What is your House?” he breathed into her ear,

giving her a rough shake to punctuate his point. She was beyond

understanding language.

Outmaneuvered and helpless, she started to scream with rage,

then stopped herself. Now that she couldn’t see his eyes she was

becoming aware of the fact that half the school’s faculty was trying

to tear her off him. Everyone was staring.

Helen doubled over in agony as her abdomen seized up with

cramps. Lucas immediately let her go as if she’d turned into a lit

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match, his body convulsing spasmodically, and she dropped to the

floor.

“Miss Hamilton! Miss . . . Helen. Helen, look at me,” said Mr.

Hergeshimer. He was kneeling on the floor next to her while she

panted, trying to relax her muscles. She looked up at his sweaty

face. His hair was messed up and his glasses had been knocked

sideways on his face in the fight. She wondered for a moment if she

had been the one to hit him, and then she burst into tears.

“What’s wrong with me?” she whimpered softly.

“It’s all right, now. Calm down,” Mr. Hergeshimer said sternly.

“All of you had better get to class. Immediately!” he roared to the

throngs of kids standing around with their mouths open. Everyone

scattered as Mr. Hergeshimer stood up and took charge.

“You boys,” he pointed at Lucas and Jason, “are to come with me

to the principal’s office. Mr. Millis! Miss Aoki! You are to take Miss

Hamilton to the nurse’s office and then go directly to your next

classes. Understood?”

Matt immediately stepped forward and put Helen’s arm over his

shoulder, helping her to stand. Claire took Helen’s hand and held it

reassuringly. Helen glanced up and saw Lucas looking back over

his shoulder at her as he went quietly with Mr. Hergeshimer.

Another wave of loathing broke over her, and fresh tears lined up

in her eyes. Matt guided her while she cried, awkwardly patting her

hair and getting her to walk toward the nurse at the same time.

Claire walked on Helen’s other side, shaken and silent.

“What did he do to you, Lennie?” Matt asked hotly.

“I’ve never seen him b-b-before in my l-l-life!” Helen hiccuped

and cried even harder.

“Great idea, Matt! Ask her questions! Can you shut the hell up

now?” Claire snapped, trying to get hold of herself.

They walked the rest of the way without talking. When they got to

the nurse’s office, they told Mrs. Crane what had happened and

made sure to add that Helen had come to school with heatstroke

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that morning. Mrs. Crane had Helen lie down with a cool towel

over her eyes and went back into her office to call Jerry.

“Your father’s on his way, dear. No, no, keep your eyes covered.

Darkness will help,” Mrs. Crane said as she passed by Helen’s cot.

Helen heard her rush out to the hall to speak to someone briefly,

then come back in and sit behind her desk.

Helen lay under the towel, grateful that she was being left alone

and in relative privacy. She couldn’t think two coherent thoughts

in a row, let alone explain herself to anyone. What scared her the

most was that for some reason she knew that what she had tried to

do was right, or at least that it was expected of her. Deep inside,

she knew she would have killed that boy if she could, and she

didn’t even feel guilty about it. Until she saw her father.

He was a mess. Mrs. Crane told him everything that had

happened, explaining that Helen was suffering from a serious case

of heatstroke and that it may have caused her strange outburst. He

listened patiently and then asked Mrs. Crane for a moment alone

with his daughter, which she gave them.

Jerry didn’t say anything at first; he just sort of hovered over

Helen’s cot while she sat up and fidgeted with her necklace. Finally,

he sat down next to her.

“You wouldn’t lie to me right now, would you?” he asked softly.

She shook her head. “Are you sick?”

“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t feel right—but I don’t know what’s

wrong,” she told him earnestly.

“We’ve got to take you to the doctor, you know.”

“I figured,” she said, nodding. They smiled at each other, and

then suddenly they both turned their heads at the sound of hurried

footsteps coming toward the nurse’s office.

Jerry stood up and faced the door, putting himself in front of

Helen. A tall, impossibly fit man in his early forties burst into the

room. Helen jumped off the cot and stood on the other side of it,

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glancing around instinctively for another exit. There wasn’t one.

Helen had the feeling that she was going to die.

In the corner of the tiny office, one of the sobbing sisters appeared.

She was hunkered down on her knees, her face covered by

her filthy hair, moaning names and saying “blood for blood” as she

hit her forehead repeatedly against the wall.

Helen put her hands over her ears. She pulled her eyes away from

the horror in the corner and mustered enough courage to look back

at the large man. A spark of recognition passed between them. She

had never seen him before, but somehow she knew that she should

be very afraid of him. At first his angular face was set with determination,

but it quickly morphed into shock and then confusion. His

eyes zeroed in on Jerry, and a nearly comical look of disbelief derailed

what might have been a terrible fight.

“Are you . . . are you the father of the young lady that attacked my

son?” he asked in a halting voice.

Jerry nodded curtly. “My daughter, Helen,” he said, gesturing

back to her. “I’m Jerry Hamilton.”

“Castor Delos,” the big man replied. “My wife, Noel, won’t be able

to make it. And Helen’s mother?”

Jerry shook his head. “It’s just Lennie and me,” he said with

finality.

Castor’s eyes darted to Helen and back to Jerry and he pursed his

lips as if he had set something right in his head. “Pardon me. I

didn’t mean to bring up personal matters. Is there any way you and

I might have a word alone?”

“NO!” Helen shouted. She lunged across the cot, grabbing her

father’s arm and yanking him away from Castor.

“What is wrong with you?” Jerry shouted. He tried, and failed, to

shake Helen off.

“Please don’t go anywhere with him!” she begged, tears welling

up in her eyes.

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Jerry made a frustrated sound, put his arms around Helen and

held her reassuringly. “She hasn’t been well,” he explained to

Castor, who looked on with sympathy.

“I have a daughter,” Castor replied gently as if that explained

everything.

Mrs. Crane and the principal, Dr. Hoover, rushed into the room

as if they had been trying to catch up to Castor.

“Mr. Delos,” the principal began in an irritated voice, but Castor

talked over him.

“I hope your daughter feels better soon, Jerry. I’ve had heatstroke

myself, and I was told I did all kinds of strange things. It can

make you hallucinate, you know,” he said to no one in particular.

Helen saw him glance quickly at her and then into the corner

where the sobbing sister was still rocking back and forth. Did he

see her, too, she wondered, and if he did, how the heck could two

people share a hallucination?

“Well . . . okay. There’s no animosity then?” Dr. Hoover said uncertainly,

looking from Castor to Jerry.

“Not on my part, nor on my son’s, I’m sure. I’m more concerned

about you, young lady,” Castor said, turning politely to Helen.

“Luke told me he had to be, well, a bit rough. Did he hurt you?”

Castor inquired. On the surface, it seemed like he had extraordinarily

good manners, but Helen didn’t buy it. He was just trying to

gauge how strong she was.

“I’m fine,” she replied tartly. “Not a scratch.”

His eyes widened ever so slightly. She didn’t know why she was

baiting a full-grown man, a very big man in the prime of his life at

that, but she simply couldn’t help herself. Usually, she hated arguments

so much she couldn’t even bear to watch those trashy daytime

talk shows where everyone screamed at each other, and here

she was for the second time in half an hour looking to mix it up

with someone much bigger and stronger than she was. Thankfully,

she wasn’t as desperate to kill Castor the way she had been with his

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son. No one had ever enraged Helen the way that Lucas had, but

she still wanted to put a few dents in Castor’s fender. That urge

confused her deeply.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” Castor said with a smile, diffusing the

situation. He turned to the principal and made it clear that he and

his family did not want Helen punished. As far as he was concerned

Helen had been ill, and the whole incident should be forgotten.

He left as abruptly as he had entered.

As soon as Castor’s footsteps faded away, the sobbing sister vanished

and the whispering stopped. Helen no longer felt angry. She

slumped down onto the cot like a balloon with a fast leak.

“You’d best take her home now, Jerry,” Mrs. Crane said with a

no-nonsense voice and a comforting smile. “Lots of fluids, no direct

light, and get her to take a cool bath to bring her core temperature

down. All right?”

“Sure, Mrs. Crane. Thanks a lot,” Jerry replied, reverting back to

the teenaged boy he had been the last time he was in Mrs. Crane’s

office.

Helen kept her head down on their way out to the parking lot, but

she could feel the other students staring at her as she passed. As

she jumped up into the passenger seat of the Pig she saw the door

by the principal’s office open and the two Delos boys leaving with

Castor. Lucas’s eyes went straight to hers and held them. Castor

pulled up and put his hand on the back of his son’s neck, talking to

him. Finally, Lucas broke his stare contest with Helen and looked

at his father briefly before nodding and looking at the ground.

It started to rain. One, then two, then three big, fat drops of summer

rain splashed down, and suddenly the air was full of water.

Helen slammed her door shut and glanced over at her father, who

was also looking back at the Delos family.

“Which one did you jump?” Jerry asked, fighting a grin.

“The bigger one,” Helen answered, a half smile of her own creeping

up her face.

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Jerry looked at Helen, whistled once, and started the engine.

“You’re lucky he didn’t seriously hurt you,” he said, not joking

around anymore.

Helen nodded meekly, but she was thinking that Lucas was the

lucky one. The strangeness of her own thoughts scared her silent

for the rest of the drive home.

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Chapter Four

Helen sat in a bathtub of cold water, the lights in the

bathroom switched off, and listened to the phone ring

over and over. She didn’t know what to say to anyone

and every time she thought about attacking Lucas

Delos in front of the entire school she groaned out loud

in humiliation. She would have to leave the country, or at least

Nantucket, because there was no way she could live down the fact

that she had tried to strangle the hottest boy on the island.

She groaned again and splashed her face, which was still finding

a way to blush even though she was submerged in freezing-cold

water. Now that she wasn’t being driven half crazy with rage she

could think about Lucas objectively, and she decided that Claire

hadn’t been exaggerating when she said he was the best-looking

boy she had ever seen. Helen agreed with her. She had been trying

to kill him, but she wasn’t blind. Normal boys simply weren’t put

together the way he was.

It wasn’t his height or his coloring or his muscles that made him

so beautiful, she concluded. It was the way he moved. She had only