The Reaping of Norah Bentley (11 page)

“You slept well?”

“Yeah. Best I’ve slept in a long time, actually,” I said. “What about you?”

“I spent most of the night thinking.”

“…Thinking? About what?”

He looked away again, back out the window. “A lot of things,” he said. He was quiet for a few more seconds, and then: “Mostly about you.”

“Me?” I laughed, gathering my blanket up in my lap and folding it, unfolding it, folding it back again with trembling fingers. “Why were you thinking about me?”

It was hard to see for sure, without my glasses and with the glare of the sun on his face, but I thought I saw a shy smile playing across his lips.

“It was hard not to,” he said. “You being right next door…so close, and yet I couldn’t see you, didn’t want to disturb you.” He leaned back, rested his head against the side of the window and stared up at the ceiling. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he said. “It was a very long night.” His eyes caught a glint of sunlight as he looked back down at me. “So I hope you’ll forgive me for being here now, like this.”

I pushed my blankets away. It had gotten really hot in here all of a sudden, even though all I had on was a tank top and shorts.

“You don’t have to apologize,” I managed to mumble.

I reached for the hair clip on my nightstand and attempted to twist my sleep-ravaged hair into what I hoped a decent looking bun; bedhead was not a good look for me. Actually, morning in general wasn’t a good look for me. I didn’t need a mirror to know what my face looked like right now: puffy red accented by dark circles. Beautiful, I’m sure. I frowned, and kept my head turned away so Eli couldn’t see my face, my eyes trained on the navy blue wad of comforter at the foot of the bed.

It didn’t do me any good, though, because out of the corner of my eye I saw him get up, and then silently cross the room. He sat down beside me and reached up, took the hand I was nervously raking through my hair and pulled it down, held it in his between us on the bed.

“Stop,” he said, taking his other hand and cupping the side of my face, gently turning it toward him.

“Sorry,” I said. “I just…Mornings don’t look real good on me.”

“I think they look perfect,” he said.

The dreamlike sensation was back all of a sudden, along with a fierce pounding in my chest; I thought about taking my hand out of his, because I could feel it starting to shake, my palm starting to sweat. He was so close. So close that for a minute I couldn’t even think about how messy my hair was, or how yesterday’s mascara was probably smudged under my eyes, or anything about me anymore. Only him. Everything was about him; his steady, even breathing, the way his rough hand closed a little tighter over mine every time he breathed in. It was all about how near he was, how easy it would be to close the rest of the space between us if I leaned forward, just a little—

There was a knock on the door. Eli jumped off the bed and I sat up a little straighter, just as the door was flung open. And there was Helen, looking—as usual— way too put-together for this time of the morning. She was the only person I knew who put on makeup and a perfectly coordinated outfit to clean house.

I held my breath, and my eyes flickered over to where Eli stood, as still as stone, like Helen was Medusa’s descendant or something and he hadn’t looked away in time. Except Helen’s eyes were on me and only me—the only person in the room, as far she was concerned. This was so weird.

“You’re up,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“I was just checking. It’s getting kind of late—you don’t need to sleep all day.”

I glanced over at my alarm clock. Still 6:13. That was getting really old, really fast.

“My clock’s messed up,” I said, nodding to it. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“Oh.” That wonderful awkward silence that made up most of our conversations started to settle over us. After a minute of looking at me uncertainly, she asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You look a little pale. Like you’ve just seen a ghost or something.”

Beside me, Eli laughed quietly, and I felt a bemused smile threatening to turn up the corners of my own lips.

“No,” I said. “No ghosts here; you just surprised me is all.”

She nodded slowly. “Sorry. Just wanted to check on you.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

Helen stood there for a moment with her arms folded across her chest, shifting her weight back and forth from foot to foot and gazing around the room. Almost like she was looking for something. My chest tightened, my breathing slowed again. Eli crouched beside the bed and laid his hand over mine. I tried to keep as still as possible. His touch wasn’t helping.

Helen finally stopped searching the room and looked at me again. “Do you have your heat vents closed or something?” she asked. “It’s freezing in here.”

“I think it feels fine,” I said. “I’m kind of hot, actually.”

“Huh. Maybe it’s just me, then.” She shrugged, and started to leave. “Do me a favor and clean up this room a little, will you?” she called over her shoulder, her voice echoing down the hall.

“Sure,” I said, jumping to my feet and running over to close the door behind her. I waited until she had time to get out of hearing range before slumping against the door and looking back at Eli.

“That is so freaky,” I said, shaking my head at him.

“Sorry,” he said. “But it could have been worse. She could have actually been able to see me.”

The thought seized me with horror. “God, she probably would have had a heart-attack.”

“Exactly,” he said, sitting down on my bed and draping an arm over the footboard.

I pushed off the door and slowly walked back over to him, sat down close enough that my leg rested against his jeans and my shoulder was against his arm, my warm bare skin against the coolness of his. Maybe just because it could be. The thought was slightly intoxicating; knowing I could get as close as I wanted to him, right there in my bedroom, and who would ever know?

I sank a hand down into the mattress and leaned on it, away from Eli so I could focus my thoughts into speech.

“You never really explained that to me,” I said. “The whole invisibility thing.”

“There’s a lot I haven’t explained to you,” he said.

“No kidding,” I said.

“But to be fair, you haven't really told me that much about you, either.”

“So?”

“So I feel strange, hanging out in the room of a girl I've barely talked to.”

"Oh. Well, what do you want to know?" It's not like I had anything especially interesting to say. The way he was looking at me, though, it was like he thought all the secrets of the universe were buried inside me.

He nodded towards the closed door. "You said that was your step-mom?"

I nodded hesitantly, already not liking where this game of twenty questions was going.

"What happened to your real mom?" he asked.

"What do you mean, what happened?" I asked. "Nothing
happened
to her. She just ran off on us. I think she’s living somewhere in Maryland now—I dunno, she moves a lot, every time she starts to get sick of a place, a situation. Of people. I haven’t talked to her since my birthday last spring. She sent me this really lame card with a bear in a party hat on it. I think she still thinks I’m like seven or something.” I tried to laugh, and I didn’t tell him the part about how I’d ripped the bear in two. Him and his stupid hat.

My laughter, unsurprisingly, didn’t fool Eli.

“I started with the wrong question,” he said.

I looked up at him from under half-raised eyebrows and shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not good at this stuff.”

“What stuff?”

He looked away, the faintest of blushes on his cheek.

Was he…embarrassed? I don’t know why the thought made me smile, or how it managed to chase away the years of anger that always bubbled up inside me whenever someone brought up my mom. But it did, because all I could think about right then was how adorable he was.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s your turn anyway.”

“My turn?”

“To tell me something about you.”

“Oh.” He turned, so that he was closer to me; so that he closed what little space was between us. I forced myself to stare at my hand, at the soft indention my fingers were leaving in the mattress, as he continued: “I’m not sure where to start.”

“At the beginning?” I suggested.

“That would be very long, very boring conversation,” he said. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I could…I could show you the beginning, though.”

“What do you mean?”

He hesitated again, and then he said, “I was thinking about this last night. About how I shouldn’t keep these things from you. I don’t want to.”

“I don’t really want you to either.”

“Well, then there’s a place I want to show you,” he said. “If you’ll come with me.”

“What place?”

“It’s sort of hard to explain, and to believe, maybe… I think it’s one of those things you need to see for yourself.”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I mean…sure. Okay.” My voice wasn’t as steady as I’d tried to make it; it still shook with the fear, the uncertainty of what I was agreeing with. But the second I looked up and into his eyes, I knew I wouldn’t take it back, however uncertain I was. I couldn’t explain it, but something told me that if he’d asked nicely enough, I probably would have agreed to go just about anywhere with him right then.

As long as I could shower first. Because I didn’t care how he thought mornings looked on me—they
felt
gross. I got to my feet and headed for the closet, glad to have an excuse to get up, to get away for a minute and clear my head of the strange dizziness that his nearness caused.

“Just let me take a shower and get ready, and we can go wherever,” I said. The few feet I’d put between us worked wonders for my speaking ability, helped me move a little more confidently. I grabbed some clothes and moved towards the attached bathroom.

“You can wait in here,” I said, pausing in the doorway with my hand resting on the cool brass handle. “As long as you promise to
stay
in here. No invisible sneaking into the bathroom or any other funny stuff like that.”

He laid back against my pillows, a smile settling onto his face. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “Or at least, if I did, I wouldn’t act on it.” His smile seemed a lot more confident as he closed his eyes. I stayed in the doorway for a second, just watching him. He looked pretty perfect lying there in my bed, I had to admit. I was glad I had a firm grip on the door. Something to steady myself against.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes,” I said, mostly to hear myself talk.

“Okay.”

And this time, I turned slowly enough to avoid running into the door.

So maybe it was more than a few minutes. Actually, I spent close to an hour in there, mostly trying to get my stupid hair to cooperate. Normally, I didn’t care—I didn’t ask for much from it. So, why was it that the one time I really needed it to look good, it insisted on flipping out in every possible direction, no matter how many times I ran my straightner over it? I sighed, and reached for the hair clip again. Guess the hair was going up today after all. I narrowed my eyes at my own reflection, and had just reached for the mascara when there was a knock on the door.

“Norah?”

“Yes?”

“I was just making sure you were still alive in there.”

“…Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“Did you find it funny?”

I shook my head, smiling a bemused smile at my own reflection. “I’ll be out in a minute,” I said. “I’m still getting ready.”

“Why? You look fine.”

“How do you know? You can’t even see me.”

I heard a muffled laugh, and then the thump of his body as he leaned against the door. “Yes I can,” he said. “Didn’t I tell you? Not only can I turn invisible, but I can also see through walls.”

I stared at into the mirror, at my half-naked self standing there in nothing but a bra and jeans. “You better be lying,” I said. “Or else.”

Hesitation on the other side and then:

“…Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”

I snatched the green v-neck sweater hanging from the towel rod and threw it over my head, took a second to compose myself and then jerked the bathroom door open, pulled it away from him. He stumbled a little and then straightened up, smiling.

“Don’t freak me out like that,” I said.

“Sorry,” he said. “But I was right, wasn’t I? I knew you looked beautiful. Green is a good color on you; it brings out your eyes.”

“You are so full of it,” I said.

“I most certainly am not.”

It was too hard not to smile back at him, at the shameless adoration in his eyes.

“Fine,” I said, blushing a little. “I was tired of getting ready anyways.” I flicked the bathroom light off and started to scan my room, trying to remember where I’d set my keys. Helen was right for once; this room could probably stand to be cleaned. It would have to wait though.