The Ylem (15 page)
“Whatever,” Valerie whispered under her
breath as Mr. Wilson strode in the room.
I turned back into my seat, clenched my
pencil and started doodling on a piece of paper, pressing the
pencil so hard that it shredded the page at the end. I dropped it
and tried not to think about all that nonsense. But my mind was
running happily with my thoughts, causing a familiar turmoil inside
of me.
I strode into the congested cafeteria, eager
to sooth my dry throat. Valerie was already in line, talking to
some red-head girl from our class. I kept moving to join the string
of people, deciding whether to go for iced tea or pink lemonade,
when a tall figure with a black leather jacket stopped in front of
me. The air was suddenly charged with electricity.
“Hey,” Tristan said with a soft smile,
holding his food tray with one hand, like some waiter pro. He
wanted to talk to me. I could see it in his eyes. But not even that
dazzling gray-emerald slackened my resolve. I only gave him a dim
smile and walked away from him like yesterday.
For some reason my heart squeezed. My legs
wanted to turn in the opposite direction, but my mind wouldn’t let
them.
Valerie’s eyes hadn’t missed anything, so
when she asked about it, I knew that whatever answer I gave her was
going to be turned into some kind of sign indicating my suppressed
feelings for Tristan. To my relief, Dean and Owen cut short our
stupid conversation with their quick arrival.
Chloe, as usual, watched me with scornful
eyes. No surprise there. I didn’t like her catty attitude, but what
could I do? I sighed. And what could I do about Tristan? It was
better when he went over to his house to have lunch with his
friends. At least my eyes weren’t flying between two tables like a
ping pong ball.
The end of the day arrived like a breeze
cooling the heat of my worry. I was eager to go to my room, read
some books, watch some movies, perhaps write something, search for
some funny videos on the Internet—anything that would keep my mind
busy.
My right foot tapped the ground impatiently,
as if every thump against the concrete would send an invisible
signal for my dad to hurry. But seconds ticked like minutes, and
nothing happened. It was just me and the sidewalk, waiting.
“You seem in a hurry.” Tristan glided in out
of the blue, halting my frantic foot.
Shoot
. “Just waiting for my dad,” I
said, looking away, struggling to look indifferent.
Keep going the ice queen attitude,
Kalista. Don’t you dare wavering
.
“Are you sure he’s coming?”
I nodded.
“I think you need a ride.”
My heart bumped against my chest. Was he
offering me one? “Not needed,” I said, a trace of doubt in my
voice.
“I think I didn’t say it right, but you do
need a ride. Unless you want to stay.”
This time I turned to look at him, confused
by his certainty. “What do you mean?”
“My father is helping yours on some project
this week. It seems they’re really busy, so he asked me if I
could—”
“What did you say to him?” I urged.
He seemed bowled over by my question. “I said
yes of course.”
Yes
. My heart was racing at the idea
of being alone with him, less than a yard away from his body for
God knows how long. I didn’t know if I could handle that.
“But I guess you don’t like the idea so
much.”
I stared at him for a moment, my cold walls
melting little by little.
“Well, I think you don’t have any other
option,” he said, sounding a bit troubled, as if he didn’t like the
idea of me not wanting to go with him. Surely a wounded ego.
“I guess not.” I was so going to kill my dad
for doing this to me.
He gave a small smile. “Let’s go then.”
“Who told you I'm going with you?”
He looked around, puzzled. “Are you going to
walk?”
Not a bad idea
. “Maybe.”
“I'm sorry, I can’t let that happen. I made a
promise and I never break my word.”
“There’s always a first time for
everything.”
“Kalista…”
“There is! You won’t go to hell if you break
your word, you know.”
“Please.”
Argh. I almost stomped my foot. Why did he
have to use that tone? “Fine. Fine. I’ll go.” Anyway, something
told me it wouldn’t be a good idea to wander alone.
He twisted his lips into that breathtaking
smile of his.
Ugh. I hated him.
We got to his orange car—now up close looking
as if it could turn into a robot, like one of those cool
Transformers—and he opened the door for me. My legs stilled.
“You can come inside,” he said amused.
I hesitated once more, my nerves uncertain,
but kept moving and finally got inside. It wasn’t until he slammed
the door shut that I noticed the futuristic decor inside.
This
car is definitely a Transformer
. The four seats were mounted on
aircraft-style tracks—like helicopter seats—with seat belt
harnesses, which wasn’t a good sign. The instrument panel was
covered with a large metal sheet showing three cut-off circles at
the center that seemed to be instrument panel vents. Above, three
small vertical LCD screens shed light on the metal. The steely
steering wheel had the letters “HX” engraved in the middle and
another metallic circle, whose purpose was completely unknown, sat
next to it. If I felt already stupid around cars, my lack of
knowledge sky-rocketed with this one.
And maybe I was stupid or blind, but where
was the radio?
Tristan turned on the ignition. The screens
were now displaying a dramatic start sequence with a blue
background and the “HX” letters flashing in the middle. The strange
circle gleamed with orange lights.
I stared in awe.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, eyeing me.
“Your car is really…high-tech.”
He laughed.
“No, really, it looks like we’re inside of an
aircraft or something. I’ve never seen anything like this.” Even
after seeing amazing vehicles in New York, nothing compared to
this.
“I guess you like it.” He grinned.
I blushed. “Well, yeah, it’s okay.” I looked
sideways, trying to sound indifferent. Each screen was currently
displaying something different now. At least I recognized the one
at the center with the speedometer. The other two looked too
sophisticated. “Um…I know you’re going to think I'm thickheaded,
which I am around cars, so I wouldn’t blame you but…what exactly
are the screens on the edges?”
He smiled. “To begin with, I don’t think
you’re thickheaded at all.” I bit my bottom lip and he smiled.
“Now, the first one is a navigation system—that I honestly don’t
use very much around here—and the one with the car image is the
diagnostic system. My favorite part though”—the images suddenly
changed—“is the off-road mode. There’s a camera mounted in the
rear-view mirror. I can record road trips, trails…whatever I
want.”
“Wow, you have quite a car.”
“I like to go off-road, so it’s pretty
useful,” he said, pressing a red button to release the enormous
metallic shift. The car looked so strong and powerful that thinking
about light speed was natural.
“Oh…” I managed to say amid the haziness,
because when my eyes caught the side his face, I fell into a deep
trance, lost in the strong line of his jaw, his sculpted lips, his
straight nose. Driving suited him exceedingly well, especially in
this car. His striking beauty merged with the vehicle’s strength
perfectly.
He turned to look at me, locking his
otherworldly eyes on mine, deep and wonderful. Indecision spun in
them, as if he was debating whether to do something or say
something. Realizing I’d been caught staring at him, I turned my
gaze to the windshield. That’s when I noticed the trees gliding
past the windows in a blur.
Oh no
.
“Stop!” I shouted, startled, not daring to
look at the speedometer.
“What?”
“Please stop!” I’d been completely
sidetracked.
“Are you feeling faint?” He stopped the car
and released his seatbelt, shifting towards me.
“Not exactly.” I sighed. “I have a…problem
with speed,” I said opening my eyes, my heart’s frantic rhythm
slowing down.
“I'm sorry. I didn’t realize…”
He was one of those speed demons. “It’s
okay…just, please, keep your speedometer under a leash.”
He smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep it in mind
from now on.”
“Thank you.”
He paused and said, “Is this why you don’t
drive?”
I flushed red-hot.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said with a
soft chuckle. And he paused once more. “Why are you so afraid of
speed, though?”
I turned away, looking at the steady trees
lining the road. “I don’t know. I'm just afraid.”
“I know that,” he said with a smile in his
voice. “But there has to be a reason.”
Yes, there was. But I didn’t know if I
trusted him enough to tell him right now. I still doubted him. “My
mom died in a car accident when I was five years old,” I finally
said. Why? I had absolutely no clue. I turned to look at him. His
face was serious. “Ever since, speed petrifies me—fear of crashing
into another car, I guess. That’s why I don’t like driving. My dad
wants me to, but I can’t.” My voice wavered a bit. “I don’t
remember my mom that well, but the one thing I do remember was the
sound of her voice when she used to read me fairytales—I guess
that’s why I like them so much.”
Tenderness softened his features. “Which one
is your favorite?”
I smiled. “The Beauty and the Beast.”
“Villeuneuve’s La Belle et la Bête?” he
asked, with a charming French accent.
“Yes!” I said, astounded. “How did you
know?”
“I didn’t. That’s the only version I’ve read
actually.”
My eyes opened wide.
“What?” he asked.
“I feel like I'm in the twilight zone.”
He smirked. “It was about time for you to
realize it.”
“No, really,” I continued, paying no
attention to his weird statement. “Do you have any idea how weird
it is to find someone like you likes to read fairytales?”
“Well, it’s not that I enjoy reading that
type of literature. No offense.” He raised a hand in apology. “But
when you have a lot of spare time, reading is one of those things
that fills those empty spots in one’s life.”
“I bet you have a lot of books.”
“Pretty much.”
“No wonder why you have straight A’s on
everything.”
His lips twitched into a smile. “It helps.”
Besides from being gorgeous, he was smart as hell. How unfair.
“Why do you like that tale so much?” he
asked, intrigued.
“I'm not sure. Maybe it’s because it shows us
that love goes beyond the eye. That it doesn’t matter how you look
or what you are.”
He looked at me, his eyes suddenly intense.
“Do you believe that?”
“I-I do,” I stuttered, unable to ignore the
strength of his gaze.
“So…if you happened to be in Belle’s
position, could you love a…beast?”
“No,” I said, immediately.
He looked away, disappointed for some reason.
“Good, that’s…very wise,” he said, fixing his eyes on the
windshield.
“I would love his heart,” I confessed.
He turned to stare at me, a sudden spark
igniting in his eyes.
I gave him a small smile, embarrassed. “I
have a ridiculous degree of sentimentality, I know.”
His breathtaking smile returned. “I
definitely like that.”
My face flushed even deeper.
He started the engine once again, this time
driving slower. The trees lining the road weren't a blurry green
now. It surprised me how easily I’d convinced him to slow down.
Perhaps he was a nice person after all and I was the one making a
terrible misjudgment.
“Kalista…I’d been wondering about something
you said.”
I waited.
“What did you mean by me stepping out of my
boundaries, yesterday?”
My mind blanked. I wasn’t expecting that.
“Well, I…don’t know, it just came out.” I stumbled nervously. What
could I say to him? Definitely not the truth. I would make a fool
of myself.
“But it came out for a reason,” he
insisted.
“No, it didn’t.”
“Tell me.”
“It meant nothing.”
“Please,” he pressed, his voice melting
me.
Ugh. That honeyed tone was impossible to
resist! “I…the thing is that…” He waited. “That I'm not stupid,
okay? I know you belong to another world.”
He snapped his eyes at me, as if afraid of
something. “Explain?”
I paused for a moment. “You’re kind of the
most…wanted guy in school and…and I'm just me, you know. I mean, I
belong with the others, not with your VIP, super exclusive world,
so, when you come and talk to me it just…confuses me. And it
confuses the others, too. It would be better if you just stayed on
your side and do your thing because…because…” I looked down at my
hands.“…if you somehow decided that it was time to pay attention to
people outside your elite circle, then let me tell you that I'm the
wrong person to start with. I'm pretty boring.”
The car stopped. We were in front of my
porch, the house resting peacefully behind it. He turned his head
and stared at me. “Look, I know I'm not the most sociable person,
and that I tend to stay away from people. But if I want to be
friends with you, I don’t see why it would be wrong, or why the
others should care—unless you’re the one who cares.”
“I don’t.” I shook my head. Didn’t I care,
though? If not, why was my throat suddenly clogged? Why did the
idea of being his friend make me so nervous? How in the world had
this happened? Why did he want to be my friend?
“You’re a great girl,” he said, answering my
unspoken question. “You don’t even come close to being boring.
Actually, you’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.
So why wouldn’t I want to be your friend?”
