Warped (4 page)

Chapter 5

T
his is all wrong
. Tessa felt the seat-belt buckle grind into her hip as Hunter Scoville leaned into the kiss, angling his head as if he meant to swallow her whole. He shifted one arm behind her while his free hand slid under the front of her sweater. The night air felt as cool as a splash of water on her skin, but his hands were hot, almost sticky. Hunter lurched forward again with hands and tongue. Tessa’s head banged against the window.

Um. No
.

“Stop.” Tessa broke away with what she meant to be a gentle push, but it turned into a two-fisted shove. Without thinking, she brought one knee up.

Hunter drew back in surprise, then eased himself back in the driver’s seat. He ran a hand through his dark, cropped hair. “Sorry. Problem?”

“No problem.” Tessa said. She winced as she unsnagged a strand of her hair from the door handle.

In the dim light she could see his flushed face, the sheen on his forehead as if he had been running. He’d gone from zero to sweaty in about ten seconds.
A sexual Porsche
, she thought.
Meanwhile, I’m . . . what? Pedaling along, waiting for
. . . What
was
she waiting for, anyway? She wasn’t sure. But it definitely wasn’t Hunter.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Huh?” Tessa stumbled toward an answer. “I’m not—” She broke off.
What? That kind of girl? Into you? Into having my tonsils excavated on our first kiss?
Anything she said at this point would sound lame. “Nothing,” she said. She realized she was still balled up in a defensive position, like a nervous hedgehog. Awkward with self-consciousness, she straightened her legs and smoothed her rucked-up sweater.

Hunter leaned closer again. His breath was warm in her ear. “It’s just, the way we met, right away I felt a connection. It was like fate brought us together or something. Do you believe in fate?” he asked softly.

Tessa frowned. “Fate? No, I don’t think so.”

They’d met when Tessa got hit in the face by one of Hunter’s volleyball serves in gym. Not exactly the most romantic beginning. But Hunter had been very apologetic and really nice. And somewhere, she recalled, between getting an ice pack applied and having gauze stuffed up her bloody nose, he had asked her out. Of course she’d known who he was; he was one of the most popular guys in school. They even shared some classes. But Hunter had never seemed to notice her before.

“It was an accident,” she said.

“A good accident,” said Hunter. “Who knows, Tess?” he added. His smile was a gleam of white in the dark. “Maybe I really planned it all along.”

Tessa frowned. She knew he was joking, but the idea of it bothered her. She hated being manipulated. Almost as much as she hated being called Tess.

When she didn’t say anything, Hunter shrugged and leaned forward to change the radio station. Tessa cast a sideways look at him. He
was
cute. He had deep blue eyes and a slightly goofy lopsided grin that dimpled one cheek. And it was a beautiful night. Below them, the quiet waters of the cove were lit with color from Portland’s city lights. The rich, salty smell of sea air drifted in from the shore. But she couldn’t help feeling that something was just . . . wrong. She reached out and tapped the bobble-head baseball figure stuck to the dashboard of the SUV.

“Who’s this?” she asked.

Hunter twisted to face her. “You’re kidding right? That’s David Ortiz. Red Sox? You’re not a Yankees fan or something, are you?” he demanded.

Tessa smiled at the hint of actual outrage in Hunter’s voice. “No. I didn’t recognize him is all,” she confessed. She glanced at Hunter with a half smile. “He’s shorter than I expected.”

Hunter frowned. “It’s a collectible.”

“Right. Sorry,” Tessa murmured. “Guess I’m just not real sporty.” What was she doing here?
Note to self: never make social plans after blunt head trauma
.

A female singer’s voice filled the silence of the car. The song was plaintive and moody. Something about losing her way in the dark. A path overgrown with broken hearts. Forever alone, forever apart. For some reason Tessa’s thoughts returned to the strange tapestry. She just hadn’t felt right since she’d first seen it. And the wild sensations and dreams, if that’s what they were, were pretty strange.

Hunter drew her closer and Tessa tightened up. Her cheeks felt flaming hot and her lips felt raw, even though it had only been one kiss. “I’d better go home now,” she said. “I haven’t been feeling too well today.” She grimaced and pointed vaguely to her stomach. “I’d hate to give you something. I’ve heard there’s this bug going around school. Something gastrointestinal. Really bad.”

Hunter shook his head as if in disbelief and leaned back. “Yeah. Okay,” he replied. Tessa could practically hear the eye-roll. He started up the car and threw the shift into gear.

She couldn’t think of anything to say to Hunter (and apparently it was mutual—wow, big surprise), so all the way home she concentrated on pretending she was alone. She was riding a city bus. She and the boy next to her were strangers.

It wasn’t that hard.

At school the next day Tessa thought about all the words she would use to describe her social life:
Dismal. Awkward. Meager
. She was a walking thesaurus of pathetic.

Maybe she wasn’t meant to date in high school. There were people like that, weren’t there? Sure. They kept them in a glass case somewhere, right along with alien artifacts and mutant circus freaks. Hunter had treated her politely when he dropped her off at home, but he had definitely had that look . . . like he was visiting Area 51.

Tessa knew she wasn’t the only virgin in the senior class of Prescott High School. But sometimes it sure felt that way. And now, after the weirdness over the weekend, she could add blackouts and hallucinations to her list of What Makes Me Special. Great.

Tessa shook her head and took a blank sheet of paper from her folder. She gazed out the window, chose a craggy-barked oak tree and began to draw. Usually the smooth scratch of pencil on paper could take her mind off anything. Not that she was talented. It was the sound she liked. It reminded her of her mother. At the breakfast table, on the beach, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her mom had always been sketching.

Opal slid into the seat in front of Tessa. It figured. The one day Opal wasn’t running late and dashing in just as their English lit class started.
Look busy
, Tessa told herself. She hunched forward and kept her pencil moving diligently even as she stole a glance up at her friend. Opal wore a long, swirling paisley skirt and a lace-trimmed peasant blouse. A wide leather belt with a huge Harley-Davidson buckle cinched her tiny waist and complemented the black leather bolero. The combo wouldn’t have worked on anyone in the world except Opal.

Along with being fashion fearless, Opal Kandinsky was also Tessa’s best friend, had been since second grade. Unfortunately she was also an information junkie of the worst kind, and she knew Tessa had been out with Hunter the night before. Tessa looked around, fuming. Where was Mr. Lawner? Whatever happened to teacher punctuality? Academic integrity? Early dismissal? Maybe if she was very quiet and really lucky, Opal wouldn’t even—

“Well?” Opal was digging through the canvas messenger bag on her lap but shot the question over one shoulder. She stopped rummaging and cocked her head. Tessa could just picture the expression—one sharply curved eyebrow raised and a gleam of curiosity in her tilted green cat’s eyes. Like a gossip-hungry pixie.

“Well what?” Tessa hissed. The pencil tip snapped under the pressure she was putting on it. She glanced down at the paper and frowned. She’d drawn only a series of wavy, crisscrossing lines. It wasn’t even a decent doodle.

“Your
date
, dummy.” Opal half turned and shot Tessa a questioning look. “How’d it go? I tried your cell last night but it was off.”

“It went fine.” Tessa folded the paper before her into a neat square, then got up to toss the scrap in the recycling bin.

“C’mon,” Opal grumbled when Tessa got back. “You gotta give me something.”

“Well, if you have to know . . . ”

“And I do.”

“It was a disaster.”

At this Opal turned around fully. Concern clouded her small, heart-shaped face, and she pushed back her pale blond bangs as she looked at Tessa. She seemed relieved by what she saw, because she relaxed and smiled crookedly. “Disaster, huh? How bad?”

Tessa let out a deep breath. “The truth? All I needed was CNN and the Red Cross. Maybe a helicopter with one of those grappling hook thingies.”

Opal brought up a hand heavily beringed with silver and smothered a laugh.

“It couldn’t have been
that
bad. I mean, Hunter Scoville?”

“He’s nice,” Tessa said. “But we have nothing in common. Nothing to talk about. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Did you ever think,” Opal said, her eyebrows tented together, “that the guy is nervous and not up to great conversation?” She looked away. “Maybe he’s smitten.”

“I don’t think so.” Tessa smiled to herself at the word.
Smitten
. So struck with love you couldn’t function? She didn’t think it applied to Hunter Scoville. Certainly not to his tongue. “That sounds so old-fashioned,” she said softly. “I wonder if people even
get
smitten anymore.”

“Fine. Tell me the rest later,” Opal whispered as Mr. Lawner walked in the door.

“There
is
no rest,” Tessa hissed back.

Opal gave a “yeah, sure” smirk and turned around but whipped back. “I just remembered,” she said. “I’ve got a chemistry test next period.”

“Right. Good luck,” Tessa said.

Opal put out a hand. “Ahem?”

“Ahem?”

“The pig?” Opal gave an impatient huff.

Tessa’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh. Sorry.” She slipped the pig off her wrist.

It was a bracelet of green jade beads knotted together on a black cord. The central, largest bead was carved into a fat, happy-looking pig. As a good-luck charm, the pig had been through math tests, piano recitals, even dentist appointments. When Tessa was wearing it, Opal kept her in her thoughts, and vice versa. Sometimes Tessa thought
that
was the real luck of the pig—having a friend who worried about you, who hoped you didn’t screw up or get hurt.

“Here you go,” said Tessa. “Though he wasn’t much help last night.”

Opal shrugged as she put it on. “Maybe the pig had an off night.”

Tessa shook her head. “No. I think it’s just me.” She thought about the unicorn tapestry and the blackouts, or whatever those weird episodes had been. “Can you come over later?” Tessa asked. “There’s something I want to show you.”

“Sure.”

Mr. Lawner gave the girls a stern glance as he finished removing some papers from his desk drawer. “Morning, people,” he said. “Sorry I’m late. Now let’s get started.”

Chapter 6

HARTESCROSS

1511

W
illiam de Chaucy reined his horse to a halt but sat forward in the saddle, peering down the grassy slope. It was her. That girl from the village. He frowned, watching as she pulled at a bit of something in her hands and let it drop to the ground. What was she
doing?

His eyebrows rose in surprise and then astonishment as she hoisted her skirts and went tearing across the edge of the meadow. Her hair was loose, and it swirled behind her like a dark, liquid banner. And then she disappeared into the northern woods. What was she
thinking?

Will’s horse, Hannibal, blew a gusty breath and stamped. He was impatient with this interruption of their ride. But another rider was approaching, and Will held the horse in check. He turned in the saddle and let out a sigh. It was his older brother, pounding up on his charger.

“Where are you going?” Hugh de Chaucy demanded, panting as he reined in. Hugh always rode, Will had observed, as if
he
were doing the work, not the horse.

Will quickly surveyed the meadow. He relaxed slightly—there was no sign of her. Hugh hadn’t noticed anything. “Going?” he repeated distractedly, “Oh. Right. Just going for a ride. No need to follow me.”

“Alone? Why?” Hugh looked truly puzzled.

He never understood. Hugh liked to be surrounded by friends and noise and laughter. An hour’s worth of quiet contemplation entailed two things he particularly despised: quiet and contemplation. But sometimes these things were all Will desired.

“I just wanted to ride,” said Will, shrugging off his brother’s watchful gaze and examining the distant line of trees. Yet he could feel the weight of Hugh’s assessing look. Will wore a shirt of rough cambric, doeskin breeches and soft boots. A woolen cloak so old as to be of uncertain color was slung across his broad shoulders.

“You’re not dressed to hunt,” Hugh observed. His voice held a faint but unmistakable air of disappointment.

“No,” Will said firmly. If Hugh thought there was the least chance of killing something, he would insist on coming along. “I just want to ride.” He glanced to the meadow again, where jogging along awkwardly now was a portly youth who stopped and peered along the ground. He seemed to be searching for something. Will watched as the youth scratched his head and then his crotch.

“I just want to
think,
” Will amended. Surely that would put Hugh off.

“Hmm. It must be a girl,” said Hugh. When Will shot a frown at him, Hugh gave a triumphant grin that broadened his ruddy face and made his blue eyes nearly disappear in sparkling crescents above his cheeks. “It
is
a girl.” He slapped his meaty thigh.

Will didn’t reply but raked an impatient hand through his hair and silently cursed his brother. Would Hugh never leave? Will peered down the slope and frowned. Now the youth seemed to be entangled in a bush of some sort.

“Is it that short one from the village, the one with the hair in yellow ringlets?” Hugh sighed. “I love ringlets.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Will said, perhaps a little too quickly. He hoped his face didn’t show anything. But he needn’t have worried about revealing anything subtle to his brother. He had poked Hugh’s temper, which was as quick as his smile.