A Tale of Two Centuries (7 page)

My voice echoes off the tile below our feet. Austin lifts a dark brow…and suddenly, I realize that I am.

Panic sears my cheeks as I look around and notice all prior conversation, even the young instructor’s lecture, has halted.

The girl in front of Austin purses her lips in a cruel sort of grin, and I see the instructor watching me, waves of disappointment pouring off her. Every eye in the room is turned in our direction, which for some reason ultimately prompts Austin to give me my coveted grin.

My mouth goes dry.

I have never—
never—
held myself with anything other than complete decorum, public or otherwise, yet spending less than five minutes in Austin Michaels’s presence has led to complete and utter depravity.

“I-
I’m
s-so very—” I begin, only to feel Austin’s warm hand close around mine.

“My fault, Miss E. Pen slipped.” He looks to the floor and grins. “Book, too.”

Miss E
’s dark brow hitches heavenward as she studies us. After what feels like an eternity she says, “While I have no doubt that you somehow share the blame, Mr. Michaels, I will still need to see the both of you after class.”

All I can do is nod, my cheeks and neck burning in humiliation. The fight, my anger, and all perplexing bodily reactions have left me. In their place remains nothing but a surreal feeling of disbelief. Miss Edwards sighs, and the class continues.

“That’s some sexy accent you have there,” Austin says in a hushed voice—but not
that
hushed. A few people around us snicker at my evident discomfort, which of course only serves to spur him on more. “Italian, right? Mmm. Say something else—how do you say
blush
in Italian?”

When I ignore him, he says, “You sure do have that rosy glow going on. Normally I have to work harder to inspire something like that. Like what you see,
Princess
?”

“D-don’t call me that,” I stammer, blushing all the more from his brazen question. “And I do
not
blush.”

That earns me my wink. “Sure you don’t.”

Austin looks to the front of the room, and I follow his gaze. The teacher has her back turned, drawing what appears to be a map of sorts on the whiteboard. My eyes flick to the large clock mounted on the wall. Class is nearly over, and I have managed to follow exactly nothing of the lecture.

Alas, my experience thus far as a modern-day student has not been exemplary.

Though I do not wish Austin to know the effect he has on me, I cannot keep my eyes from snapping back. And when I do, I find him practically in my seat. His long torso is stretched across the aisle, and his face is ever so close. Warm breath fans across my cheeks, and I catch the scent of mint. Soulful blue eyes drill into mine as he dares to touch a lock of my hair, twisting it around one long, tanned finger. My heart pounds at his blatant familiarity.

This must be what rage feels like.

Under his breath, Austin says, “It’s too bad that wasn’t a blush. I thought it was kinda hot.”

A shocked puff of air and saucer-like eyes are my only response—having learned from Cat’s list of words the double meaning of the word
hot
—and the left side of Austin’s mouth lifts in a smile of victory. He settles back in his own seat and reinserts his earbuds. The pen tapping begins again, only this time louder and with more force.

I raise my chin and stare straight ahead, vowing to keep my eyes from straying to the ill-mannered
jerk
beside me for the rest of class. I count the seconds in time with his taps.

I do believe I hate Austin Michaels.

Chapter Seven

The bell rings, and I longingly watch the rest of my classmates file from the room, inexplicably eager to sit for another hour in an uncomfortable chair surrounded by insufferable boys such as the one beside me. The main door opens again, and I meet my cousin’s eye. Cat checks the watch I complimented her on this morning and mouths the words
let’s go,
but I shake my head
.
I cannot leave—though nothing would make me happier—thanks in large part to the embodiment of evil who has joined me in front of the instructor’s desk looking annoyingly unaffected and quite honestly,
bored
.

Is it possible he genuinely does not care about being in trouble?

Miss Edwards finishes scribbling a note and flicks her amber gaze up at the two of us. A sense of familiarity washes over me, but then she says in a clearly frustrated tone, “You know, I had hoped my first class would go a tad more smoothly.”

Distressed, I shove my hair out from behind my ear in an attempt to shield my face. I lower my lashes and see Austin shuffling his feet.

Hmm, perhaps he is nervous.

When I lift my head, Austin is watching me, a strange, almost soft look in his eyes. It does even stranger things to my stomach.

Austin holds my gaze for a long moment before turning to our teacher. “Look, Miss E., it really was my fault. I was just messing with the new kid.” He tosses her an impish grin. “Didn’t Mrs. Spano clue you in on how exasperating I can be?”

More shocking than him taking the full blame for the incident is him taking any of it. For the last forty-odd minutes, I have rehashed and relived every horrifying moment, coming to the sad conclusion that the disruption was entirely my doing. No one else seemed disturbed by Austin’s boorish actions, nor did anyone else feel the need to fling his pen across the room. That was all me. But it does not mean I plan to hinder his surprising act of gallantry now.

Chivalry may not be dead in this era, after all.

Austin’s long lashes sweep across his cheekbones, and I turn to our young instructor, wondering if his bewitching magic can work on her as well. She tilts her head to the side and purses her lips, then slides her gaze to me. “Miss Forlani?”

Wrinkling my nose, I stare at her blankly, knowing the name sounds familiar but unable to place it. She consults a sheet of paper on her desk with a raised eyebrow. “You are Alessandra Forlani, correct?”

Fiddlesticks.

“Oh, yes! That is me—Alessandra Forlani.” I bob a curtsy, and two different sets of eyes narrow in my direction.

Oops.

Flustered and fervently wishing my cousin could send me just a dash of her confidence and possibly a few words from her quick tongue, I push on. “I—I recently transferred here. From Florence. And I’m staying with the Crawford family. Beautiful family, really, and their home is quite splendid, filled with such enchanting things I never would have thought possible. It is amazing—”

I cut off here, realizing my rambling is only causing more harm. At least I did squeak in a contraction.

Miss Edwards squints at me long enough for my heart to threaten to stop beating altogether, but then the lines on her forehead smooth out, and she nods. Austin, however, turns his torso more toward me, continuing his quiet scrutiny with clear, shrewd eyes.

If he had but devoted such attention to the lecture, perchance we would not be in this predicament.

Trying my best to ignore him, I go to shove my hair from behind my ear and notice it already is. Instead, I brush it behind my shoulder, then fidget with the folds in my skirt.

“Wow, Florence,” Miss Edwards says, studying me with impressed focus. “Glad to hear you’re settling in. I hope you’ll like it here, though I can imagine it’s a big change.”

Feeling Austin’s perceptive gaze still on me, I offer a small smile, trying not to convey just how big a change it truly is.

The instructor sighs. Sliding her glasses off with one hand, she pinches the bridge of her nose with the other and says, “Alessandra, it’s like this. It’s the beginning of a new semester—and for you, a new experience in a new country. I don’t know if Austin just has a unique talent for challenging patience, or if things were different in your old school, but I can’t have interruptions like that in my class. And—” She lifts a hand at Austin. “Before you argue, Mr. Michaels, I’m not only talking about the pen and the book. There was palpable tension radiating from the pair of you for the remainder of the hour, distracting the students around you and, quite frankly,
me
.”

She shuffles through a stack of papers on her desk, obviously searching for something, and I meet Austin’s eyes, knowing my own are filled with panic. His lips twitch into a semblance of a smile at the same time his bright blue eyes seem to say,
it will be all right.
And for some reason, my frantic pulse eases.

Then the instructor speaks again.

“It’s no secret that this is my first teaching job, and I would like to begin it on a good note. A mentor advised during my student teaching that when two people clash as quickly and strongly as the two of you, there are a couple options I can take to ensure incidents like this don’t happen again: I can either separate you or force you to work together.”

The hint of reassurance in Austin’s intense gaze vanishes as he laughs. “And when you say student teaching, do you really mean kindergarten?”

Although that particular word was not included in Cat’s teenspeak list, I can decipher from the condescension in his tone and the tensing of Miss Edwards’s fingers that Austin’s comment was not at all helpful.

“Make all the jokes you want, Mr. Michaels, but I believe I’m here to do more than teach government. I didn’t become a teacher to just open a text book and regurgitate information about a subject that you, of all people, already know so much about.”

A muscle in his jaw clenches and his gaze sharpens. They share a brief, mysterious look. I glance back and forth between them, frowning, knowing I am missing something important, and wishing I had paid better attention to the lecture.

What could Austin know so much about?

“I think I’m also here to teach life skills,” she continues. “To get you ready for college and life in the great beyond. So, knowing that, I’ve decided to go with the latter kindergarten principle. Here’s your first lesson.”

She holds out a paper, which Austin makes no move to take. Reluctantly, I grab the sheet, noting
Modern-Day Leadership
written in bold letters at the top…a subject I know
nothing
about.

“As of now, the two of you are partners for our first class project. Congratulations! All the particulars are included on the sheet, it is due in two weeks, and you’re more than welcome to come to me—together as a team—with any questions before then. With an entire weekend stretching before you, may I suggest you get a head start?”

I blink and Austin rubs the back of his neck. Behind us, a stream of students pours through the open door, preparing for the next class, and I catch sight of Cat standing just outside, looking rather impatient. If we do not leave now, we will both be late for our next class. I swallow and grasp the paper tighter.

“Thank you, ma’am. I shall look forward to completing the assignment.”

Austin chokes on a laugh, and I shoot him a look of death. His presumed humor is decidedly
not
advantageous.

Miss Edwards nods her dismissal, and Austin follows me through the door. Leaning close to my ear as we enter the hallway, he says, “Looks like you got some work to do.”

I freeze mid-step, causing a dainty girl looking even more lost than I am to ram into me. Without even stopping to hear my apology, she weaves around us and breaks into a sprint. I take a breath and twirl to face my new nemesis.

“
I
have work to do?” I shake the paper in my hand, unable to believe that he intends to leave me—someone not even from this time—in charge of our shared project on twenty-first-century government! “I do believe you mean
we.
”

Cat stands to the side of us, watching with unabashed interest.

Austin rakes a hand through his already disheveled hair and says simply, “Yeah, I don’t really do the whole school thing. But hey, good luck with that.”

And with those parting words, he spins on his heel. Instantly the frenzied crowd swallows him whole, leaving me gaping in the eye of the storm as harried classmates rush past down the hall.

Well, so much for chivalry.

My skin prickles with righteous ire, and I draw in a ragged breath. Staring at my cousin, and then at the empty space Austin inhabited just moments before, I say, “Have you
ever
met anyone so rude…so infuriating…so completely… Oof!” Evidently, simple words will not do him or this situation full justice. So instead, I shake my head and tighten my fists. “Can you
believe
him?”

Cat clamps her lips together. If I did not know better, I would swear she was stifling a laugh. “Honestly? No. I can’t believe Mr. Laidback and Never Shows Up actually made it to class, much less provoked you in the hallway. I also can’t believe he got my straitlaced, proper cousin all tongue-tied and crazy.”

On instinct, I open my mouth to defend myself, but after a moment’s hesitation, close it again. As much as I would adore denying my cousin’s accusation, I cannot. This only serves to make me seethe even more.

So it would seem that, along with inducing depravity in an otherwise respectable female, Austin Michaels can also add erasing my ability to speak properly to his irritating list of inherent powers.

Cat shakes her head and tugs me onward. “You know, as much as I’d love to hear what it is he did to get you all riled up, your next class starts in, like…” She widens her eyes at her watch, then picks up her pace to a slow sprint. “
Crap
, in a minute. But don’t think you’re off the hook. At lunch, you are totally spilling how all
that
just happened.”

I trudge along behind my cousin and think,
If I am able to make it that long
.

Yet somehow, by the grace of Signore, the stars above, or more likely, the lack of Austin in my next two classes, I get through the rest of my morning. Biology proves surprisingly interesting, though I overhear rumblings of an upcoming fetal pig dissection and take a moment to pray it occurs
after
Reyna returns me to my own time, and then comes British literature—a subject that primarily discusses works created after my time, but I am still able to semi-follow. But through it all, my mind keeps flashing back to American government…or more specifically, to a particular insufferable classmate.

The bell rings again.

I gather my notebook and pen, place them inside my satchel, and follow the line of eager students fleeing through the door. The moment I step out into the cluttered chaos of the hall, Cat materializes near my elbow. “Spill it.”

It takes the entire journey to our midday meal, down the stairs and outside the building, sidestepping gossiping students, for me to share the sordid story of my first high school experience. Pausing outside the large double doors to the cafeteria, I catch a whiff of something delicious. My stomach rumbles. From the corner of my eye I see my cousin’s lips twitch at my tale, and with a huff, I say, “The rest you witnessed yourself in the hallway.”

Cat nods. Her lips twitch again, and in an obvious attempt to transform her amusement into sympathy, she places a hand on my shoulder. “Wow.” She clears her throat. “That was…wow.”

She clamps her lips around her teeth, but unfortunately the gesture does nothing to stop the laughter shining in her big brown eyes. I sigh the sigh of the weary and grin despite my embarrassment. I guess the situation
is
rather amusing in retrospect.

Cat’s dazzling smile bursts through her composure in answer to my own. “Now
that
’s what I call a first impression.”

Shaking my head, I strive for the positive. “At least it cannot be said that I am forgettable.”

“Nope, you’re definitely not that.”

She laughs, then tugs open the doors, enveloping us both in an intense wall of sound. I widen my eyes and take a hesitant step inside, openly gawking.

The chaotic maze of hallways has nothing on this room. Bright multicolored papers litter the walls. Undistinguishable foul scents mingle with mouth-watering temptation. Loud music meets a cacophony of yelling, laughter, and utensils clanking, all melding into one elongated roar.

Lining the periphery of the space are various food stations, each boasting their own delectable choices, and each wafting a unique, overpowering aroma. Rows of students stand before them, choosing items before shuffling away laden with trays to the eating area in the center. Here, tables and chairs are squished together for seating, but apparently also for leaning, standing, and in one odd case (and what should be impossible, considering the noise level), napping.

Squeezing my throbbing temples between my hands, I ask, “Where does one even begin in this bedlam? How do you even
think
, much less choose what to eat or where to sit?”

“Well, I usually just follow my nose, or when I’m lazy, the shortest line,” Cat replies, leading me to a station labeled
Panini.
“In this case, the line is both short and the choice particularly yummy. Now, as for where to sit,
normal
people clump together in their group of status.”

Selecting a Sicilian panini from the menu, a fun nod to my homeland, I wrinkle my nose at her word choice. Cat sees my confusion and explains. “I don’t really have a group…or a social status…or even many friends.” She pins me with a look. “Mama Dearest—aka Caterina Angeli, the vixen of Hollywood, and the reigning queen of tabloids everywhere—pretty much kept me friendless until my little time travel escapade. When I got back, I started hanging out with this girl Hayley, but she eats during the second lunch period. So peeps like me kinda just float wherever the spirit moves us. And today, it’s leading me over there.” She points her elbow to a semi-empty table toward the back.