Fearscape (11 page)

“
Animals, mostly.”

“
What else?”

He gave her a sideways grin. “The chessboard Ms. Wilcox used in her chiaroscuro lecture.”

Haltingly, she said, “That was yours? I thought — ”
I thought it was professional, real.

“
I played.” He admitted this as casually as other boys owned up to sports. “It was easy.”

Val caught herself bobbing her head in agreement and checked herself. She wasn't supposed to know that he was a master. “Chess, or drawing it?”

His smile widened. “Both.”

“
Do you draw people?”

“
Not usually.”

“
So sometimes, then.”

“
When I find a subject that arouses my interest, then yes. But I prefer animals. They don't have the same unfortunate tendency to pose, and are much easier to work with. The next class will be an exception to my rule, however.”

“
What's the occasion?”

“
I'll be drawing you.”

“
Me?” It came out as a yelp.

“
We trade places, remember?” He placed her pens, which she had forgotten in the long blades of grass, into her hand, closing her fingers lightly around them. “It'll be my turn to do you against the tree, or other applicable surface.”

Val, at this moment, understood suddenly what the life of a radiator must be like.

“
Careful,” Gavin said. “If you keep blushing like that, I may do more than just draw you.”

And with that one remark he turned, leaving her standing there in the quad as it slowly began to fill up with students as she watched his departing back. It sounded like a suggestion. It also sounded, vaguely, like a threat. That was when Val knew that she was in trouble: because she didn't really care, either way.

Chapter Seven

During the bus ride to school, Val felt extremely apprehensive. The weekend had given her plenty of time to amass her doubts, primarily sown by Lisa, and now they had taken root and sprouted, seeping so deeply into her brain that, like weeds, she could never be entirely sure whether she'd successfully chased them out.

Was Gavin her stalker?

Did her stalker want to hurt her?

Did
Gavin
want to hurt her?

They marched on — an endless array of questions, each as poisonous and vicious as a hydra. And, like the hydra, it seemed that as soon as Val managed to slay one question several more spawned to fill its place.

Would she have been so quick to suspect Gavin if he had been popular?

No. Popular people tended to think like everyone else. It made them less interesting to be around, less exciting, but it also made them less likely to stalk people — or hurt people.

Hurt
her
.

Val rubbed at her tummy and leaned back against the seat. She'd forgone breakfast that morning in favor of stealing one of her father's carbonated lemon-flavored waters in the hopes that something innocuous and familiar would help settle her stomach.

It hadn't.

She found the art classroom empty except for Gavin, who was behind the teacher's desk, typing something at the computer. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“
Just entering some grades and things,” he said vaguely. “Are you ready to pose for me?”

Val took a sip of her water. The bubbles stung her chapped lips. “Shouldn't we wait? For Mrs. Wilcox, I mean?”

“
I spoke to her earlier this morning.”

“
Oh. Okay.” Val picked up her things, aware of his eyes on her.

“
You can't get away so easily.” He stood up from the desk and stretched. “You seem different, by the way. Subdued, almost. Are you all right?”

“
I don't feel well.”

“
Hmm.” He held open the door for her. “I'll try not to overexert you, then.”

They walked across the quad. She found herself looking around, wondering if people had noticed her and Gavin together. Nobody she could see was watching, and she knew that on a rational level it was likely nobody would, but being around him made Val hyper-aware of everything. Him, especially. Even if she'd chosen not to abide by them, Lisa's warnings still rang quite clearly in her mind.

(I'd still bring it up with Gavin. See what he says, and if he acts guilty. He's who I'd suspect.)

He certainly didn't act guilty. He didn't betray any emotions at all. Even the various rumors of which he was the subject didn't seem to faze him. Val had never met anyone before who was so detached from other people's thoughts and actions. Was someone like that even capable of looking guilty or feeling guilt at all?

(He scares people.)

Despite her claims to the contrary, Val was very much influenced by the opinions of others and for all Gavin's politeness and charm, there was something dark gathered around him as if he were the epicenter of a brewing storm.

He frightened her, and yet she couldn't stay away.

“
Against the tree?” His voice sliced through her thoughts like a hot knife through butter.

“
Um, sure.” He had led her to the same place as before. She had followed him so blindly she hadn't even noticed.
I didn't even see where we were going
. “Standing or sitting?”

“
Sitting, I think, since you said you didn't feel well.” He studied her, then tapped his sketchpad with his pencil. “Take off your coat.”

“
It's chilly out.”

As she spoke the words a breeze rustled the leaves and her hair, as if in agreement. Winter had long since yielded to spring, but very reluctantly.

“
I can't draw you bundled up like that.” He sat about six feet away with his own coat flared out behind him like a pair of black wings adding, “It isn't as if I asked you to strip for me.”

“
I never said anything about that, just that it was cold!”

“
Your thoughts are written all over your face.” He paused. “Why, Val, what an interesting shade of scarlet you're turning.”

She yanked her arms out of the side and tossed it aside. “There,” she growled. “Satisfied?”

“
Always, with you,” was his soft response, which made her feel embarrassed for letting her emotions get the better of her like a child. He smiled fleetingly and commenced drawing.

Val closed her eyes and tried not to move. She was so nervous that her hands were shaking. She shifted them to her lap where it would be less noticeable. There was a chill in the air despite the sun, and it grew colder and steadily more biting in the shade of the mulberry tree.

“
Don't move,” he said, when she shivered.

It was funny, how easy being still was at home when you were daydreaming at the window or reading a good book, but how hard it was while in the presence of someone who made you feel … odd. It didn't help, either, that he was far more at ease than her.

He had positioned her against the same tree but with her legs bent at a demure angle, her head tilted slightly back. She'd made the decision to close her eyes since she had no hope of attempting the stare-down he'd given her last time, and he didn't seem to consider it an impediment to his drawing — thank God.

“
Tilt your head back more,” he said, “and then slightly to the side. Stop fidgeting.”

She clenched her hands tighter in her lap.

“
Beautiful,” she thought he said, and this was so faint she wondered if she had imagined it.

After what felt like eternity, but couldn't have been more than ninety minutes, he said, “You can relax now. I'm just about done.”

Her whole body seemed to sigh in relief. She got up too fast and stumbled a little, only to feel his steadying hand on her back, just at the base of her spine. His eyes were dark, thrown into shadow cast by his facing away from the sun. “Are you all right?”

He smelled like roses and sandalwood and boy. “Um — ”

The arm around her waist tightened. “Would you like to see?”

“
Excuse me?” There was something wrong with her ears.

“
Here.”

Oh — the drawing.

She peered at the sketchbook, not entirely sure what she expected to see. Only that it filled with a doubt that bordered on dread, and was so intense it left her breathless. But it was just a simple picture of her, sitting under the tree, formed by soft lines in charcoal pencil. He'd captured something of her in that sketch of his, though. Something that blurred the lines between what she was, versus what he wanted her to be, between sensible and sensual, between fact and fiction.

She raised her eyes. They were worried. “Is this how you see me?”

“
At that moment, yes,” he said.

And something about that phrasing gave her pause, though she said, “It's good.”

“
It will be better when it's colored but I imagine that the color of your hair will be difficult to capture on paper.”

The hair on the back of her neck prickled in alarm.

“
Val? You've gone pale.”

It was the sun that was bothering her. Eclipsed by his face, the sun had gone black.

She must have closed her eyes, because when she opened them again she found herself lying on the ground. Gavin's face was above hers, curious, but dispassionate. Surely that couldn't be right, though, because then he noticed her looking and smiled, stroking her cheek.

“
You fainted for a moment there.”

She brought her hands to her throbbing temples. “I feel so dizzy.”

“
Mm-hmm.”

“
Is that why my ears were ringing? It feels like they're packed with cotton.” She stuck a finger in her ear and wiggled it a little, but he lowered her hand back to her side.

“
It sounds like you had a panic attack.”

“
A panic attack?” she repeated. “But I wasn't panicking — ”

“
Mere anxiety can be enough. What were you thinking about?”

“
About my stalker.”

“
Oh?”

Her throat contracted as she looked up. His expression hadn't changed.

“
I have a stalker. He's really sick. He sends me these messages — ”

“
About?”

Was there more than just innocent curiosity behind that single word? “Sexual things.” She looked away. Just thinking about it made her feel sick. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“
What did you eat this morning?”

She blinked. “Um. Nothing. Just water — with lemon.”

“
Ah. Lemon juice lowers your blood pressure,” he explained. “That, combined with stress. I'm not at all surprised you fainted. In fact, it's rather impressive you holding up as long as you did.”

Val didn't feel impressive. She felt like an idiot.

“
I imagine you don't want to return to class.”

She made a noise of agreement.

“
And since we're already late for second period — ” he spread his coat on the ground “ — why not rest here? I see you've already got your things. That makes it a bit simpler.”

“
Aren't you going to ask me if I want to go to the nurse?”

“
Do you?”

“
No, but — ”

“
Then it doesn't matter.” He leaned back. “Does it?”

Val stared at him. He was so strange. “Don't you have a class to go to?”

“
Biology. They won't miss me.”

“
Oh.” The wind lifted a strand of her hair. She batted it aside impatiently. “English for me.”

“
What are you reading?”

“
Wuthering Heights
. We just finished
Titus
.” Val let her tone convey her impressions of it.

“
You didn't like it?”

“
Did
you
?”

“
Oh, yes. It's one of my favorite Shakespearean plays. '
We hunt not, we, with horse nor hound, / But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground
.' The writing is quite beautiful.”

“
Ugh, no, it's awful.” Val rolled onto her side. “Why do you talk like that?”

“
Hmm?”

“
You sound like one of the characters in the books we read in English.”

“
Is that a compliment, or an insult?”

“
It's weird.” She shook her head. “Normal people don't talk like that.”