For Ever (7 page)

By the lunch bell, I’m so hungry that my legs
feel like they’re floating. I head straight for the cafeteria,
barely noticing when Josh appears next to me and starts complaining
about how much reading Mrs. Rose has assigned. His cologne or
aftershave is making me a little nauseous. Turning the corner, I
speed up at the sight of the cafeteria doors. I’m almost to the
line—and food—when I hear Josh call my name.

“Wren! Watch out!”

My heel touches something slick, and I feel
the linoleum flying out from under my feet. I manage to throw out
my arms to steady myself—but it’s too late. For a single second, I
see ceiling tiles and florescent lights. Squeezing my eyes shut, I
wince against the impending impact. But there’s no pain. Blinking,
I try to figure out why hitting the ground didn’t hurt. Suddenly,
something swings me upright, and I’m instantaneously eye-level with
someone’s chest.

I can tell the person in front of me isn’t
Josh, for two reasons. First, the smell of cologne isn’t choking
me. Whoever is standing in front of me smells perfect, like a mix
of clean laundry, mint, and something unidentifiable. Second, if it
were Josh, I would be able to see over his shoulders, and right now
my entire view of the cafeteria is mercifully blocked.

“Can you stand on your own?”

I smirk at the cynicism attached to the
question. I’m about to make a comment when I notice that someone
actually is holding me off the floor
by my backpack
. My eyes
sweep up, and
up
, and I finally see Ever Casey’s perfectly
indifferent face staring back at me. Judging from the fact that I
have to crane my neck all the way to make eye contact, I’m willing
to bet Ever Casey is at least a foot taller than my five-feet
four-inches.

I clear my throat.

“I’m fine.”

Slowly, he lowers me to the floor by my
backpack. Feeling a fresh dose of humiliation rush through me, I
stand up straighter and try to look nonchalant.

“You’re Ever Casey, right?” I say, wobbling
backward so I don’t have to contort my neck to look at him.

He really is breathtaking, and I’m having
trouble concentrating. Some of that is from hunger, but not all of
it.

“And you must be Wren Sullivan,” he says in a
way that makes it sound like I’ve taken some kind of liberty in
uttering his name.

Annoyed, I look down and study the linoleum.
His voice has a strangely soothing quality—in spite of his
attitude. He doesn’t sound American, but not really foreign either.
Just well spoken. His voice is deep, his pronunciation exact, but
somehow the words come out sounding honeyed and lyrical. I’m
guessing he’s from a family with means—well traveled, blah, blah,
blah. But then why is he here? In public school, no less? I thought
people like him went to boarding schools in the Swiss Alps and
played cricket.

I smirk.

“Yeah, I’m the one who crashed into you.”

“Twice,” he says evenly. “If you wouldn’t
mind, let us not try for a third.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I snap.

When I look up, I realize that I’m talking to
myself. I turn and scan the cafeteria. Ever Casey is already
halfway across the room, ignorant of—or indifferent to—the
whispering and staring following in his wake.

“Thinks he’s a superhero, now,” Josh mutters
under his breath from behind me.

I look back at Josh, having totally forgotten
he was still there. Getting into line, I grab a slice of pizza,
salad, and a juice. Then I try my best to act like nothing
happened, opening the juice and chugging it to raise my blood
sugar. Josh, who is still lingering at my side, rolls his eyes and
keeps walking toward our table as Ashley, Lindsay, and Taylor rush
up and begin hauling me toward the nearest empty corner.

“Oh my gawd!” Lindsay shrieks when Josh is
out of earshot. “
What
was that?”

“I almost killed myself in front of the
entire school,” I mutter.

“Yeah, and Ever Casey caught you!” Ashley
squeals.

Her tone is bordering on hysterical. This
only confirms my hypothesis that Ever Casey has inspired a legion
of crushes. Given his attitude, I can’t see why. Physical beauty
trumps all, I think bitterly.

“Speak! What did he say to you?” Lindsay
demands.

As I drink the rest of my juice, I fill them
in on our brief interaction, watching uneasily as their eyes widen
with each detail.

“Un-freaking-real!” Lindsay says, slapping
her hand on the nearest table. “He talked to you.”

Studying their expressions, I ask the dumbest
question I can think of.

“Um, he does
talk
, right?”

The three of them exchange looks.

“No,” Ashley says. “Not really.”

I look to Lindsay for confirmation.

“Come on. You guys are joking. Right?” I ask,
waiting for the punch line.

“Honest to God, he doesn’t speak. At least,
not if he doesn’t have to,” Lindsay says without a shred of irony.
“I know a girl who has physics with him, and she’s never heard him
say a word.”

I had assumed—logically—that it was normal
for him to speak.

“But he talked just now …”

Granted, it was only for a few seconds, and
the conversation wasn’t very friendly, I remind myself.

“I know!” Ashley squeaks. “It was totally
crazy! Are you sure he didn’t say anything else?”

I shake my head. “That was it.”

“Maybe he likes you,” Lindsay says.

Lindsay and Ashley suddenly roar with
laughter while Taylor just looks uncomfortable.

“Great, thanks,” I mumble.

Ashley tries to stop laughing.

“Sorry, that came out wrong. It’s just
that—well, you saw him. He’s frea-king gorgeous, and any girl here
would sell a kidney just to have him look at her. But, seriously,
he’s kind of
not there
. Remember, I told you he gets perfect
grades and everything, but around people he’s just, I don’t know,
strange.”

Lindsay twirls her finger around her ear and
crosses her eyes. I start to laugh; then I remember the unnerving
emptiness I found in his eyes. But it’s not like I can tell my
friends about that part, so I shrug.

“He sounded pretty normal to me. Not super
friendly, but normal. Has anybody else tried talking to him?”

The two of them explode into laughter
again.

“Uh, yeah. Like half the school,” Lindsay
says.

“Even Emily Michaels,” Ashley adds with a
grimace.

“Why, Wren?” Lindsay swats at me. “Are you
into him?”

I want to kill this subject as fast as
possible. My dating history, or lack thereof, is not something I
want to broadcast at my new school. Out of the corner of my eye, I
notice Taylor turning pale. It makes me feel that much worse about
Josh being so colossally obtuse.

“No! Now can we eat something? I’m
starving.”

When we join Josh and Marcus, Josh points
accusingly at us.

“See, I told you. All of them, totally
obsessed with Space Boy,” Josh grumbles.

“Yeah, but Wren’s the first one that faints
when she sees him,” Marcus says, dramatically miming my shocked
expression and fall.

My cheeks redden.

“I slipped. Josh saw me.”

“Admit it,” Marcus crows. “You’ve got a thing
for him.”

“Oh, yeah. I am
so
in love with Ever
Casey.”

I place my hand over my heart and feign a
wistful expression, though I can’t help noticing Josh seething
across from me. Looking down at my pizza, I’m relieved when
everyone starts talking about things that don’t involve me nearly
biting it on the cafeteria floor. I eat quickly before making an
excuse about having to go to the office. In reality, I just want to
walk to English alone without Josh moping next to me. I get halfway
across the cafeteria before I notice Ever Casey sitting at a table.
By himself, as usual.

If I hadn’t known better, I would have
expected him to be surrounded by adoring masses. Instead, he looks
like he exists in a different world, completely cut off,
disinterested in anything or anyone around him. Nobody even goes
near him. It’s almost like he’s surrounded by an impenetrable
bubble. It makes me wonder, though, why he even bothered to prevent
my collision with the linoleum—twice—if he’s so intent on avoiding
high school life.

After all, what does he care? Or, better yet,
why did
I
give a flying Fig Newton when he didn’t come back
to Mr. Gideon’s class? We’re total strangers, and despite his
outward perfection and occasional—extremely reluctant—acts of
semi-heroism, Ever Casey seems like a jerk.

He looks up, and our eyes meet for a single
second. But his expression doesn’t change. It’s empty, completely
clear of recognition or emotion. I hurry toward the door and don’t
look back.

Then that’s it. Ever Casey doesn’t so much as
look in my direction again. The next day is the same. And the day
after. It stays that way; he stays that way. But it’s not like I
was expecting anything. Well, maybe some indication that he was
human, a flicker of emotion—anything other than indifference or
mild disregard—in his eyes. Still, the longer I watch him, the more
I see that he’s that way with everyone, just like Ashley and
Lindsay said. He’s polite to Mr. Gideon, but even with our Art
teacher, he only responds when addressed directly.

He almost
is
a statue in a museum.
Beautiful, but lifeless.

For the first few days after my almost crash
landing in the cafeteria, Ashley and Lindsay continue to pump me
for details of my miniscule interaction with him. Then, when it
finally becomes crystal clear that he’s ignoring me, just like he
ignores everyone else, they give up. Drama over. As someone who has
always felt a little out of place myself, like a spectator looking
in, I would have felt some sympathy for Ever Casey if—and this is a
big if—his isolation weren’t so blatantly his own fault. Watching
him, I get the feeling that he doesn’t even notice the time
passing, like he’s somewhere else altogether.

It’s not nice, but I realize that the moniker
of
Space Boy
kind of suits him.

The following week, a long-awaited break in
the clouds sends the entire school streaming outside for nutrition.
I try to maintain my hopes that the blue above us indicates some
kind of lasting improvement in the weather, because I could really
use some natural light. But when I say this out loud, Josh grins
widely and informs me that the sunny patch above is a sucker hole,
which would make me the sucker.

This does make me curious how anyone
tolerates this: the whole not doing anything outside without
getting soaked—for days, even weeks, on end. I had never paid
attention to the weather report before, since rain in Southern
California rarely lasted an entire day. Now I’m obsessed with it.
And adding to my frustration is the fact that, even with the sun’s
appearance, the temperature is still freezing, by my standards at
least. When I zip up my jacket, Lindsay nudges me.

“Not used to the weather yet, huh?”

I shake my head.

“This is a little colder than I’m used to.
Okay, actually a lot.” I laugh and hold out my hands. “I can’t
handle anything under seventy degrees.”

“Wow, I’ve never seen anybody turn that shade
of purple before.”

“Yeah, it’s awful. I hate it.”

Of course, I checked the weather in Topanga
this morning. It’s thirty degrees warmer than it is in Portland.
Thirty
degrees. Like we’re on another planet.

“Your blood with thicken up,” Lindsay
reassures me. “Eventually.”

“In a decade?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” she laughs.
“Summertime’s great, though. So nice.”

Looking around, I see that almost everyone
else has shed their jackets and sweaters to reveal short sleeves,
which definitely makes me feel like the weirdo in my jacket. My
heart stutters unevenly when my eyes land on the far end of the
student parking lot where Ever Casey is perched on the low brick
wall separating the school grounds from the trees beyond. He’s
alone, of course. But like everyone else, he’s wearing a
short-sleeve shirt. The difference is that he looks inhumanly
stunning, and it takes me several seconds to pry my eyes away from
him.

We haven’t spoken a word, even looked at one
another, since the episode in the cafeteria despite sitting next to
each other every day in Art. I know that I should have written him
off by now, the same way I did Jeff Summers, the jerk from
Chemistry. My only rationalization for why I can’t get Ever Casey
out of my head is that his mind is the only one that remains off
limits. I’ve tried to purge him from my thoughts, but that just
makes it worse, like when I try to stop thinking of the name of a
song I’ve forgotten. The harder I try, the more my brain latches
on.

Of course, the upside to him completely
ignoring me is that I feel comfortable now spying on him without
fear of getting caught. Somehow seeing him outdoors feels different
than the other times I’ve seen him. In the sunlight his skin seems
to almost glow with warmth. And it’s not like I hadn’t noticed that
there was a body attached to his head, but I’m finding it that much
harder to ignore now. Even at this distance, I can tell he’s much
more muscular than I first thought. Then I remember that he had
held me up by my backpack for several seconds with seemingly no
effort at all.

With a quick shake of my head, I refocus on
what caught my eye in the first place. In Ever Casey’s hand, which
is lying palm down on his outstretched leg, is a shining orb.
Fascinated, I watch as the sphere floats quickly across his
knuckles like it’s not even touching them. Suddenly the object
stops rotating and falls into his palm. Even after I’ve seen that
it’s just a coin, I can’t stop staring. I feel like a little kid
waiting for a magician to perform another magic trick.