For Your Heart (Hill Dweller Retellings) (16 page)

    
I break his gaze, feeling uncomfortable he said that while staring at me.  The class rustles uneasily at the prospect of this new guy bringing up sex in a Catholic classroom, but Sister Aster holds up her hand for silence. 

    
“Would you expound upon that theory?”

    
Tamrin doesn't take his eyes off of me, but I see his growing annoyance that Sister Aster won't shut up and teach her class.  I think he's going to make her regret asking.      

    
“Well, in my personal opinion,” he begins, “true love is something akin to fire.  It consumes you whole and spits you out with so little left of what you were previously that you can't put yourself back together.  On the other hand, lust is an icy affair.  It's not about emotion or the other person; it's a selfish, cold endeavor that leaves everything whole and untouched on the surface.  Robert Frost is equating the world with his own life, since the value of the world is directly related to his own experience.  He's simply making the claim that he believes love is stronger than lust, but both of them are fine ways to destroy oneself.”

    
“But doesn't Frost clearly state that desire is fire and hate is ice?” Sister Aster counters.

    
Tamrin shrugs.  “Who’s to say that love isn't true desire and lust isn't true hate?  Isn't lust a sin?  Isn't it the ultimate self hate to allow oneself to fold to sin?  And what of the love of God?  Do we not desire God above all else?  Don't we destroy ourselves and others either way?”

    
Holy cow, did he just turn this into a religious debate?

    
We all stare wide-eyed at Sister Aster who purses her lips and puts the book on my desk.  It's clear she's itching to argue this further and Tamrin is playing devil's advocate and making this mole-hill poem into a mountain on purpose – simply to get her goat.  “Interesting point.” Her tone could frost glass.

    
Tamrin bites his lip, annoyed that she didn't take the bait.  “My only
intended
point was to display the fact that I don't need to bring my book to class.  I have it memorized,” he points at his temple, “in its entirety.  I have a photographic memory.”

    
“So I read in your file,” Sister Aster dismisses and she moves away. 

    
I hunch in my seat and try to keep out of the class's obvious mental spotlight aimed at Tamrin.  Totally hot.  Totally strong.  Totally sharp as a tack.  Totally obnoxious.  I can envision Kayla Sheiffer coming over at the end of class and trying to recruit him for model U.N. 

    
I'm so caught up in being annoyed with his uncanny way of turning everything on its head that I don't notice he's read my message and written a response until he leans over and puts the folded paper inside my elbow.  His fingers brush my skin as they retreat.

    
HAVE YOU ALREADY FORGOTTEN THAT I'M A KNIGHT OF THE SUMMER COURT?  WHAT DO YOU THINK I DO ALL DAY, TWIDDLE MY THUMBS?

    
Ugh, he’s still stuck on that.  I scratch my reply.

    
NO, OBVIOUSLY. 

    
I pause.  In all honesty, I assumed he screwed from dawn to dawn, but I’m not telling him that. 

    
IT'S JUST YOU DON'T LOOK LIKE YOU COULD DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT.  DOESN'T IT TAKE YEARS TO HAVE THE KIND OF STRENGTH AND CONTROL TO CATCH SOMEONE’S HAND WHEN THEY’RE PUNCHING YOU?  HOW DO YOU FIND TIME TO LEARN MARTIAL ARTS AND MEMORIZE ENGLISH TEXT BOOKS AND UH...PROMOTE YOUR POSITION IN COURT?

    
I grimace at my last line.  I'm probably going to regret writing it, but I'm curious.  I hand it back, mindful to avoid physical contact. 

    
He reads it, gives me a wry look, then bites his bottom lip and gives me a foxy seductive smirk that makes me blush harder and turn away. 

    
I nearly jump out of my seat when his hand slides over my thigh and deposits the note in my lap.  I try to keep myself from visibly cringing away from him as he lets his hand slide away far too slowly.  I stare at the white paper square buried in the sea of deep green pleats, beating down what his contact invoked in me.

    
When I'm sure I can keep from blushing, I throw an accusatory glance his way, but he's pointedly staring at Sister Aster who has continued to discuss the very boring critique of
Fire and Ice
at the bottom of page three hundred ten.  I read the note.

    
I'VE HAD PLENTY OF TIME.  BESIDES, IT'S QUALITY, NOT QUANTITY.  IT ALL DEPENDS WHO YOU FLAUNT YOUR POSITION TO.

    
P.S.- SORRY ABOUT THE THIGH.  YOUR PULSE WAS GETTING A LITTLE SLUGGISH.      

    
I crack my brow and rip out a response.

    
SLUGGISH?  MY POOR HEART HASN'T HAD A CHANCE TO CALM DOWN SINCE WE SAT DOWN!

    
P.S.-PAWS OFF, FAERIE MAN.

    
Tamrin reads my note shoots me another smirk and doesn't respond.

Tamrin

     After the annoying English class, Jeanette meets up with her dark-haired friend, Celeste, waiting outside the door.

    
“We have a Spanish quiz tomorrow,” Celeste says. “Do you want help studying?”

    
No.  She has me to study with now and I’m not sharing her with someone who makes her heart ache just by being in the same room with her.

    
Jeanette gives her a surprised look.  “You actually
want
to study?”

    
Celeste bites her lip and shrugs.  “Well, I feel kind of bad because I told you I’d help for the last test.”

    
Jeanette looks away.  “But you pushed me off for the Jacuzzi and a mani-pedi sleep over with Amber instead, and while I failed the test, I’m sure you aced it.” 

    
Oh, so it’s Celeste’s fault Jean failed.  But, by reading Jean’s heart, I see she’s more hurt than anything.

    
Celeste makes a little growly noise.  “Hello, DQ, trying to apologize here.”  I sense this girl is very troubled as well.

    
Jeanette drops her shoulders and sighs.  “I know.  I know, I’m sorry.  I’m just high strung lately.”   Her eyes slice sideways and fix on me.

    
I have the distinct feeling she's angry at me, but I can't figure out what for.  Well, I guess she's annoyed about this entire situation.  But what does she want me to do?  It's her fault after all.  I could have killed her and been done with it, but no, she wants to live another boring human year.  I don't understand.  Time ticks painfully slow in the human realm.

    
Someone grabs my arm.  “Are you listening to me?”

    
Celeste is standing in front of me.  Her hand is clasped around my sleeve and she’s giving me expectant eyes.  Her dark features and the way they scream
pay attention to me
are too much like Roxel’s, I don't like it.  I don’t like her.  I shake my head indicating I’m not listening, nor I don’t care to. 

    
Celeste glances at Jeanette stretched on tip-toes to reach into the far corner of her locker.  I want to step behind her and get the book she can’t reach, but that would upset her more and I already hate that she’s mad at me.

    
“You've got to train your boyfriend better, Nett.  He's rude,” Celeste says.  She's got one of those bored, seductive voices – also like Roxel – as if training for a future in phone sex.

    
Jeanette pauses and stares at her friend.  Her glasses slip down the bridge of her nose and I feel her heart hitch against her breast when Celeste’s comment sinks in.

    
Jeanette looks at me and scowls.  She points a finger in my face and turns her indignant expression on Celeste.  “He is not my boyfriend.”

    
Celeste glances between the two of us, her guard momentarily down, letting me see the vulnerable confusion inside her.  “But, you’re living together.”

    
“So?” Jeanette says, her heart fluttering.

    
“You’re not sleeping together?”

    
“Celeste!”  Jeanette cries.

    
“Past or present?”

    
“No,” Jeanette mutters, her face pink.  “We’re not and have not slept together.” Which is a lie because this morning she blew up at me for coming in and getting into bed with her last night.  I don’t understand what her problem is.  I have never slept alone and I really can’t get used to the idea anyone would want to.

    
Celeste grins in triumph and levels her nearly black eyes to my arm, still in her grasp.  “Can I have him?”

    
“No,” Jeanette and I say at the same time.  We both sound disgusted by the idea.  We look at each other with surprise and I smile at the idea that she doesn't want to share me.

    
Pouting, Celeste drops my sleeve and leans against the bank of lockers.  She talks about a television show while Jeanette comments back and collects her books.  With them side by side, their differences are obvious.  Jeanette wears a longer skirt than most of the other girls in Mary Magda.  I can't imagine why, she's got a voluptuous body.  Even when reaching up into her locker, her skirt barely hikes above her knee.  Seeing her stand next to Celeste, whose skirt barely covers her rear end while she's standing upright, makes Jeanette look, well, prude. 

    
“…I’d totally throw him down and have my way with him.”  Celeste says as she crosses her arms under her breasts and presses them upward until they strain against the buttons on her off-white uniform shirt.  The top three buttons are undone, so if you’re tall like me and most of the male student body, you get a pretty good glance down her cleavage.  “Wouldn’t you?”

    
I follow Celeste’s gaze, wanting to know the answer despite myself.

    
Jeanette casts Celeste a cursory glance.  “Liam Hemsworth?”  She scratches her head, as if she’s not entirely sure of the answer.  Jeanette's buttoned up completely and wearing a green sweater vest, so I can't even get a good outline of her physique.  “I dunno.”

    
Celeste rolls her eyes.  “Are you ever going to develop a crush on someone, Netti?  I swear, sometimes you’re a lesbian.”  Jeanette lets out an indignant squeak, which gets Celeste chuckling.  “I’m only kidding,
chica
, relax.”

    
Night and day, these two.  Jeanette, sweet and innocent; Celeste, smelling like sex and danger from across the hallway.  Celeste stares at me again, probably wondering why I'm scrutinizing her so intensely if I've made it clear I'm not interested.

    
As if reading my thoughts, she speaks.  “Second thoughts, Danger-Boy?”

    
Danger-Boy?
Bleck.
  I inch closer to Jeanette, reiterating who my focus is on.  Even if I weren’t so oddly attracted to Jean, I’d never go for someone like Celeste.

    
As Jeanette closes her locker, Celeste peels from the wall in a slow, meant-to-be-teasing way. “Why does it always take so long to go to your locker?  What do you do in there anyway?  Alphabetize them?”

    
I smirk.  Jeanette does, in fact, alphabetize her books.

    
Jeanette crosses her arms over her notebooks and holds them to her chest as she sticks out her tongue, then she turns and glances at me.  “I suppose I should at least show you were your next class is.”  She makes it sound like it's some big task.

    
I smile at her.  Oh, wonderful, stupid, Jeanette, she hasn’t figured it out yet.  “You're already showing me.”

    
It takes a second to understand what I mean.  I watch her brow with expectation, knowing her furrow is going to deepen any second.

    
“You have chem with me, too?”  She sounds upset by the news.    

    
“I have everything with you.”

    
She stops mid-stride and stares at me, jaw slack, and green eyes opened wider.  “You're kidding me.”

    
I shake my head.  “What would be the point in enrolling in the same school to be with you if I didn't take the same classes as you?”

    
Celeste whistles softly under her breath.  “Wow, if that's not boyfriend material, I don't know what you're smoking.”  Jeanette shoots an annoyed glance at her friend and Celeste shrugs.  “What?” she asks. “I'm right, aren’t I?”

    
Jeanette spins on her heel and stalks off, leaving me with Celeste.  She glances up at me, her expression unguarded and confused again.  “What did I say?”

    
Sighing, I turn from her and almost collide with Amber who materialized out of nowhere at my side.  Her eyes trail Jeanette’s retreating auburn head.  “Oh great, what did you say to piss her off now?”