Locked (The Heaven's Gate Trilogy) (7 page)

I rolled the idea around
in my mind as I looked at him across the table.  I couldn’t deny that he
continued to intrigue me.  He was dressed again, as always, in one of his odd,
monochromatic outfits -- the only thing ever changing being the exact shade of
white he chose.  It was a sort of hippie aesthetic that made sense, I guess, if
you grew up in a cult, and I had to admit, it looked good on him.  The white
set off his glowing skin perfectly, and the way the clothes moved about him
hinted at his strong, toned body and made him seem even more mysterious.

Don’t kid yourself
, my common sense spoke up.

“What are you eating?” I
asked, trying to change the subject.  I’d noticed he never ate the cafeteria
food.  Instead he packed an odd lunch of white, lumpy health food stuff that
was possibly the most unappetizing thing I’d ever seen.

“Would you like to try
it?” he asked politely, after watching me stare at it with revulsion for what
must have been the 10
^th
lunch period in a row.  “It’s just like
tofu.  It’s really good for you.”

“No thanks,” I shuddered,
pushing the equally disgusting lima beans the lunchroom had served around on my
tray.  Thank goodness he’d let the whole Valentine thing drop so easily.  “Did
you see Dan Frasier fall asleep today in Science? It was so gross.  He actually
started to drool.”  I kept babbling on about Dan’s unfortunate lapse of
consciousness until I realized I was talking to myself.

“Michael?”

He wasn’t paying
attention.  I followed his gaze.  His eyes had drifted to one of the
televisions mounted all around the cafeteria.  Someone had changed the channel
to one of the 24-hour news programs.  A constant scroll about refugees and
violence in the Middle East crept across the bottom of the screen.  Michael set
his jaw, crumpling his brown lunch sack in his big, golden hands.

“Michael?”  I asked
again, waiting for his attention to return.

His reverie broke and he
turned to me with a sheepish grin, though his eyes still looked troubled.

“Sorry, Hope, what was
that?”

“Are you interested in
current events?” I asked, as politely as I could, trying to hide my annoyance.

His eyes danced with
amusement.  “You could say that, I guess.”

Before I could ask him
more, he started wiggling his eyebrows at me, making one of his patented goofy
faces.  “I was really just looking for the basketball scores.  How ‘bout an ice
cream sandwich – my treat?”

“I thought you didn’t eat
‘junk,’” I teased him.

“Call it research.  I was
thinking of writing my biology paper on the eating habits of the American
teenage girl.  I am in awe of your calorie consumption.  I just plan to watch. 
Maybe capture it on my iPhone.”

I grabbed the crumpled
bag out of his hands and threw it in his face, laughing.

*****

I couldn’t figure out why
he had picked me out, but for the first time ever in my life, I had a friend. 
And he was a friend with whom everything seemed effortless, a friend with whom
I didn’t have to pretend to be dumb, a friend with whom I could talk about
important things instead of the latest program on TV.  Between that and being
practically faceless in my new school, I was in a state of bliss. 

But something was wrong. 
By the start of my third week in school, Michael seemed distant.  He was
preoccupied.  In every class, he seemed to be sneaking peeks at papers he had
tucked inside his books, rapidly shoving them inside his backpack as soon as
class was over.  Over the course of the week he became increasingly short
tempered.  By the time Friday rolled around, he was like a caged lion.  His
entire body was tense, his face looked drawn and tight around the eyes, and
even the slightest question from me would cause him to snap.

“What’s wrong?” I asked
as final bell rang and we spilled out toward the locker bays, wondering what
I’d done to upset him.  I didn’t have much experience with friends, so I was
sure it was my fault.  “Can you tell me what I’ve done?”

“It’s not about you,
Hope.  Just leave it alone,” he sighed, his frustration palpable as he twirled
the combination to his locker.

“Problems, Michael?”  A
dry voice interrupted our conversation.

We both turned.  It was
the boy who had stared at me during the first week of school.  He was
surrounded by the same pack of friends who’d been fighting that day.  Even the
obnoxious boy from the bus was there.  Only now, he wasn’t the only one paying
me attention.  Everyone’s eyes were fully focused on us, like a pack of wolves
surrounding stray sheep.

“Nothing I can’t handle,
Lucas,” Michael said smoothly.  I noticed he had placed a protective arm across
me.  I was suddenly aware of just how tiny I was next to him.

“Hmmm.  I must have been
mistaken, then.  You just seem like maybe you need a little
getaway
, you
know, to take care of some business.”  He dripped the words from his mouth,
trying to insinuate something – who knows what.  “What about you, Hope? Cat got
your tongue?”

I stared at the boy. 
Suddenly, my mouth felt like it was full of sawdust.  I gulped nervously, my
hand unconsciously drifting to my neck to cover my Mark, before I answered. 

“How do you know my
name?”

He laughed, but with a
cold and detached sort of amusement.  “It’s a public school, Hope.  Everybody
knows everything.  We know all about you.”

A feeling of dread washed
over me.  Did they?  My body felt hot and sweaty, but I resisted the urge to
reach up and wipe my brow, not wanting them to see how nervous they were making
me.

Michael scoffed, his blue
eyes flashing with anger.  “Leave us alone, Lucas.  There’s nothing to know and
nothing to do.”

“We’ll see about that,”
Lucas purred.  His dark eyes shimmered with barely contained excitement. “You
know me; I always seem to find some sort of trouble to make.”

“Make it somewhere else,”
Michael retorted, grabbing my wrist roughly as he slammed his locker shut. 
“Come on, Hope, let’s go.”

He charged through the
crowd of boys, pulling me in his wake.  They barely seemed to give way; I was
painfully aware of the press of their bodies as we cut through. 

I didn’t realize I was
holding my breath until we were already out on the sidewalk.

“How do you know him?” I
asked in a shaky voice, struggling to keep up with Michael.

“I don’t,” he said
curtly, staring straight ahead and continuing to drag me along relentlessly.

“But he made it sound
like…”

“Hope, I told you before,
just leave it alone!”  His voice had an edge to it that was a clear warning.  I
swallowed my questions and followed meekly as he led me toward the buses.

“Michael, we’re going the
wrong way; your car…”

He drew up short; I
stumbled right into him, spilling my book bag out onto the sidewalk.  He threw
down my arm, bent over, and furiously began shoving things back into the bag.

“You’re taking the bus
today,” he said without looking at me. 

I rubbed the spot where
he had gripped my wrist; it already ached.  “But, Michael, why are you…”

“Hope, I can’t babysit
you every minute!” he practically yelled at me as he stood up.  Out of the
corner of my eye, groups of students came to a standstill to watch.  “I have
stuff to do.  Here, take your bag.”  He shoved it roughly at me.  “Now get on
your bus,” he said, pushing me toward the narrow door.

And before I could say
anything, he stalked off toward the student parking lot.

I stood frozen, painfully
aware of the whispers and stares.  Slowly, I turned toward the bus and climbed
the first few steps.  As I did, I heard someone calling after me in a mocking tone.

“Have a nice weekend,
Hope!”

I looked over my shoulder
just in time to see the bus doors close on Lucas, a look of smug satisfaction
on his face.

*****

Back in my room, I threw
myself on my bed, alternating between burying my face in and then punching the
heap of pillows piled at the headboard.

I ran through my memories
of the last few weeks and could find nothing,
nothing
that I had done
that could have even remotely set off a reasonable human being.

I sat bolt upright in my
bed.

How dare he treat me
like that?

Seriously, who did he
think he was, all Mr. Nice and them
wham
! Dropping me like a bad smell
just because he was in a pissy mood? 

I kicked my sneakers off
and let them fly across the room, landing with a satisfying
thump!
against my closet door.

And lying to me that he
didn’t know Lucas? Clearly, the two had a history. But how could they when
Michael was new to the school, too? Why couldn’t he just tell me the truth?

“Aarrgh!” I yelled in
frustration, falling back on my bed.

I heard a soft knock at
my door.

“Hope, may I come in?”

I groaned and rolled
over.  I had forgotten that my Mom was already home.  Consultant hours were
unpredictable.  Sometimes, like today, she’d show up in the middle of the day. 
I’d managed to get by her without too much conversation when I got off the bus,
but apparently, her Mom Radar was on alert.

“Sure, Mom,” I answered,
straightening out the bedcovers and fluffing the pillows.

She slid in through the
door, a look of mild alarm spreading across her face as she scanned for
damage.  “Is everything okay?  It sounded like you fell.”

“Just me throwing my
shoes, Mom.  Sorry about that.”

She frowned slightly and
tilted her head, her eyebrows forming a distinct question mark.

I sighed.  I’d already
learned she was hard to hide things from.  I chalked it up to her MBA and
consultant training.

“Michael was just being a
jerk today, that’s all.”

I watched her carefully
choose her words as she sat down on the bed and plucked at some imaginary
lint.  “Michael, that new boy with whom you’ve become friends?”

“Yes, though the way he’s
been acting this week you’d think I’d set his pet bunnies on fire or something.
He’s been so moody, Mom! And he won’t tell me what I did.  It’s so unfair.”

“What makes you think it’s
something you did?”  Mom asked me, looking me straight in the eye.  “Did you do
something wrong, Hope?”

“No!” I protested,
clutching one of the pillows tight to my chest.   “I’ve wracked my brain, Mom. 
All I can think of…”

I stopped, not even
wanting to say it out loud.

“Go on,” Mom urged.

“…is that he’s tired of
me.  I mean, who am I, right? Just some hick girl from Alabama.  He’s probably
gotten bored of me.”

My body sagged, my head
drooping to my chest as I thought about this possibility.  It seemed to be the
only thing that made sense.

Mom gently lifted my chin
so she could look me in the eye.  “Hope, did Michael try to avoid you? Did he
move his seat in class, or try to eat with someone else at lunch?”

“No,” I admitted
grudgingly.

“Have you gotten too
clingy; maybe thinking of him as more than a friend?”

“No!” I protested, my
cheeks burning.  “It’s not like that, Mom!  We’re just friends.”

I saw her lips twitch.

“It’s not funny!” I
shouted, burying my face in another pillow.

“Oh, Hope, honey, I’m not
laughing at you, I promise. It just seems to me that you are awfully unfamiliar
with teenage boys.  They go through their moods, and then some, just like the
rest of us do.  And if I understand the situation as you’ve described it, he
might have an awful lot of pressure on him, having to fend for himself.  From
what you say, it doesn’t seem to me like he is trying to end your friendship. 
Whatever it is, he’ll get over it.  Just give him his space.  You’ll see; when
Monday rolls around I bet everything will be back to normal.”

I sat up again, looking
at her skeptically.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But why’d he have to be
so mean, Mom? It makes me so
angry
!”

“I don’t know, Hopie,”
she said, using her old nickname for me while she smoothed out my hair.  “But
when I get angry I like to take it out on my rowing machine.”  She glanced
across my room to the treadmill she’d bought, sitting forlorn and forgotten in
the corner, strewn with rejected clothing.  “You haven’t even touched your
treadmill.  It’s been weeks,” she noted in a neutral tone.

I felt my chin rise
defensively.  “I’ve been busy.”

She skewered me with one
of her looks again.  “Hope, I know you love to run.  Is there something about
this treadmill you don’t like? It still has the tags dangling from it.  I could
return it if you aren’t going to use it.”

I fought against myself
but couldn’t keep from blurting my response.  “It’s just…just…the only reason I
ran on a treadmill is Dad wouldn’t let me run outside.  Ever.”