The Lost Boys (28 page)

It was great to be able to confide more intimate things with Tiffany now. When I told her about the kiss on the night of the party, she was all squealing and euphoric about it, which made me feel excited too! It felt so good to be able to share that moment with her. I wondered if Tristan had told Seth about that night too, and if he had, I wondered what he’d said. But I guessed this was one of those special things you only share with your best friend.

After a few days I started noticing that Tristan was around more. Before our kiss, he was constantly busy with all sorts of different activities, always rushing off to experience all the school had to offer. He had clearly been making up for lost time – all those decades in the cemetery with nothing to do and other ghosts his only company. But after the party, he started hanging out more in the room, even if it was just lying on his bed listening to music and keeping me company while I did my homework, or listening to me babble on about stupid little things that happened in my day. It was great having him all to myself again! It was a very selfish feeling, but I didn’t care. He was sharing his time with
me
now, rather than endless school activities. It made me feel special, somehow.

He would always sit with me at lunch breaks; he carried my food tray (despite my protests as I felt kind of useless not being able to carry my own tray with my own food!); he carried my books for me and offered me his arm when he walked me to classes. I liked having him more present in my life, but I felt a little weird about all the pampering stuff he did all the time for me. But I had to remember he was from a time when people were a lot more polite. And he was gallant and courteous with all the girls, not only me. His attentive graciousness was the major reason the girls at school were all head over heels for him.

Tristan also acquired the most unsettling habit, after that day at the oak tree, of trying to make me blush. It always involved some illicit, sudden body proximity: sometimes he tried to make me blush with a soft stroke of his hands over my cheeks, or a sexy smile; other times with a teasing wink. I think he was trying to drive me crazy. And he was succeeding, I might add.

One of his favorite private games was to trace his fingers lightly over my arm. He was very cautious when he did it, always careful to ensure nobody was watching. His touch was the most amazing and unsettling thing in the world, because it made me feel charged but also jittery and tense at the same time. Sometimes I wondered if he knew the effect his touch had on me, how just a soft brush of his fingerprints could discharge such an intense, vibrant jolt of pure electricity through all my nerve endings. It was an inebriating feeling. I almost hated to feel that way, but craved it at the same time, anxiously waiting for the moment when his skin would brush against mine again.

He never tried to kiss me again, though … which then made me feel stupid for agreeing to take things slow.

Sometimes I wished I could have the courage to make a move myself. But I didn’t have the guts to do it. I rehearsed and rehearsed, trying to gather some courage, but in the end I always chickened out. Or just froze. Although I hadn’t mastered the courage to make a more assertive move, Tristan’s constant attention made my confidence grow. Surprisingly, I also found myself wanting to wear more than just plain shirts or baggy jeans. Not just for Tristan’s benefit, but for my own. I felt different inside, and I wanted that difference to show on the outside as well. I wanted the world to see how happy I was feeling, and my old clothes didn’t seem a good enough statement.

Tiffany caught me one day rummaging through my wardrobe. A pile of loose T-shirts was scattered over my bed. I was beginning to despair at my grim clothing panorama at that point. Tiffany sat on my bed, leaning her head on her shoulder, watching me curiously.

“So, I see you finally decided to get rid of your old wardrobe, huh? About time!” She smirked.

I sighed loudly, and looked at my clothes, exasperated. “There’s no hope for me. Everything I try looks hideous on me!” I whined, and slumped hopelessly on my bed.

“You are always putting yourself down. Why do you do this to yourself?” she asked, amused, getting up and going over to my open drawers.

“I don’t do anything. It’s not my fault I look horrible in those fashionable clothes you wear! I guess dressing up is not for me …” I mumbled, defeated.

“That’s just silly. Of course it is for you. You looked great the night of the party! Everybody said so. Tristan couldn’t resist you!” she said, winking.

I blushed and shuffled my feet, staring at the floor. “He did say I looked good that night …”

“Exactly! But the thing is … you always look good. You are very beautiful. You have this amazing long black glossy hair, and those big black eyes of yours. You have beautiful pale skin, plump lips and a great figure; you’re so pretty! You just try really hard to hide it, and I don’t know why. It’s like you try your best to cover up and disappear behind all your baggy clothes, and then when you actually succeed and nobody notices you, you get all bummed and sad about it!” she said, getting irritated. “So stop doing it and start getting noticed! Boys should be crawling over you! And they will be, once you decide to show who you really are! You just have this Ugly Duck Syndrome, but don’t you worry, cos I’m the cure, baby!” she said, winking at me again. “Come on, I’ll help you out with your clothes!”

“Thanks, Tiff. You’re the best friend in the whole world,” I said gratefully.

“Hey, Tristan won’t know what’s hit him when he sees the new you!” she said, beaming happily. “You know all the boys were talking about you all night at the Valentine’s party, right?”

“They were?” I asked suspiciously.

“If it wasn’t for
‘your band’
threatening everybody that got near you, you’d have been a big hit!” she said reassuringly.

“Everybody just wanted to win a free week of homework …”

“There you go again, putting yourself down! Stop it!”

“Well, it is true!” I snapped. “It was just about that stupid bet!”

“Okay. So, I’ll prove you wrong. The Spring Ball is next month! I’ll make sure there’s no betting going on that night! And you’ll see how you’ll fare.” She crossed her arms defiantly.

“Spring Ball?”

“Yes, we have a school dance every other semester, a Spring Ball and a Winter Ball. There’s a big dance, people dress up all fancy; it’s very formal at first, but at the end of the night the teachers leave and we have the fun part of the party!” she said, clapping her hands, excited. I smiled at her.

Lately, I had been rethinking a lot of things about myself and about my life, and I felt it really was time for a change. This dance might be a good opportunity to launch the new Joey on the world. And who knew, it could even end up being fun. And I already had the most perfect outfit: the red dress my mom had given me for my birthday, and that I’d thought I would never wear. Maybe it was time for never to become now.

Tiff also helped me sort out more stylish outfits for the school week ahead – donating some of her outfits as well as showing me better ways to put together the clothes I had. On Monday, I woke before Seth’s alarm and took my new outfit to the bathroom with me. I felt a little nervous about the drastic change in outfit: instead of loose pants, I had on a tight pair of dark jeans with a vivid red tank-top, and my hair was loose instead of in my usual pony-tail. When I emerged from the bathroom, Seth glanced my way with raised eyebrows, but I think he caught my worried expression and decided to drop any of his teasing remarks. Which I was very thankful for; I was already nervous as it was.

When Tristan looked up, he wasn’t as subtle as Seth had been, though. He gave a long, audible intake of breath, followed by a even longer and louder exhaling. Inevitably, I turned red in the face. Obviously.

“Yeah. Yeah. Tiffany is giving me some make-over therapy sessions, helping me get rid of my old baggy clothes and get over my fear of exposure. Who knew I had issues with that, right?” I said, smiling weakly at him.

He smiled back, putting his gray hoodie on. “By all means, expose away. Whatever she’s doing to you, tell her to keep doing it!” he said, still with raised eyebrows.

He was wearing my favorite ocean-blue T-shirt under his hoodie, the first new shirt he’d worn after coming back from the dead. It made his eyes sparkle with such an insanely beautiful vivid blue! I loved Tristan with blue eyes.

“I love this T-shirt,” I mumbled, looking at his eyes instead of his top.

He glanced down, and smiled. “I’ve noticed.”

Seth cackled at the other side of the room. “Why do you think he wears it so much?” he pointed out, putting his sneakers on.

“I do not! Shut up, man!” Tristan complained, blushing a little and throwing Seth’s backpack at him. Seth caught it in the air and stood up, chuckling, ready to leave.

“Okay, love birds. I’m getting some breakfast. Who’s coming?”

We all left for breakfast. Tristan held the door for me, and bowed slightly after I passed. I shook my head, laughing. He really couldn’t help himself with all that chivalry stuff!

Over the next few days, I risked more daring outfits: a few tighter jeans, colorful tank-tops and tight shirts, all thoughtful presents from Tiffany. I even started to let my hair down once or twice. The response from the boys at school was immediate. I was a little surprised by it. Okay. That’s not true. I was a lot surprised by it! Tiffany would only shake her head and laugh at my shocked face and intense blush every time a boy turned his head to watch me go by. She was having the time of her life treating my Ugly Duck Syndrome, as she’d termed it, with her pretty-swan shock treatment!

Tristan started noticing the sudden male attention directed at me as well. I could see the conflict in his eyes. On the one hand, he was enjoying the way I looked in my tight jeans and tank-tops. What boy didn’t like looking at figure-hugging clothes and exposed skin?

But on the other hand, he wasn’t pleased with the looks other boys were starting to give me. I could see the protective glares he shot out while he walked with me through the corridors.

Harry, Josh, Sam and Seth wouldn’t stop harassing me about my new clothes, telling me one of The Lost Boys was definitely starting to get all girly on them. The more I blushed, the more they teased me. Tiff always had to intervene, and they’d shut up about it, but not for long. And then, to my utmost shock, boys started asking me to go to the Spring Ball with them! I was so surprised the first time it happened, that I just turned around and ran away, leaving the poor boy standing there. Tiff had to rescue me five minutes later, hyperventilating in the bathroom. I hadn’t been expecting that to happen! I didn’t want to go to the dance with anyone but Tristan! And I couldn’t go with Tristan, because what weirdo would refuse everybody else’s company in order to go with their own brother?

So I spent the whole week avoiding all boys. Every time a male turned my way or indicated he was about to start talking, I would run for the hills! I’ll bet people were thinking I was crazy now. I was sure acting like it. I even considered going back to my loose T-shirts and baggy jeans. But Tiffany talked me out of it, not allowing me to turn back into a duck after all of her efforts to make me into a swan.

It was the last week of the month already, and I was so engrossed with new outfits, and avoiding dance invitations, and music practice, lessons and school, that I completely forgot about my past nightmares with Vigil. Until he came back.

He was still in his pale, skinny, fragile young body. Every night he would cautiously try to approach me, but I never allowed him to say anything. As soon as I realized he was there, trying to reach me in my dreams, I would close my eyes and intone an endless
“Wake up wake up wake up wake up”
until I woke up. I felt relieved the first time I managed to break Vigil’s connection that way, but after the fourth time he crashed into my dreams, it became a tiresome ordeal. Goth Girl Sky was right: Vigil was relentless.

I decided to call Miss Violet and tell her about Vigil’s attempts to make contact. She sounded worried on the phone and said she was trying hard to find a way to help Tristan and me. She promised to get in touch as soon as she had something valuable to share.

Then, on Tuesday morning, Tristan started to feel strange again. I checked the calendar, dreading what I would see. And there it was: the first day of the month. Tristan was right about the monthly cycle hit for the spell. As soon as he started to feel the symptoms, I climbed into bed to stay close to him all afternoon, pretending I was reading a book. Because we stayed together, Tristan didn’t get as sick as he had before.

I pointed that out to Tristan and made a joke about it being his “time of the month” problem now. He looked so mortified at my playful pun that I had to promise him never to joke about it again, and profusely apologizing over and over again. I learned that boys don’t like jokes about periods, especially boys from the twentieth century.

Seth didn’t even really notice Tristan wasn’t feeling well that day; since I stayed next to him all the time, he managed to stay in a relatively good shape. The whole process was also a lot easier to endure because we didn’t need to cover up being together in front of Seth any more.

When the day was over, I waited until Seth was deeply asleep to snuggle comfortably under the covers with Tristan. I woke up the next day with Tristan’s heavy arm wrapped around my waist again. I could feel the beaded bracelet on his wrist as his hand gently enveloped mine, as he always did when we slept in the same bed. I could seriously get used to this … waking up in his arms, feeling the warmth of his body next to mine and his breath so close, not to mention his amazing smell lingering all over me. Yep. Not too hard to tolerate at all.

Tristan had a smell that was hard to describe, since it was a thing you have to … well, smell, to know it. It had a hint of vanilla, and carnations, and something sweet mixed with something undistinguishable … But it did something inexplicable to me. It filled me with this wonderful, intoxicating feeling. I wished I could bottle it up and carry around with me all the time. Every time he got too close, I had to suppress the urge to sink my face in his neck and sniff the hell out of him! I wondered if smell was something you could run out of. Or if I could sniff him so much that I’d wear it out until he ended up odorless.