Aven's Dream Page 9

  I couldn’t tell if I was breathless from annoyance or something else. Then the entire class sucked in a collective breath, and I turned to see what it was. I froze, watching in horror as Scott Adams hobbled into class. It looked like a truck had hit him. His arm was in a sling, and from the two black eyes, it was easy to tell his nose was broken. I turned and stole a glance at Will, whose posture and expression remained impassive. I gasped for breath, but the air didn’t seem to reach my lungs.

  At any second, I expected Scott to point an accusing finger and scream, “It was them!” Instead, he slowly made his way to his seat, his swagger unavoidably humbled. I looked at him, and for a second, our eyes locked. But I didn’t see an ounce of recognition in his expression. Still, my fingers wouldn’t release their grip on the edge of the desk.

  Mr. Anderson shifted uncomfortably before clearing his throat and waiting for Scott to arrange himself in the seat next to Jason. I wondered if the teachers knew about what had happened the weekend before. Ten excruciating minutes of Mr. Anderson’s lecture passed before I couldn’t take it any longer, my heart racing as I wondered how many people Scott had told. Raising my hand, I felt my stomach pitch violently as I continued to grip the desk with my other hand.

  “Yes, Aven?” Mr. Anderson said.

  He stopped and looked at me more closely, his glasses sliding down his nose.

  “May I be excused? I-I need to use the restroom.”

  Eyeing me uneasily, Mr. Anderson nodded. I got up and took a shaky step toward the door. I was going to be lucky if I didn’t throw up before I made it to the hall. Suddenly an arm went around me. I looked up at Will as he began to propel me out of class.

  “What are you doing?” I squeaked as Will guided me down the hallway.

  He pushed open the door to an empty classroom and sat me down at a desk.

  “Stay here.”

  Even if I had wanted to get up, I didn’t think my legs would have carried me. Will disappeared, and I sat back, waiting for my stomach to quit lurching at the memory of Scott’s wrecked face. Will reappeared holding a bottle of water and his jacket, the one that had spent the past week in my locker. He set down the water and reached forward, lifting me under the armpits. He reached around and slid the jacket around me. I hadn’t noticed until just then, but I was shivering uncontrollably, even in the heat of the school. As I shrugged Will’s jacket over my shoulders, I wondered silently how he had gotten into my locker. But I had bigger things to worry about.

  “Did you do that?” I asked, my voice shaking as I looked over at Will.

  He didn’t say anything, and that was answer enough for me.

  “It looked like you almost killed him! What happens when Jason Everett and the rest of his buddies come looking for you?”

  Will’s eyes darkened momentarily before he looked away from me.

  “Do you truly care what happens to a monster … or are you concerned for my welfare?” he asked with a combination of shock and amusement.

  My stomach somersaulted again, and I was sure I was going to be sick this time. Looking down, I sat silently for a few moments, concentrating on my breathing.

  “I don’t care what happens to him,” I admitted. “And yeah. I was more worried about you.”

  When I looked up at him, his expression had hardened into ice, like I had said something awful.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You have no cause to worry about me.”

  I blinked at the coldness in his tone.

  “Okay. I won’t worry about you, then. And assuming Scott Adams isn’t going to murder me and leave me under the bleachers any time soon, I guess we—”

  “He’s not going to do anything to you,” Will said, cutting me off. “He has no memory of what happened.”

  Wow. How the hell did Will Kincaid go from charming to authoritarian and dismissive in two seconds?

  “You sound pretty sure of that. What happened to not being able to tell the future?” I snapped.

  “If you’ll recall, those arrogant degenerates were quite inebriated.”

  That much was true. When Will held out his hand, I stared at it.

  “Would you like me to take you home?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “I can’t skip class.”

  It took a second to realize that I already was skipping class. Something I never did. Because that was when people noticed me—at the wrong times. Like teachers only calling on me when I happened to be staring out the window. Or guys on the football team only noticing me because they were psychopathic assholes.

  “It’s the lunch hour after this period, and we have a term paper to write, do we not?” Will smiled, all charm again.

  “Damn, you’re moody. And how did you know about the paper?”

  “I spoke with Mr. Anderson,” he said simply.

  I sighed. The thought of returning to Mr. Anderson’s class and seeing Scott—whether he remembered what happened or not—was unnerving, despite Will’s assurances. Before I got a chance to rethink my decision, Will helped me from the desk. Walking from the classroom, I followed him to the exit toward the parking lot.

  Outside, pelted by drizzling rain, I stopped. Getting on the back of a motorcycle while my stomach was still doing back flips would inevitably cost me my breakfast and my dignity. Will looked down and smiled at my terrified expression.

  “I didn’t take the motorcycle today, if that’s what you were worried about,” he said, answering my unspoken fears.

  I melted in relief. Four wheels and metal around us sounded comforting, if less thrilling. I tried to anticipate which car might have been Will’s. Following the sound of chirping, my eyes locked onto an incredibly out-of-place black sedan at the edge of the parking lot. My mouth went dry. What high school student—outside of Laguna Beach or some other rich enclave like the Pacific Palisades—drove a car like this?

  I looked more closely. Before our move, my dad had taken me to at least one auto show every year. He was a car nut. He loved Ferrari, Aston Martin, Jaguar, Maserati—to name a few. Eventually, I had picked up a few things by osmosis. For instance, I knew cars like the one we were approaching—an Aston Martin if I was guessing right—probably retailed for more money than my parents had paid for their first house. And that was before options. It looked like Will’s car had all of them.

  I blinked and tried to regain my composure as Will opened the door and waited patiently for me to quit gawking and get in. When I looked to the driver’s side, he had already taken his place behind the wheel. The engine purred to life.

  “Fasten your seatbelt, please.”

  I did as I was told and then said a silent prayer that he would obey the traffic laws from school to my house. I breathed in; the car smelled of new leather and something else. It was Will’s cologne or aftershave, I realized. I wanted to ask him what it was, but—embarrassing.

  “Where were you last week?” I asked instead.

  He cast me a sidelong glance.

  “I had business to attend to.”

  “Business?” I laughed, suddenly remembering something he had said the night of the party about owning a home outside of town.

  Will nodded, but didn’t elaborate. It struck me as odd that he would move to a new town by himself in his last year of school, but he was nineteen—a legal adult. A legal adult who drove an Aston Martin and fought crime by night.

  We arrived in front of my house in less than half the time it took Sean to cover the same distance, and I was grateful I hadn’t been paying attention to the rate of speed at which we had been traveling. Reaching for the door handle, I jumped when I saw that Will was already standing there with the door open. I sighed again. It was like my brain operated at half-speed in his presence. Will walked me to the door and waited silently while I removed the house key from my pocket.

  “I’ll be back with your books,” he called as I stepped through the doorway.

  I glanced back, suddenly aware that I had left my bag i
n History, but he was already halfway down the walk. Darcy came running from upstairs. I patted him on the head and went to let him out in the back yard. Then, assuming I had time before Will returned with my books, I went to my room and turned on the computer before deciding to take a hot shower, hoping I could shake off the sense of dread that lingered from seeing Scott Adams again.

  After several minutes beneath the water, I reluctantly got out and wrapped myself in a towel before I noticed that Darcy was waiting at attention in front of the closed bathroom door. Just then, I heard knocking coming from downstairs. Scanning the bathroom, I realized that I hadn’t brought a change of clothes with me, so I wrapped the towel securely around me and ran downstairs with dripping wet hair. On my tiptoes, I could see a tall figure through the frosted glass windows of the front door.

  “I’m going to let you in, but you have to keep your eyes closed,” I warned through the door.

  I heard Will laugh.

  “You promise?” I said sharply.

  “You have my word,” he replied, still laughing.

  Unlocking the door, I turned the doorknob before racing back up the stairs, clutching my towel. When I reached the landing, I looked back. Will was at the foot of the stairs, his eyes closed, as promised. I could see a hint of a smile on his lips. As soon as I got to my room, I quickly toweled off my hair and threw on a pair of jeans and an old sweater. By the time I returned to the landing, Darcy was sitting beside Will.

  Walking downstairs, I saw that my books and my bag—which I had left hanging on my chair in Mr. Anderson’s class—were sitting next to the couch. Will studied me for a moment, and I touched my wet hair self-consciously.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Will asked.

  “Um … sure?”

  It felt incredibly odd for someone to ask me that in my own house, but just then, I realized I was desperately thirsty and hungry. It was lunchtime, and I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast—which was never a good thing for me. I was only moments away from the sort of deranged hunger that made me psychotically angry. I got up to follow Will into the kitchen when he appeared in the doorway balancing a plate of crackers, an apple, and a glass of orange juice.

  “Uh …”

  When I continued to stare at him, he handed me the juice before setting the apple and crackers on the coffee table and waiting for me to take a seat. He sat down a few feet from me and watched as I drank half the juice and ate three crackers. Finally my head started to clear. Will remained where he was, his liquid blue eyes watching me. I looked at him suspiciously.

  “How did you know I was hungry?”

  Will tapped his watch.

  “It is lunchtime.”

  “Oh. Are you hungry?” I asked. “I can make you something.”

  He shook his head.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  He frowned.

  “You seemed on edge.”

  “So you got me something to eat?” I asked humorously.

  “Yes,” he said, as though it made perfect sense.

  Only Sean and my dad knew what I was like when I didn’t eat regularly, and I didn’t think I had had an opportunity to bite Will’s head off in a way that suggested I was dangerously unhinged when I didn’t eat.

  “But how could you tell?” I asked.

  “I could see it in your eyes.”

  “That I was about to become psychotic with hunger?”

  He didn’t answer, and silence settled over the house. A million questions swirled in the back of my mind, but I hesitated. This guy was almost weirder than I was.

  “Shall we?” Will said, gesturing toward the History textbook sitting on top of the others.

  I had completely forgotten about our paper. I stole a glance at the clock on the mantle. School hadn’t ended yet, and I was relieved that my dad wouldn’t be home for several hours.

  “Actually, I should take Darcy out. He hasn’t been for a walk today. We can start the paper another time if you don’t want to wait …”

  But Will was already standing with my jacket that he had retrieved from Mr. Anderson’s class. He handed it to me when I reached him.

  Chapter 7: Questions

  “What were you doing in the park the other night?” I asked curiously.

  “I was out for a ride.”

  I looked up at Will. Somewhere in his tone I sensed an evasion, but I couldn’t think of why he would lie about something so trivial. As we walked, Will had to slow his pace considerably for me to keep up with him, and he still took one step for every three of mine. His stride was seamless and fluid, and I felt downright awkward beside him. Darcy, acting as a chaperone, trotted between us.

  “Do you do that often? Wander random neighborhoods at night?” I asked.

  He smiled.

  “Some nights more than others.”

  From out of nowhere, a cold gust of wind wrapped itself around us, and I shivered, pulling my jacket closer. I shot a surreptitious glance in his direction, studying his absurdly perfect profile—the sculpted features that made the rest of the guys in school look like … well, boys.

  Then I remembered. He was nineteen. Which still didn’t explain why he looked like a god among mere mortals. The dark blue of his sweater contrasted with his bright blue eyes to make them even more mesmerizing. I looked down at my faded sweatshirt and jeans. I knew I wasn’t unattractive, but everything about me except my dark red hair was just understated … invisible. Nothing about Will Kincaid was understated.

  “What I meant was … That night in the park, the party—I just can’t figure out why you noticed me of all people.”

  “You might be surprised to find who has noticed you, Aven.”

  I screwed up my eyebrows at him. His reply implied some sort of significance I couldn’t figure out. His answers just led to more questions. But it wasn’t just the ominous edge his tone had taken that made my breath catch. A tingle ran through my body when he said my name. It sounded different on his lips. I breathed in and tried unsuccessfully to slow my heart.

  “Tell me about your family,” I said, attempting to maneuver my questions into more neutral territory.

  He didn’t answer right away, and I was surprised. Why would he hesitate over something so harmless?

  “I don’t have family. I have an inheritance and companions.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t have family?”

  “They died.”

  I looked down and swallowed, feeling like an idiot.

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” I said softly.

  “It was a long time ago.”

  Looking up at him, I found very little emotion on his face. We fell into silence as we walked. Finally, I blurted out the only question I could think of.

  “What do you mean by companions?”

  It seemed like such an odd term. Not friends, not buddies … companions.

  “Individuals with whom I spend time.”

  I smiled.

  “Friends you mean?”

  “No, companions.”

  I lifted my hands in surrender.

  “Okay. Companions it is. And you moved from the East Coast, right?” I asked, remembering what Mr. Anderson had said the week before.

  “I have a home just outside of St. John’s.”

  “You have another home?”

  He smiled.

  “Yes, I have homes.”

  St. John’s. I couldn’t place the name, not that my knowledge of geography was stellar.

  “It’s the provincial capital of Newfoundland and Labrador. In Canada,” he added for clarification. “It’s on the eastern tip of the Avalon Peninsula on the island of Newfoundland.”

  “You’re … Canadian?”

  “An expatriate, really.”

  I shook my head.

  “Um, okay. But why come here in your last year of school?”

  What I was really thinking was: Why Winters of all places?

 
; “It was unavoidable.”

  “Unavoidable,” I repeated, starting to feel like a parrot.

  I pressed my lips together, realizing that the only way to keep Will talking was to keep my questions as impersonal as possible.

  “Tell me about St. John’s.”

  “It’s the rainiest city in all of Canada,” Will said.

  “Rainier than here?”

  He nodded.

  “Sounds great,” I laughed.

  I was suddenly grateful my dad hadn’t taken a teaching position in Washington State. Oregon, I decided, was far enough north for me.

  “It also has the most bars per capita of any city in North America,” Will said, still smiling.

  “Good to know.”

  We walked in silence again before turning back in the direction of my house.

  “Am I allowed to meet your father tonight?” Will asked.

  I raised my eyebrows in shock.

  “You’re joking, right?” I asked, bewildered by his bizarre request.

  “We are working on a paper together,” Will reminded me. “Don’t you think it would be prudent for him to meet your partner if I’ll be coming to your house in the future? That is unless you would feel more comfortable coming to my house.”

  His eyes shone with amusement as I thought it over.

  “Why don’t you come over Friday night,” I said slowly.

  That would give me time to—what exactly? Prepare my dad? Prepare myself?

  “It’s a date, then,” Will said, sounding a little too satisfied with himself. “What time would you like me to come over?”

  “You know, I don’t get you,” I said, exhaling.

  “What is it that you don’t understand?”

  “Why you’re here of all places. Who you are. What your deal is … I mean, you don’t make any sense!” Will’s eyes narrowed, but I sped on, suddenly unable to control myself. “You’re nineteen, you’re obviously loaded, you could go anywhere, do anything. Instead, you show up here and beat the ever living shit out of a bunch of psychos like you’re … I don’t know what! And you’re following me around, which is just … weird!”

  I stopped, breathless. We had stopped outside my house, and I was practically shouting at my History partner. It began misting again, and glimmering droplets of water in his hair were forming a halo around Will’s face. Without warning, I felt an irrational desire to reach out and trace his perfect features with my fingertips—to convince myself he was real. He was beautiful, perfect, but somehow alien. It wasn’t just that he didn’t belong here with me. Actually, he didn’t belong anywhere with mere mortals.