“I thought you’d be with a host family,” I said in surprise.
“Well, that would be like staying with boring relatives, wouldn’t it? I prefer my own company.”
“And your parents are okay with that?” I was uncomfortable with the idea of him living on his own. Even though he sounded mature and worldly, he was still a teenager.
“I’ll tell you all about my parents if you tell me about yours.” His dark eyes burned into mine like lasers. “I suspect we have a lot more in common than we realize. By the way, what are you doing Sunday morning? I thought we might work on our masterpiece.”
“I have church on Sunday.”
“Of course you do.”
“You’re welcome to come along.”
“Thanks, but I’m allergic to incense.”
“That’s a shame.”
“It’s the bane of my existence.”
“Well, I have to go and study,” I said, moving past him, aware of the minutes slipping by.
He stepped casually in front of me. “Before you go, I have the opening line of our poem.”
He dug a crumpled ball of paper from his pocket and tossed it lightly to me. “Don’t be too hard on me—it’s only a beginning. We can take it anywhere you like from here.”
He flashed me a smile and sauntered away. I moved over to the closest bench and smoothed out the paper. Jake’s handwriting was elegant and narrow, the letters elongated; nothing like Xavier’s boyish print. Xavier hated cursive; it took too long and looked too fancy.
Jake’s writing was like calligraphy, the letters swirled across the page as though they were dancing. But it was the seven words he had written that sent my mind into a spin:
Drowning
What could Jake mean by that? She had the face of an angel. I felt as if the words had been burned into my brain, as though, in a split second, Jake had unzipped me and left me shivering and exposed. Could he possibly have guessed my secret? Was this his idea of a twisted joke?
Something snapped in me then; I felt overcome by a sudden anger. Forgetting all about my plans to catch up on the French Revolution, I bolted inside to find Jake. I tore through empty corridors, back to the cafeteria, where I scanned the groups gathered in little clusters. But he wasn’t among any of them. A flutter of fear began in my chest and I knew it would soon swell if
I didn’t do something to stop it. I had to track Jake down and ask him about the poem before the beginning of the next class or it would eat away at me.
I found him at his locker.
“What’s this all about?” I demanded, charging up to him and waving the paper under his nose.
“Pardon me?”
“This isn’t funny.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”
“I’m not in the mood for games. Just tell me what you meant by this.”
“Hmmm, I’m guessing you don’t like it,” Jake said. “Don’t worry, we can scrap it—no need to get worked up.”
“What were you thinking when you wrote it?”
“I was just thinking it might be a good place to start.” He shrugged. “Did I offend you or something?”
I breathed deeply and forced myself to remember how Miss Castle had introduced the assignment to the class. She had given us a brief rundown on the tradition of courtly love and read us some sonnets by Petrarch and Shakespeare. She’d talked about the idealization and worship of the woman from afar. Was it possible that Jake was merely sticking to the theme?
My fury was suddenly redirected at myself for jumping to wild conclusions.
“I’m not offended,” I said, feeling ridiculous. Both my anger and fear had subsided as quickly as they had arisen. It was hardly Jake’s fault he’d come up with the word angel in relation to a poem about love. I was just paranoid about all celestial references. Jake’s use of the word had more than likely been innocent. It wasn’t even original; how many poets over time had made similar comparisons?
“It’s fine,” I added. “We’ll work on it some more in class. Sorry if I seemed a little loopy just now.”
“That’s okay, we all have our loopy days.”
He gave me a smile, a proper one this time, without the curling lip and attitude. He reached out and touched my arm reassuringly.
“Thanks for being cool about it,” I said gratefully, mirroring what Molly might say in a similar situation.
“It’s what I do,” he said.
I watched him stroll away to join a small group that included Alicia, Alexandra, and Ben from our literature class, along with some others I recognized as music students by their straggly hair and loose ties. They closed in around him like devotees as he approached and then seemed to dive immediately into a deep discussion. I felt pleased for him that he had found a group to belong to.
I went off to my own locker, still feeling as though something was amiss. It wasn’t until I had gathered my books and was waiting for Xavier to come and meet me that I realized I felt physical discomfort. I focused for a moment and located the sensation. It wasn’t real painmore like a mild case of sunburn. The skin on my arm, just below the elbow, was stinging in exactly the place where Jake had touched me. But how could his touch possibly have hurt me?
He had only put his hand very gently on my arm, and I hadn’t experienced anything unusual at the time.
“You seem distracted,” Xavier said as we walked together to French class. He knew me so well, he never missed a beat.
“Just thinking about the prom,” I replied.
“And that makes you look sad?”
I decided to force Jake Thorn from my mind. The pain in my arm probably had nothing to do with him. I’d most likely scraped it on a locker or desktop without noticing. I needed to stop overreacting.
“I don’t look sad,” I said lightly. “This is my thoughtful expression. Honestly, Xavier, can’t you read me by now?”
“I must be slipping.”
“It’s really not good enough.”
“I know. Feel free to punish me in any way you see fit.”
“Did I mention I’ve finally decided on a nickname for you?”
“I didn’t know you were looking.”