“You’re going to be on time.”
“You’ve turned into such a grandma,” I grumbled. He ignored my comment and deposited my books into my arms. These days, he rarely allowed me to carry anything for longer than was necessary. I must have looked so lazy to everyone else, always walking around with Xavier by my side, dutifully carrying my belongings.
“You know, I can carry my own stuff, Xav, I’m not an invalid,” I said.
“I know,” he replied, flashing his adorable half-smile. “But I enjoy being at your disposal.”
Before he could stop me, I locked my arms around his neck and pulled him into an alcove between the lockers. It was his own fault really, standing there with his soft hair flopping over his eyes, his school shirt coming untucked, and the plaited leather band hugging his smooth tanned wrist as if it were a part of him. If he didn’t want to be mauled, he shouldn’t have put himself right in my path.
Xavier dropped his own books and kissed me back forcefully, his hands holding my neck, his body pressed close against mine. The few students hurrying by to classes stared openly at us.
“Get a room,” someone sniped, but I ignored them. For that moment space and time didn’t exist—there was only the two of us in our own personal dimension, and I couldn’t remember where I was or even who I was. I couldn’t distinguish where my being stopped and his began. It made me think of a line from Jane Eyre when Rochester tells Jane he loves her as if she were his own flesh. That was exactly how it felt loving Xavier.
Then he broke away.
“You are very bad, Miss Church,” he said, breathing heavily, a smile playing around his lips. He put on a genteel voice. “And I am powerless when it comes to your charms. Now I believe we are both late for class.”
Luckily for me, Miss Castle wasn’t the sort of teacher to be bothered about punctuality.
She handed me a folder as I came in and took a seat at the front of the room.
“Hello, Beth,” she said. “We’re just discussing the introduction to third quarter. I’ve decided to allocate you all a creative writing task to be done with a partner. Together you’ll need to come up with a poem to read to the class on the subject of love, to preface our upcoming study of the great Romantic poets Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats, and Byron. Does anyone have a favorite poem they’d like to share before we start?”
“I do,” said a well-spoken voice from the back of the room. I scanned the faces to identify the speaker who had a distinct English accent. An awed silence fell over the rest of the class. It was the newcomer. Brave of him, I thought, to go out on a limb on his first day. Either that or he was enormously conceited.
“Thank you, Jake!” Miss Castle said enthusiastically. “Would you like to come up here to recite it?”
“Certainly.”
The boy that sauntered to the front of the room was not what I had expected. Something about his appearance made my heart plunge into my stomach. He was tall and lean, and his straight dark hair reached his shoulders. His cheekbones were sharp, giving him a gaunt, hollow look. His nose drooped slightly at the tip, and his brilliant jade-green eyes gazed out from beneath low-set brows. His lips curled in a permanent sneer. It made him look intolerant of his surroundings.
He was dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt, and a dark tattoo of a serpent wound around his forearm. He was totally unselfconscious about not being in school uniform on his first day. In fact, he had the confident swagger of someone who considers himself above the rules. There was no denying it—he was beautiful. But there was something about him that suggested more than beauty. Was it grace, poise, charm, or something more dangerous?
Jake’s smoldering gaze swept across the classroom. Before I could duck my head, his eyes locked with mine and lingered there. He gave a self-assured smile before beginning.
“ ‘Annabel Lee,’ a ballad by Edgar Allan Poe,” he announced smoothly. “It might interest you to know that Poe married his thirteen-year-old cousin, Virginia, when he was twenty-seven.
She died two years later from TB.”
The class stared at him entranced. When he began to speak, his voice seemed to flow out like rich syrup and filled the room. It was the cultured, confident voice of someone used to having things his own way.
It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsmen came
And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and meYes!—that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than weOf many far wiser than weAnd neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.
When Jake finished, I couldn’t help but notice that every female in the room, including
Miss Castle, was enraptured, gazing at him as if their knight in shining armor had just arrived.
Even I had to admit it was an impressive delivery. His recitation of the poem had been poignant, as though Annabel Lee truly had been the love of his life. By the look of some of the girls, they were ready to jump up and console him for his loss.
“That was a very expressive rendition,” Miss Castle breathed. “We must keep you in mind when Jazz and Poetry night comes along. All right, everyone, I hope that’s inspired you to come up with some poetry of your own. I’d like you to get into pairs and brainstorm ideas. The form is entirely up to you. Give yourselves free rein—complete poetic license!”