“Because you’re standing in front of me,” Finn replied simply. He looked up at me, his eyes framed by dark lashes, and there wasn’t any hint of embarrassment or even denial about being confronted. It was definitely unnerving.
“You’re always staring at me,” I persisted, trying to be as calm and collected as he was. “It’s weird. You’re weird.”
“I wasn’t trying to fit in,” Finn said. I twisted my ring on my thumb and hated that I had to fumble for a response.
“Why do you look at me all the time?” I rephrased my original question.
“Does it bother you?” Finn’s eyes flashed at something that might have been surprise, but it disappeared so quickly, it was probably nothing more than my imagination.
“Answer the question,” I demanded and stood up straighter, trying to make my presence more imposing so he wouldn’t realize how much he was rattling me.
“Everyone always looks at you,” Finn replied coolly and leaned back in his chair. “You’re very attractive.”
That sounded like a compliment, but his voice was completely emotionless when he said it. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to make fun of a vanity I didn’t even have, or he was simply stating facts. Was he flattering me or mocking me? Or maybe something else entirely?
“Nobody stares at me as much as you do,” I countered as evenly as I could.
“If it bothers you, I’ll try and stop,” Finn offered.
That was tricky. In order to ask him to stop, I had to admit that it was getting to me, and I didn’t want admit to anyone that anything got to me. If I lied and said it was fine, then he would just keep on doing it. I had no way to win in this situation.
“I didn’t ask you to stop. I asked you why,” I amended. That didn’t really help, but it made me look slightly less weak. Maybe.
“I told you why,” Finn said.
“No, you didn’t,” I shook my head. “You just said that everyone looks at me. You never explained why you looked at me.”
Almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth moved up ever so slightly, revealing just the hint of a smirk. It wasn’t just that he was amused with me; he was pleased with me. He was glad that I had caught him, like he had been challenging me somehow and I passed. That pissed me off, but what pissed me off even more was that I was happy I had passed, that I had made him happy in some insignificant way. My stomach did a stupid flip thing I had never felt before, and I swallowed hard, hoping to fight it back.
“I look at you because I can’t look away,” Finn answered finally.
His reply dumbfounded me. I was struck completely mute, trying to think of some kind of clever response, but my mind refused to work. My jaw probably slacked, and I imagined that I looked like an awestruck school girl, and I hurried to collect myself.
“That’s kind of creepy,” I said at last, but my words came out weak instead of accusatory.
“I’ll work on being less creepy then,” Finn promised.
I had called him out on being creepy, justifiably so, and it didn’t faze him at all. He didn’t stammer an apology or flush with shame and regret. He just kept looking at me evenly. Most likely, he was a damn sociopath, and for whatever reason, I found that endearing. First Patrick’s overt naivety, and now Finn’s total disregard for human emotion. Something was really out of whack with me.
It was impossible for me to come up with a witty retort, but thankfully, the bell rang, saving me from the rest of that awkward conversation. Finn just nodded, thus ending our exchange, and gathered up his books. Numbly, I went back over to the table to do the same, and Patrick was giving me a weird look.
Finn was already long gone. He had had hurried away almost as soon as I turned my back to him.
“Sorry,” I mumbled as we cleared up our things. I had rather rudely ditched him in the middle of his explanation, but he just smiled and shook it off. “I didn’t mean to just walk away. But that was bothering me.”
“No, that’s good. You’re not the kind of person to keep things to yourself,” Patrick said.
“No, I’m not,” I admitted wearily. “That kid’s just been bothering me.”
“I wouldn’t worry about him.” Patrick slung his bookbag over his shoulder and smiled reassuringly at me. “He’s harmless.”
“You think everyone is harmless,” I pointed out and started walking out of the library.
“Do I?” Patrick wondered aloud and followed a step behind me. “No.
I don’t think Tegan’s harmless.”
“She actually is harmless,” I laughed.
Patrick kept me company the rest of the way to my class, and he parted with a hearty wave. True to his word, Finn wasn’t creepy the rest of the day.
Every time I saw him, he was doing something innocuous that didn’t involve looking at me. I still got that feeling that was looking at me when I had my back to him, but as it turned out, I couldn’t seem to do much about feelings.
After school, Matt picked me up, but he was in a distinctly sour mood.
I thought about asking him what was up, but he usually told me things when he was ready. When we got home, he was all about slamming doors and throwing things around. Naturally, I followed suit and threw down my bookbag and kicked off my shoes. One of them hit the cupboard with a heavy bang, and he looked at me funny.
“What? Aren’t we all mad about something?” I asked in response to his expression. He just shook his head and walked into the living room. Sighing, I went after him. “What?”
I don’t even know if the living room could really be considered
“decorated.” There was a couch and two matching chairs from somebody’s expensive shabby chic collection, and an antique coffee table in the center of the room. A few cardboard boxes were stacked behind the couch, holding all of Maggie’s knick knacks and family photos which we never, ever put up. A few books were scattered across the coffee table, mostly Matt’s architecture books and a few of Maggie’s choices, which were things by Nicholas Sparks or had Oprah’s stamp of approval. The books were supposed to go on a built-in book shelf on either side of the fire place, but nobody ever got around to putting them away. Whenever we moved somewhere new, Maggie would quickly paint all the rooms, and that was the end of her decorating. Matt picked up one of his books and flopped heavily on the couch, preparing to ignore me by looking at famous buildings in Rome.
“Where’s Maggie?” I had noticed an unfamiliar silence, without any sounds of music upstairs or Maggie harassing us about our lives. Matt grunted and angrily flipped the page. “Oh. Is that what this is about?”
“It’s not about anything,” Matt replied curtly.
“She’s there, isn’t she?” I sat down in the chair next to him, and he just shook his head, refusing to even talk about it. “It really doesn’t bother me, Matt.”
“She promised she’d be back by now,” Matt muttered.
“It’s like a two hour drive. How did you expect her to be back by now?”
“She said she’d make sure you wouldn’t find out!” Matt had softened a little and warily looked at me out of the corner of his eye. He incorrectly assumed that I was more sensitive than I really was and always made a big show of protecting me from things that I didn’t need protection from.
“You know, if you didn’t have this attitude, I wouldn’t have even know she was there,” I pointed out gently. He furrowed his brow and shook his head again.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Matt sighed and rested his head on the back of the couch. “I didn’t want her to go. I don’t know why I agree to let her do this stuff.”
“You let her?” I laughed a little and leaned back in the chair, pulling my knees up to my chest. “She’s 36 years old and she’s your guardian! You don’t let her do anything.”
Matt humphed and went back to pretending to read his book. Maggie was technically both of our guardians, but Matt had probably done more
“guardianing” than anyone else. He was disturbingly mature for his age, especially when he had been a teenager. Most nights, he’d skip parties and dates to stay home and try to get me to do some homework. Of course, this was almost entirely my fault since I never responded to anybody else’s attempts at help.
“I don’t know why this bothers you so much,” I said when Matt seemed content to stew in silence. Sometimes I’d let him, but other times I couldn’t help but poke and prod him. “It doesn’t even bother me.”