Angelfire
Page 6

I didn't like the way they were talking about Mr. Meyer, so I tried to block them and the disturbing mental images out. Cold Stone was busy; since it was past four, the elementary school nearby had let out and now the place was beginning to swarm with screaming, squabbling little kids. I tried my best to ignore them, since fifth-grade boys tended to hit on high school girls. My eyes scanned the area, distantly watching their faces, until I spotted the strange boy from outside school the day before.
Today he wore a black long-sleeved tee and darkwashed jeans. He was sitting alone at a table about twenty feet away and staring off into space. I knew him. I had to know him from somewhere. When I looked at him, brief images of his face, his eyes, and his smile flashed in my mind. A warm scent struck me that I knew was his, but I wasn't close enough to catch it. The tenderness overtaking my heart both frightened my and brought me peace. When he noticed that I was staring at him, he looked back and didn't look away. I tried to block him out, too, but I realized I couldn't ignore everybody. I turned back to my friends.
"School should be open tomorrow," Rachel said.
Kate licked up a glob of whipped cream. "That sucks."
"Do you think we'l stil have to finish this week's economics paper?" Landon asked.
Chris shrugged. "Why wouldn't we? We're just going to have a sub until they find a ful -time replacement."
I finished my ice cream quickly, without joining the conversation, and then got up to walk to the trash can on the side of the building to throw my cup away. When I turned around, I nearly bumped into a tal form, and I jumped, startled. Looking up, I found myself standing face to face with the boy I'd seen the day before. He was tal , maybe six feet, and broad shouldered--and he was standing much, much too close. His presence wrapped around me--not suffocating, as I would have expected, but peaceful. I didn't pul away from him. He looked down at me with bright green eyes, saying nothing. Around the col ar of his shirt were strange black markings like tattoos. His dark hair was tousled just a little by the September breeze.
"Um, hi," I said, drawling in my uneasiness. "Do you . . . need the trash can?" I felt like an idiot as soon as I said it.
"Hi," he said, and gave me a quiet smile, one that amplified the gentle contours of his face, the curve of his lips, the little line beside his right eye that appeared when he smiled--a smile I felt I'd seen a mil ion times before. "No, I don't need the trash can."
"Okay . . ." I started to walk around him back to my friends.
"Do you remember me?" he asked.
Other than having a distinct sense of deja vu, I was very sure I didn't know him. "I think I might have seen you yesterday at school."
"That's it?" His expression showed that he felt hurt. Yeah, he was real y weird. "I'm pretty sure. Are you looking for someone?"
"No," he mused. "You're Elisabeth Monroe, right?"
"El ie, yeah. Do you go to my school?"
"No, sorry. You're having a party Saturday, aren't you?"
Good grief, did the whole world know? "Yeah. How'd you hear about it if you don't go to my school?"
"A friend." He smiled.
"You okay, El ie?" Landon had joined us. He looked annoyed, almost hostile. "Who's this guy?" He stared at the boy up and down.
The stranger's smile faded. "Just cal me Wil ."
His words triggered something in the back of my mind, just as his smile felt familiar to me. I felt as if I'd heard him say that before.
"Don't talk to her, man," Landon said, taking a step toward Wil .
I put a gentle hand on Landon's chest. "Landon, chil , he's not bothering me. I was just throwing my cup away. Let's go. Nice meeting you, Wil ."
I nodded to Wil and led Landon away. "What's your problem?" I asked him once we were out of earshot.
"Nothing--don't worry about it. He shouldn't be talking to you."
"I thought you were going to punch that guy."
"If he touched you, I would've."
I blinked in surprise. "Wel , he didn't."
He huffed. "Good."
I tried not to laugh. Landon had been my friend since the sixth grade, but he was a boy, and boys made no sense to me..
My dad actual y made it home in time for dinner, to my astonishment, but as soon as we al sat down at the table, I wanted him gone. Dinners recently had mostly been spent with my parents trying to get me to talk. I didn't need to talk about Mr. Meyer. I wasn't ten years old and I wasn't traumatized. I was just sad. That was natural and to be expected. I didn't need to be babied about it.
I dreaded school the next morning. It was going to be today al over again times a thousand. Not to mention I stil had that math test on my schedule. What a way to spend my birthday.
My dad's fist slamming on the table jarred me brutal y from my thoughts. I sat up like a shot.
"That's not the point." His voice was frigid and harsh, as if he were holding back an angry yel .
"It's not?" my mom asked. "This is the first night you've been home al week. It wouldn't surprise me to find out her nightmares are a result of her lacking a father figure."
"That is ridiculous. Don't give me that psychobabble, Diane."
"I'm just trying to find a solution," Mom said tiredly. "Her teacher was murdered. If anything, that wil start the nightmares again. We should take her back to Dr. Niles."