21
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 pain — more 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.”
“Well, I’ve given the matter some serious thought.”
“And what have you come up with?”
“Cookie,” I announced proudly.
Xavier scrunched up his face. “No way.”
“You don’t like it? What about Bumblebee?”
“Worse.”
“Snookie-wookie?”
“Do you have any cyanide?”
“Well, some of us are just a bit hard to please.”
We walked past some girls poring over celebrity gowns in a magazine, and I remembered my other news. “Did I tell you that Ivy’s making my dress? I hope it’s not putting her out too much.”
“What are sisters for?”
“I’m so happy we’re going together.” I sighed. “It’s going to be perfect.”
“You’re happy?” Xavier whispered. “I’m the one going with an angel.”
“Shh!” I clapped a hand over his mouth. “Remember what we promised Gabe.”
“It’s okay, Beth; no one around here has supersonic hearing.” He gave me a peck on the cheek. “And the prom is going to be great. Tell me about your dress.”
I pursed my lips and refused to disclose any details.
“Oh, come on!”
“No. You’ll have to wait till the night.”
“Can I at least know the color?”
“Nope.”
“Women can be so cruel.”
“Xavier?”
“Yes, babe?”
“Would you write me a poem if I asked you to?”
Xavier looked at me quizzically. “Are we talking love poems?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, I can’t say it’s my forte, but I’ll have something for you by day’s end.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I laughed. “I was just wondering.”
I was always taken aback by Xavier’s willingness to oblige. Was there anything he wouldn’t do for me if I asked?
Xavier and I were due to give a talk in French that lesson, and we’d chosen to do it on Paris, the city of love. In truth, we hadn’t done very much research; Gabriel had given us all the information we needed. We hadn’t even had to open a book or Internet page. When Mr. Collins called us up, Xavier spoke first, and I noticed other girls in the class eyeing him with interest. I tried to imagine myself in their place, watching him longingly from a distance but never really knowing him. I looked at his smooth tanned skin, his entrancing aqua eyes, his half-smile, his strong arms, and the locks of light brown hair falling across his forehead. He still wore his silver crucifix on a leather cord around his neck. He was so striking — and he was all mine.
I was so caught up in admiring him that I missed my cue to start talking. Xavier cleared his throat, recalling me to the present, and I quickly launched into my part of the presentation, focusing on the romantic sights and the cuisine Paris had to offer. As I talked, I realized that instead of making eye contact with the class and attempting to engage them, I was sneaking sidelong glances at Xavier. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off him for a minute.