Divine Vices (3 page)

“At
last, we have hope!” declared Gwen, surprising Ian and me from behind as we
left first hour.

“Did
we step through a portal that has brought us to the last day of senior year?”
asked Ian.

“Uh,
no. I was talking about hope for Cassie,” Gwen replied.

“Figures.
At least one of us has chance at relief,” Ian chuckled.

“Turns
out she’s no longer the newest fish in New Haven’s tank. We just got a
transfer, and according to Trish’s account,
he’s
obscenely gorgeous.”

“Yeah,
not my taste,” I said.

“What?!
You haven’t even seen him.”

“I
don’t need to. Anyone described that way is already bad news. It practically
screams narcissistic. Besides, Stacy’s fangs will be into this guy’s neck
before I so much as see him.”

“Just
keep an open mind,” Gwen said. “For all you know, he could very well be your
white knight for Homecoming.”

“Doubtful,”
said Ian.

“We’ll
see about that soon enough. From what I’ve heard, they’ll be sharing English
together.”

Social
networking catapulted the news of this stranger’s existence into the school’s
consciousness in the mere matter of the ten minute break between first and
second hour. I was running a little late to English, so I was forced to take a
vacant seat closer to the front of the classroom. Immediately pulling out my
textbook and flipping to our lesson plan for the day, I did what I could to not
pay attention to the commotion arising from the rest of the females.

The
room suddenly went quiet, clearly indicating that the stranger in question had
arrived. Whether it was from Gwen’s insistency to put myself out there or the
simple dread of her developing an unhealthy infatuation as she was privately
noted for, I didn’t so much as lift my eyes from the book on my desk to take
notice.

“Class,
please help me in welcoming our newest student to New Haven High, Jackson Matthews,”
announced Miss Tipton.

“Hi,”
everyone replied in unison as if they were greeting someone at an AA meeting.

I
covered my mouth to hide the laughter that began rising to the surface.

“As
if that salutation wasn’t uncomfortable enough first hour,” the stranger
replied with a spark of humor.

The
comment was enough to catch my attention, so I surrendered my eyes to the front
of the room. There he stood just over six feet tall, lean yet muscular, dressed
all in faded shades of black from his t-shirt, fitted jeans, motorcycle boots,
and leather jacket. His penetratingly sharp, icy blue serpentine eyes were all
the more accentuated by lashes as long and dark as a cow’s. Obnoxiously perfect
bed-head black locks of hair laid tousled across his forehead, framing a
striking face saved for the glossy pages of magazines.

He
was guaranteed to be egotistical and vain, as shallow as a kiddy pool, and
right up Stacy’s alley. Staring at someone like him should have come with an
indication sign, like “COULD CAUSE RETINA DAMAGE!” or “NEVER GONNA SEE ANY
BETTER THIS SIDE OF YOUR TELEVISION SCREEN!” at least. In other words, I
dropped any delusional notion that I had a chance with him the very second I
refocused my attention back to my textbook. That was that. Thank God. The last
thing I needed in my life was a distraction, especially one of overly perfect,
um... proportions.

“You
can take a seat in front of Miss Foster, right over there in the front corner,”
said Miss Tipton.

Damn
it!

Sure
enough, ten seconds later, GQ’s missing model came and parked a seat in the
chair directly ahead of me, sending an annoyingly enticing coastal fragrance my
way. Almost every other guy at school wore the same clichéd deodorant, typical
to the commercials where young, statuesque women ripped the clothes off of
whomever was wearing it. Instead, Jackson’s skin held that sweet lingering
aroma of the shore that I missed so dearly from the long summer days I spent at
the beach.

Miss
Tipton handed him a shabby, secondhand edition of our English textbook, for all
the better copies had been given out at the beginning of the year.

“Everyone,
open up to page one hundred and eighty-six. This will be our introduction to
nineteenth century literature, which means...”

The
whole class groaned.

“Yep,
we will be starting a new book,
Jane Eyre
to be exact. And I know what
all of you are thinking, ‘how does a message about the high regard for one’s
morality and sexual restraint play any relevance in today’s society?’ Well, I
can’t necessarily say that it does,” Miss Tipton affirmed.

This
declaration had at least earned our curiosity.

“What
you wish to take from this is entirely up to you,” she continued. “Being that
this is one of my favorite books, I am going to do you all the pleasure by not
forcing you to overanalyze every line and phrase in its text. I will not be
giving you chapter quizzes and constant vocabulary worksheets, because it is my
belief that such dissection can in fact distract the reader from the book’s
message.”

All
the more thankful that New Haven’s curriculum was a bit behind schedule from my
former school, I silently rejoiced in the fact that I had already read the book
sophomore year.

“Instead,
each day we will all discuss our opinions on the portion assigned the night
before and the book in its entirety,” said Miss Tipton, opening up a cabinet
door where dozens of paperbacks sat neatly stacked inside.

She
continued with our lesson plan after handing out the novels. We were given a
chance at the end of class to start quietly working on our homework, which
naturally brought a hushed chorus of mingling whispers from gossipy classmates.

“Hey,
sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt you, but could you tell me where the biology
lab is?”

I
looked up from my book, whose contents I was in fact only pretending to read,
to see Jackson Matthews looking right back at me with a crooked grin under a
surprisingly friendly stare.

“The
office gave me a photocopied map of the school, but you can’t really read it,”
he said, showing me the paper full of indistinguishable black splotches of what
was supposed to pass as writing labeled across a vague blueprint.

“Yeah,
I got that my first day too,” I said. “I’m pretty sure they’re still using the
same printer they bought back in the ’60s.”

“You’re
new here, too?”

“Fairly.
I transferred before the new school year. You’re gonna want to head upstairs to
the east wing,” I said, pointing to the map. “The lab’s right on the corner of
the hall.”

“Thank
you.”

“Yeesh...”
I said, taking notice to his schedule. “You’ve got P.E. right after Bio. That’s
not good.”

He
looked at me rather bemusedly. “I’m sorry? Is that like taboo or something?
Cause you say that like it’s swimming after eating.”

“No,”
I laughed. “It’s just that they’re at two totally opposite sides of the school,
and Mr. Rothenberg, the biology teacher, really gets longwinded and loves to
hear himself speak. So word from the wise, try to get out of the classroom as
quickly as you can upon dismissal. Otherwise, he’ll force you to stay so he can
gab your ear off, and then release you with no time at all to get to your next
class. And he
never
gives out hall passes. Since you’re new, I’m gonna
bet he’ll ask you to stay after class just to give you one of his speeches.”

“So
you’re saying I’m doomed no matter what? Very comforting,” he replied, his grin
growing thicker across his face.

“That’s
the fortunate thing about being new. You can always just use the excuse that
you got lost. It works for at least the first few days.”

“Any
other pointers?”

“Try
sitting in the middle of the rows during Math, preferably close to the sides.
Mr. Hopkins calls on students randomly who are sitting in his ‘hot-zones,’
which means the people directly in the front and the troublemakers tucked away
in back who are trying to go unnoticed. Here, raise your hand every so often,
so that Miss Tipton knows you’re at least paying attention. This way, on the
days when you’re not, she’ll take it fairly easy on you. P.E. is pretty
self-explanatory. Just don’t try to show off too much at first, like when
running your first clocked mile. You’ll be expected to beat that time at the
end of the semester in order to get a passing grade, so everyone takes it
rather lackadaisically the first time around. And Study Hall, don’t chew gum. Mr.
Randall despises it. Other than that, you’ll do just fine.”

“Thank
you.”

“No
problem.”

He
extended his hand to me. “Jack.”

“I
caught that,” I said, shaking his hand just as the bell rang for dismissal. I
grabbed my books and slid out of my seat.

Jack
remained at his desk, looking up at me with a curious grin. “Do I get a name?”

“Good
luck in Bio,” I replied. “Better get a move on. You’ve got a long ways to go to
the east wing.”

The
brush-off could very well have come off as poor manners, but the inexplicable
desire to give him a sportive grin upon my departure secured a certain
flirtation, leaving me purely dumbfounded by such an uncommon action. I was
more likely to get an acceptance letter from Hogwarts than be caught dabbling
in the art of seduction. Maybe I was ill. Flu? Food poisoning? Host to an alien
parasite, perhaps? Whatever it was, I had to admit, I sort of enjoyed stepping
outside of my introverted mindset.

I
managed to dodge Gwen between the ten minute break, but that didn’t save me
from her interrogation the moment I walked into the gymnasium for P.E.
following Trigonometry.

She
practically tackled me with her eagerness bursting from the seams. “Tell me
everything! What’s he like? Is he really hot, or was Trish just pulling my leg?
Spill!”

“I
will, the moment you decide to take a breath.”

“Sorry,”
she said, trying to calmly inhale. “I’m just dying to know.”

“As
far as looks go, you can see for yourself,” I said, spinning her around.

“In
the name of all that is holy!” Gwen blurted, watching Jack saunter in from the
other side of the gym just as the attendance bell sounded off.

“Girls,
start getting ready,” called out Coach Whitmore, donned in his usual
windbreaker apparel.

“Excuse
me for savoring the sweet flavor of some adorable eye candy,” whispered Gwen as
he turned his back to us.

“Well,
the faster you get changed, the sooner you can come out and gawk,” I said,
pulling her into the locker room.

Gwen
made sure to apply a fresh layer of lip gloss before reentering the gymnasium
with her usual workout uniform that was just a bit too tight to be comfortable,
while I wore a fitted (but breathable) purple, school-issued New Haven Knights
athletic shirt and black track pants. We parked ourselves seats in the
bleachers as Gwen waited in anticipation for Jack to emerge from the locker
room as well.

“Is
this the only time all day that you vaguely resemble anything normal?” Gwen
asked Ian as he came up to join us, giving a quick once-over at his clothes.

“If
you mean ‘vaguely resembling the mandatory implementation of becoming an
archetype during the duration of gym class,’ then yes,” he replied, looking
down at his outfit.

Even
with Coach Whitmore’s strict dress code in place, Ian still managed to hold
onto his rebellious style with his endless collection of defiantly
catch-phrased t-shirts. Today’s read: “WHEN DID THE VILLAGE CHANGE ITS RULE?
BECAUSE I SEE IDIOTS EVERYWHERE!” Coach wasn’t particularly pleased with his
sense of expression, but since Ian was a good student and wasn’t technically
breaking the dress code, he cut him some slack.

When
Ian parked a seat beside me, he picked a pencil off the floor of the bleachers.
“Wanna see a trick?”

“Absolutely,”
I said, always eager to see what he had up his sleeves for a sense of
entertainment.

“You’re
not gonna stab someone, right?” said Gwen.

“Wasn’t
planning on it,” laughed Ian.

“Pity.”

He
put his left hand out flat in front of him with the inside facing upward. He
then took the tip of the pencil and placed it in the center of his palm,
releasing his grip on it to have it balance in place on its own.

“Okay,
this is already creepy,” commented Gwen.

“Ready?”
he said, resting the palm of his other hand firmly over the top of the pencil.
He suddenly drove his right hand down, and Gwen and I jumped, expecting to see
a pencil drive through the middle of his left palm. But his hands clapped
together with the pencil nowhere in sight.

“What
the hell?” I laughed, seeing him reach over to pull the pencil out from behind
my ear on his opposing side. “How did you do that?”

He
shrugged whimsically.

“And
you wonder why people are afraid of you,” remarked Gwen.

“I
love it,” I said. “It’s nice being stumped every now and again.”

“Look
at that,” said Gwen, gaping at Jack the moment he stepped into the gym. “I’ve
seen statues of Greek gods less perfect than him. And he’s coming this way!”

“I
take it that’s the new guy?” said Ian. “Not to mention Meyer’s future husband.”

“I
wouldn’t be so sure of that,” said Gwen, seeing Jack’s eyes pinpointing me out.

“Fancy
seeing you here,” he said on arrival, looking up at me with his seductive grin.

“Indeed
it is,” I replied. “I had my doubts you’d survive Mr. Rothenberg’s speeches.”

“As
they say, ‘What doesn’t kill you... may still leave you perpetually bored.’ I
did manage to escape nevertheless.”

Gwen
bumped my arm, urging me into an introduction.

“This
is Gwen,” I said, motioning to her, “and this is Ian. Guys, this is Jack.”

They
all exchanged greetings, Gwen barely managing to compose herself as she shook
his hand.

“So,
Rumpelstiltskin, will I ever get the pleasure of knowing your name?” asked
Jack, his stare penetrating straight through me with a surging endorphin rush.