Gravity, a young adult paranormal romance (9 page)

My apple from our shading homework
last night looked more like a wad of cookie dough. I glanced at
Theo's book, and was instantly both impressed and deeply jealous.
Drawings already crammed the pages — birds, horses, and a strange,
exotic fish with looping fins. When she flipped to a page that held
a drawing of human lungs, I couldn't help but say,
"Wow."

"What?" she asked, nonchalantly. As if
she'd drawn merely stick figures.

"You're so talented," I said. I knew I
was gushing, but it was honest gushing.

She blushed, pushing her glasses up on
her nose. "It's not a big deal. I just draw all the time. If you do
something enough, you get better at it."

Turning to a fresh sheet, she smoothed
out the paper. It was at least three quarters of the way through
the book. I watched as her face became more serious, as though she
were getting into creative mode.

"That's really impressive, is all," I
said.

She just continued with the line she
had started.  

"Why don't you want people at school
to know Ms. Vore is your mom?" I asked, taking a pencil from the
plastic cup on the table. I'd been curious about it since
yesterday, when Theo seemed to be horrified that I saw Ms. Vore
coming out of their house.  

"Wouldn't you be embarrassed if your
mom was your teacher?" she asked, pausing for a moment.

"Well, yeah," I agreed. "I get
embarrassed when Claire comes up for parent teacher conferences.
Last time she grilled my teachers on their educational
qualifications. I practically had to grab her arm and drag her
outside."

"It was just another thing for people
to tease me about back home," she said. "I'm not Goth enough for
the Goth kids. Not common enough for the regular kids. I was lucky
enough to have a few good friends. Here I don't have that
protection."

I nodded, fully understanding now that
my own defense had disappeared.

I'd never had the occasion to brag
about Hugh owning a gallery, as Jenna never really had any interest
in the subject. But I took this opportunity to do so.

"My dad owns Erasmus, the art gallery
in town."

Her eyes became huger and rounder than
they naturally were, as though I just handed her a Christmas
present.

"Get out. Really?"

I nodded, bemused.  

"That is...wow..." She looked at the
piles of thick reference books and art supplies on her mother's
desk. "I haven't been there yet, but I was impressed Hell had any
kind of culture at all. When my mom told me where we were moving, I
assumed there would be five houses and a watering hole."

"It was his dream to open it. I
remember when he was still painting full time in a closet, before
Claire finally let him have his own room." A smile found my lips at
the memory. "He has a section devoted to local artists. You should
show him your work." I normally wouldn't bug Hugh about his
business, but Theo was so talented it felt criminal not to at least
suggest it.  

"That would be great. Not that I'm
anything really special. But just to have the opportunity..." She
trailed off, a dreamy smile playing on her lips. "If you can't
tell, I'm kind of shy. I mean, I know I am, but it's hard to get
past it."

"I could tell a little," I admitted.
"It's not a bad trait. It serves you well here. But we're talking,
so you seem to warm up. That's the important thing."

She peppered me with questions for a
while, wanting to know when Hugh started the gallery and what kind
of work was displayed there.
          

Later in class, I brought up the
situation that had occurred in the hall to Theo. I felt like I had
to decipher it, although I didn't know why it mattered. I had
suspected deep down that Henry might be a jerk in good disguise
because of how quickly he had become friends with the popular kids.
My suspicions were just confirmed, that's all. But it bothered me
deeply. More than I cared to admit.

"Maybe he had an excuse," Theo
offered. We were whispering back and forth while Ms. Vore was
talking about different drawing techniques throughout the ages. I
knew it was rude to talk while the teacher was, but once I started
spilling theories, I couldn't plug my mouth back up
again.

"Like what?"

"Who knows? Sometimes it's better not
to assume things, though, no matter how obvious they look," she
said. I wondered briefly what brought her to that theory.
 

"That's very deep of you," I
said. 

"Thanks." Her pencil hadn't stopped
moving since she put it to the paper, and her art was making me
stunningly aware of my lack of artistic talent. But I didn't mind.
I was just amazed that anyone could create that kind of beauty with
the same instrument I used to doodle smiley faces. I often felt the
same way about Hugh when I watched him paint.

"But why even be there in the first
place?" I knew I couldn't let it go, and I was probably being
annoying. Theo shrugged in response, eyes fixed on her
drawing.

My eyes went to the back of Henry's
head. His dark brown hair fell to the nape of his neck, where a
short, inviting expanse of skin was exposed above his shirt collar.
He ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly. I wondered for a
crazy second if he could feel me watching him, then dismissed the
thought as absurd. He looked like he was drawing in his sketchbook,
too. I wondered how his talent fared. 
   

While still looking at him, I started
to say, "And also —"

"Ms. Donovan, repeat back to me what I
just said." Ms. Vore was standing right in front of my desk, with
her arms crossed. I looked up at her face slowly, heat spreading
across my cheeks, completely powerless. Nothing could save me now.
 

"Um. Techniques. Throughout
the...history. Of art," I said, fully aware of how lame I sounded.
I was terrible lately at coming up with answers on the spot.
 

"What artist was I just
discussing? Give me his name." Her monotonous voice complemented
her
I am not amused
face as she peered at me over the top of her glasses. I
wracked my brain desperately for a moment, trying to think up any
fudged answer, but I couldn't. In fact, the only artist whose name
I could remember was Theo's.

Great, now she would think I was not a
serious student, even though her class was one of my
favorites.

"In the future, I suggest you pay more
attention to your education, instead of staring at Henry. You can
do that on your own time. Instead, focus on your artwork." She
seemed to find it amusing now, the corners of her lips jerking. So
did everyone else in class, apparently, as they laughed at
me. 

"And the answer was Cezanne," she
added as an endnote, clucking her tongue.  

"I wasn't....staring..." I sputtered,
but she had already moved on, and was continuing with her
instruction at the chalkboard.  

I
hadn't
been staring. Not really.
There was a distinct difference between looking and staring and
that difference was obvious, right? My cheeks were red-hot and I
felt dizzy from embarrassment. Maybe I would pass out and they
could just ship me off to the nurse's office. Theo had buried her
face in her hands beside me.

"Mom..." she whispered to no one in
particular, "Why was that necessary?"  

Henry turned around slowly in his
seat, his face holding a look of confusion. For a brief moment our
eyes met, as my stomach swan dived. Lainey was glaring daggers at
me, I could feel it. I imagined her drawing her finger across her
neck to let me know I was toast. But I couldn't take my eyes off of
Henry. Slowly, his lips curled into a smile.  

I looked down at my wasted sketchbook,
wishing I could jump into the empty pages.   

Chapter 7

Theo stuck around after class as
everyone else left.

"That's why I almost skipped art," she
told me matter-of-factly. "My mom is nice most of the time, but she
also thinks she's in a movie occasionally. But I couldn't skip it.
Art is the closest thing I have to religion."

"It's all right," I assured her.
Nothing could be done about it now. I gathered my supplies as
slowly as possible to avoid people in the hall. Gossip spread like
fire through dry brush at Hawthorne. "I should have dropped the
Henry thing. It's my fault for harping on it so much."

"I'm kind of impressed you didn't
cry," Theo said, studying my face like a sculpture. "If it were me,
I totally would have squirted Niagara Falls."

I neglected to tell her that crying
wasn't an option for me anymore. She said goodbye and glared at her
mom on the way out as they walked to their car. I was the last one
to leave the room, praying that everyone else was gone.

But as I walked into the hall, I had a
shock. Henry stood casually across the way, in the darkened
woodshop doorway. He looked down at the phone he was texting on.
Was he waiting for me? I hoped not. I hurried out the door and past
him, hoping I could avoid catching his too-focused attention.
 

But then he was right next to me,
shutting his phone and sliding it into the front pocket of his
jeans.

"In a hurry?" he asked
pleasantly.

"Yes," I said.
To get away from you, you make me nervous and I
have enough to worry about.

"Art class was interesting today," he
hinted, still with the same cheerful tone of voice. His gigantic
smile was back, framed by his pillowy lips. "Really fascinating
notes."  

"Okay, now you
are
irritating me," I
said, scowling. This only made him laugh more.

I spun around to face him, aware that
we were the only two people around. My heart fluttered, but not in
an enjoyable way.

"I wasn't staring at you. I was
telling my friend that you just stood by today while that guy got
the crap kicked out of him."

His handsome face fell, almost into a
pout. "What was I supposed to do?" he asked softly.

"I don't know, stop him?" I couldn't
believe the anger that had come from nowhere. All the time brimming
below the surface of my calm thoughts.

"I don't want to step on anybody's
toes," he explained. "There's a whole power structure in place in
this school. It's very cult like, if you haven't
noticed."

"I've noticed," I said shortly, and
started walking away. But he kept up with me, matching my
stride.

"I don't understand how you can be
friends with those people," I said.  

"I'm friends with lots of different
people. You and I, for example, I would consider friends," he
said.

This made me stop again. We had barely
spoken a few words to one another, and now we were
friends?

"You know that power structure you
mentioned? It sort of means we shouldn't even be talking," I said.
It was hard to glare at someone so cheerful and attractive, but I
managed it anyway.

His phone rang, and he yanked it out
of his pocket, sighing with exasperation.  

"I have to take this," he said,
looking at the screen. "But I want to keep talking later,
okay?"

He held my gaze for a moment longer,
then flipped his phone open and distanced himself from me as he
headed for the exit.

"Hold on a second," he told the person
on the other end. He turned back around, walking backwards, and
said, "Promise me."

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth.
"I promise." He nodded his head at me, and then he was
gone.

I unclenched the fists I didn't know I
was making. Well, that was that, whatever it was. His bizarre
insistence that we chat had confused me. Thankfully, I had two
whole days away from school to look forward to. No more politics or
drama for forty-eight hours.

I don't know if I've ever appreciated
a weekend more. I tried to pretend like school was a bad dream, and
I was awake now that I was in my own house. The days were rainy,
and I refused to get out of my pajamas or brush my hair.

On Sunday, Claire stayed in her home
office, busy with a proposal for work. She worked for a life
insurance company, approving or denying people coverage while she
wasn't in meetings. It seemed like an incredibly stressful job, but
it paid well, and besides, Claire seemed to thrive under stress.
Without deadlines and last-minute fixes, I think she would have
felt unimportant.

I could tell she didn't want to be
disturbed because the door was shut. Lame, considering I wanted to
use the computer. But probably best to keep me away from checking
Jenna's page again.

Because of the nonstop rain, by noon
it was as dark as evening. The walls in the living room had
swirling forest green wallpaper Claire had installed last year,
which only contributed to the lack of light. I walked around the
house, flicking on lamps to try to brighten up the place. I found
persistent rain comforting, as if it insulated me from the outside
world.

"I have an adventure for us," Hugh
said, coming out of the kitchen with a box of garbage bags in his
hand.