The Light and Fallen (3 page)

He had given her a quick kiss on the cheek.
Then he was gone.

The media storm that followed his
disappearance reported that Professor Haye had never arrived at his
destination. A local news reporter had secured a copy of the
airport security feed from the Falklands, and Samara had sat at the
kitchen table with her mother and watched the tiny, grainy image of
her father boarding a prop plane to Antarctica. The whole time she
was watching, she believed he would return.

She'd stayed by the phone for nine days,
expecting to hear his voice each time she answered. Then the police
told her mother that Professor Haye's plane had deviated from the
logged flight plan. Instead of landing at the Ice Runway, the plane
had touched down in a more isolated area. A safe landing had been
confirmed, but her father's whereabouts were untraceable.

The end of her Junior year was a blur. All
she remembered about the last few days of the semester was the way
the other students watched her when they thought she wasn't
looking. She'd almost felt sorry for them; she could tell they
didn't know what to say. It seemed like everyone was looking at her
all the time. Waiting. Wondering when she was going to have a
breakdown or scream or do something crazy.

She left town as soon as finals were over.
Her mother's parents lived on a goat ranch in the tiny town of
Archedale fifty miles away, the perfect place to flee. It had been
years since she'd been there, and the isolation that she normally
hated had been a haven. Things had seemed normal there. She'd gone
weeks without seeing anyone who knew her, or knew about her father.
No one there had stared at her with sad, sympathetic eyes.

She sighed. The quiet weeks of June and July
had been a relief, but they were over. She couldn't keep
hiding.

Her class schedule lay on the passenger seat
beside her, and she propped it against the steering wheel and read
over it again even though she already had it memorized. First hour:
office elective. She closed her eyes and took deep, cleansing
breaths as she fought the growing sense of dread in her stomach.
You can do this
. She leaned her head back and contorted her
lips into what she hoped was a natural smile, one that would pass
for fine.

She was interrupted by a jarring thump
against the hood of her car and her eyes flew open to see the pale
face of a freshman peering at her through the windshield. She waved
him away in frustration and shook her head as he blundered off. The
first bell rang, and at its shrill signal hordes of students began
swarming up the front steps of the school. She couldn't postpone
the inevitable any longer. She had to go in.

The front lawn had cleared out by the time
Samara made it into the building. The main hall was crowded with
students talking and laughing, and echoed with the clanging of
hundreds of locker doors. She noticed a few people staring at her,
and she raised her chin defiantly and headed for the front office.
As she ducked through the crowd she was surprised to discover that
she was comforted by the noise and crowded familiarity. Everything
that mattered in her life had changed, but somehow this remained
the same.

The office was a large, open room with a wide
front counter and phones that seemed to never stop ringing. Mrs.
Ferrison, the school's matronly secretary, glanced down at her
schedule, then gestured across the office to a tiny metal table
with chairs on either side. "That's where you'll be dear," she
said. "Now you can't answer the phones or use the computers. You'll
be making copies, running errands around the school, filing, things
like that.

"We have a few new students coming in this
morning," she continued. "You and your coworker can show them
around." Mrs. Ferrison waved in the general direction of the table
where a girl was already sitting.

"Hi!" the girl said. She bounced up and shook
Samara's hand enthusiastically. "I'm so glad it's you! I mean not
that I wanted you in particular or anything, but we're going to be
in here
every single day
and I really wanted to be assigned
to work with someone who wouldn't get on my nerves, because I just
don't know if I could take it first thing in the morning. I really
don't! You know?"

"Um, yeah," Samara stammered. She took a
small step back and took in Carin Taylor's curly black hair and
bright eyes. She had known Carin since the 6
^th
grade
when she had loaned her a quarter for an icy pop, but they had
never been close. Obviously that was about to change. "How was your
summer?"

"We went on vacation. To Georgia of all
places, because that's where my aunt Mildred lives and my mom said
we should spend time with her before she dies.…" Carin's voice
trailed off, her eyes widened, and she clapped a hand over her
mouth.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have
brought it up. The D word. I totally forgot. I mean, I didn't
forget, but I wasn't thinking about it, and-"

"It's fine," Samara broke in. She had been
taken aback by Carin's exuberant greeting, and now she looked
genuinely distressed. "I'm fine."

Carin didn't respond, and Samara wondered if
she was waiting for her to say something else. She was trying to
formulate a follow up statement when Mrs. Ferrison interrupted
their awkward silence. "Here's our first new student," she said.
"Who would like to show him to class?"

"Me!" Samara leapt up from her chair, eager
to escape.

"Good dear. Here's his schedule. He's a
senior too, so I'm sure you'll have some of the same classes."

Mrs. Ferrison pushed a piece of paper into
Samara's grasp as she turned toward the counter, but she didn't
even notice. She was staring into the most beautiful eyes she had
ever seen. They were an unnatural shade of blue, a deep cerulean
that faded into dusky indigo around the edges. They were bright and
clear, and somehow reminded her of the mountain lake her family had
once visited on vacation.

She forced herself to look away and saw that
they belonged to a tall boy whose long, smooth hands held a
notebook on the counter. He was wearing a plaid shirt that pulled
slightly across his shoulders and had dark hair that fell over one
eye.

"Ready dear?" Mrs. Ferrison asked.

Her fingers dug into Samara's shoulder blades
and prodded her forward. She nodded and fumbled with the boy's
schedule as she reached across the counter to shake his hand.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Lucian Smith." His voice
had a low timbre that vibrated through her chest, and when his
fingers wrapped firmly around hers she felt a flush creep into her
cheeks.
Do not blush!
she admonished herself. His hand was
warm and strong, and she felt like heat was radiating up her
arm.

"Samara Haye." She could see Carin grinning
and waving out of the corner of her eye, and she hurried around the
counter. "Ready to go?"

"Sure." Lucian gave her an easy smile that
revealed straight white teeth, and she forced herself to look away
from his face. She started to reach for the door handle but he was
faster. He stretched his arm past her shoulder and opened the door
for her. As she passed, the edge of his shirt brushed again her
neck and a shiver tingled down her spine.

The hallway was empty as they walked toward
the classrooms. They passed several closed doors before Samara
snuck a peek at Lucian from under her lashes. He was staring at her
with a quizzical expression, and she quickly flicked her eyes
forward. He broke the silence first. "Do you know where you're
taking me?" he asked.

Samara realized that in her eagerness to get
out of the office she had forgotten to look at his schedule. It was
still clenched in her right hand and she held it up and smoothed it
over her palm so she could read his list of classes. "Looks like
you have world history with Mr. Bradford. He's been teaching here
forever. You never know what he'll bring up."

She cringed as she heard herself babbling,
but she couldn't stop herself. "I had him last year and I really
had to study because he loves including random things on his tests.
I think he wants to be on Jeopardy."

Lucian laughed softly. "I think I'll be okay.
I've spent a lot of time studying world history."

"Did you take it at your old school?"

"Not exactly," he said. "It was more of an
independent study."

Samara stopped outside one of the nondescript
doors lining the corridor. "Here you are. Room 28." She glanced
back down at the schedule. "Your next class is in room 36, down the
hall on the right."

Lucian smiled again, and Samara felt herself
being drawn into his mesmerizing eyes. "It's been nice meeting
you," he said.

He leaned toward her, and for one, ridiculous
moment she wondered if he was trying kiss her. When she didn't move
he pointed to the schedule she still held in her hand. "I think I
might need that, unless you're offering to be my guide for the
day."

"Oh, right!" She held up the crumpled paper.
"Sorry!"

She was burning with humiliation as she
shoved the schedule toward him, but Lucian didn't appear to notice
anything out of the ordinary. He just gave her another devastating
smile and disappeared inside room 28. She rested her head against
the cool surface of the nearest locker and tried to breathe slowly,
but her heart kept racing like she'd just finished a marathon. It
was too much to hope for, but maybe, somehow, he hadn't noticed the
effect he'd had on her.

Mr. Bradford gave Lucian a cursory nod when
he entered and indicated for him to take the single, empty desk
next to the window. He slid quietly into the seat and glanced
around the classroom. The top half of the walls was papered with
posters while short bookcases crammed with books, papers, and a
thick covering of dust filled the bottom half. There was one open
space at the front of the room where photographs of prehistoric
drawings were being projected.

All of the other students had open notebooks
in front of them, and whenever Mr. Bradford spoke, they wrote
feverishly. Lucian recognized the first few pictures that flashed
onto the screen, but he followed the lead of his classmates and
opened his notebook. Mr. Bradford tapped a key on the computer, and
a new photograph swirled into view.

It was a cave drawing of a spoked half circle
resting on top of a squiggly line. Lucian listened as Mr. Bradford
rattled off a few theories about what the drawing might mean, then
copied the symbol into his notebook. He wrote down Mr. Bradford's
words, but jotted a tiny note to himself in the margin: first
successful boat exploration downriver.

He remembered the people that had made this
drawing. They had simple lives compared to the ones humans led now,
governed by the flow of the seasons and the ebb of the river. The
accomplishment of sending a boat away and having the tribe members
return safely was the beginning of a great time for them.
Unfortunately, it also meant that they came to the attention of
more fierce tribes, and they were destroyed a few decades later. It
reminded him of why he was here on Earth, in Wimberley, sitting in
a classroom. The perspective of humans was so short. They threw
things into motion without realizing what the end could bring.

He tried to pull his attention back to the
lecture and failed. Instead he thought about how the day had gone
so far; his first full day alone with the humans.

He had arrived at school early, unsure of
what to expect. He'd parked near the front of the lot, then sat in
his truck and watched groups of students enter the building. He
observed them all closely, his sharp eyes noticing every detail of
their interactions with one another. Duncan had told him to watch
carefully so he could model his behavior after theirs. Apparently
it would be harder to acclimate if he seemed different.

Everyone that passed in front of his truck
seemed to know exactly where they were going. They all walked with
a purpose, and the air seemed to crackle with anticipation. He'd
found it hard to believe that soon he would be sitting next to
them. That now he was one of them. One after another they had
pulled into the parking lot, scuffled briefly with their papers and
books, and then headed, en masse, towards the entrance.

Everyone but her.

She had arrived a few minutes after him and
had parked a few cars down in the row directly across from his.
Instead of getting out of her car, she just turned off the engine
and sat there. Then, without warning, she dropped her head onto the
steering wheel.

Lucian had watched her for several long
minutes. He could tell that she wasn't injured, but she was so
still. He wasn't sure what was happening; she was behaving in a
completely different way than all the others. He felt an
instinctive urge to help her, and knew the first step would be to
go over and say something, but he had no idea what to say. What
would a human girl want to hear from a stranger outside her
window?

Before he could make up his mind she had
gotten out of the car. She'd walked between the rows of cars,
passing directly in front of his faded red Ford, without glancing
to the left or right. He'd felt a rush of guilty relief tinged with
disappointment as she walked by, thankful that she hadn't noticed
him watching her.

She had a red mark on her forehead from
pressing it against the steering wheel, but she was still
beautiful. She moved like someone who didn't know how beautiful she
was. Like someone who wasn't particularly worried about it either
way. She was just tall enough for the top of her dark hair to brush
his chin, and her body looked soft and slender. She was dressed
simply in khakis and a t-shirt, and her movements were brisk and
matter of fact.