Chasing Wishes (10 page)

He takes a deep breath, and I brace myself for his question.

"What do you see right now?"

The world stops dead in its tracks around us as I stare into his unseeing green eyes. Why that question? Marcus asked it too when I arrived, and whatever I said was the wrong answer. He... he wanted me to know it was wrong. He was telling me something about this, about how important it was to give the right answer.

Suddenly, everything clicks. I know exactly what Marcus was missing.

"You’re sitting in an old, vintage reading chair with embroidery in a floral pattern that looks like it’s from the fifties," I start. "Behind you, the white marble floor meets a green marble edge pattern at the wall, and ornately carved white baseboards run the length of the room."

Terrence closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, listening to me as I tell him the story of the world he lives in.

"Your chair is sitting by the window, and even though it’s a gloomy, gray day outside, there’s still a glimmer of reflected sunlight coming off the Mystic River. The wind is rustling through the leaves of the tall tree—I don’t know what type, sorry—and the leaves have faded from green to a muted green-yellow as we approach autumn."

I pause to figure out what I’m going to say next, and Terrence’s smile almost takes my breath away. This is what he’s been missing, isn’t it? Marcus said he’s only been blind for five years—he misses
seeing things
. He doesn’t just want someone to ‘be his eyes’ in the sense of a guide—he wants someone to show him the world he lost. Marcus can’t do it because all he sees is the house. He sees the object but none of its details—none of the little things that make the world so real, so interesting, and that’s what Terrence is looking for. He needs someone who can show him the world again.

"On the ceiling above us, some horrible excuse for an artist has painted cherubs and olive branches. One of the winged little babies has crossed eyes and another has one eye placed significantly higher in its skull than the other. I presume that the artist went on to paint the rest of the walls a perfectly acceptable, sunny yellow as an act of penance for his earlier crime against humanity," I tell him, adding a little sarcasm to my descriptions. He laughs and his wide smile shows off perfect, shining white teeth.

"You have an enormous four-post bed with a purple and red embroidered canopy. It has enough pillows for four, but I suspect, from all the shedding, that Columbus hogs all of them when you’re not looking. A heavy, white and red checkered quilt is folded neatly at the foot of the bed, and the bu Sd, at Crgundy sheets look soft and..."

The sheets really do look soft...

I’m lying on the bed, the sheets pulled up over my shoulders to ward off the cold night air. Terrence holds me close in his strong arms, and as he looks into my eyes, those gorgeous greens steal my breath away. He leans in to kiss me...

"I... um... where was I?" I stammer, losing my concentration.

"On the bed," answers Terrence. He has no idea how right he is.

The dog is lying on the bed beside us with its head on the pillow, staring at me like a goof with its tongue hanging out.

Perfect—that killed the mood instantly.

"Old photographs in brass frames sit on the bedside table next to an empty oil lamp," I continue, forcing my attention away from impossible ideas and instead focusing on the story. "The table desperately needs dusting, and..."

The story goes on for five more minutes as I describe the old brass chandelier and the sconces long devoid of candles. I describe the bookcases lining the far wall, their dark wood gleaming in afternoon light, and one book in particular catches my attention.

Learning Braille for Late Beginners... what a terrible idea
, I think. How on earth is he supposed to learn from a book he can't even read?

Just as I start on the alternating panes of etched glass in the windows, Terrence stands up and cuts me off.

"You’re hired," he blurts out. "When are you starting?"

"Um... I don’t know," I stammer, caught off guard by his tone. He wasn’t offering me a job so much as telling me that I worked for him now. "You haven’t actually told me the salary."

"Name the number. What do you need?" he presses, and I’m again at a loss for words.

"I... um... thirty? Thirty-five?" I babble. "Is that too much? I mean, I can..."

"Done. Thirty-five," he cuts me off, clapping his hands together in excitement. "When can you move in?"

"Wait, what?" I ask in confusion. "I can’t live here! I have a lease and..."

"Okay, I’ll pay your lease too," he interrupts again. "If you’re going to be my assistant, I need you to be here and not driving in from God-knows-where every time I need help."

I fall silent as I realize he’s right. I don’t have a car; how could I possibly get to work if I lived back at my old apartment? How can I even do this job without a car? I have no idea.

No, this is crazy,
I think, shaking my head.
I can’t live with my boss! No way
.

I need the job, though—I really,
really
need it, and Terrence offered me enough to pay all my bills and then some. How can I say no?

Terrence must have sensed my hesitation because he sits back down again and leans in toward me.

"Irene, please," he almost begs me. "You’ll have your own private room and free use of the entire house. I can’t keep asking Marcus to help me all the time. He’s supposed to be my lead scientist, not my day-to-day helper."

"How many hours per week are we talking? If I live here, I’m always at work. Can you promise me a Spro

"I spend probably four days a week working in my lab in the south wing and the fifth day consulting at Verta," he says. "The weekends and evenings are when I’ll need you most, and I’m sure Marcus would be glad to take me off your hands for one weekend a month if that’s enough for you."

This is crazy! I can’t take this job. I don’t want to live with my boss—it’s too dangerous! I have no idea why it’s so dangerous, but I just know it is.

You know exactly why you think it’s dangerous
, whispers the voice in my head. Yes, I do. I keep dancing around the point and trying not to admit it, but I know exactly why I can’t take the job.

I can’t take it because he reminds me of Isaac and I don’t know if I can handle that.

Terrence looks almost pleadingly across the table at me, and I can feel my resolve weakening. He’s offering me free rent and food, a better salary than I’ve ever had before, and... and I’ll get to be around him. I’ll get to see those eyes every day.

No—that’s a bad reason! I can’t let what I’m feeling sway the decision.

While he’s working during the day, I can use the time to start doing voice work again
.

"Thirty-five thousand, living expenses, a weekend off each month, and I’ll pay your old lease. Do we have a deal?" asks Isaac, holding out his hand.

What do I have to lose? I can always quit if I can’t handle it.

I reach out to shake his hand, and the moment I feel the warmth of his palm against mine, time stops and the world falls away around me.

Sarah’s leg shoots out just as I walk past her locker, and I trip over her foot before I can stop myself and fall flat on my face. The top flap of my backpack bursts open and the bag’s contents spill out all over the floor. Pens roll off in every direction and my papers scatter across the hallway.

"Oops, sorry about that, Nina!" she sneers as she towers over me. Her asshole of a boyfriend, Jacob, snickers as he leans back against the row of lockers with his arms crossed. He’s holding a white take-out bag from the fast food restaurant across the street.

"Stupid bitch," I mutter in a horrible mixture of anger and humiliation as I hurriedly gather up my belongings.

"Did you say something? Sorry, I don’t speak spic," she says, practically spitting the insult down at me. "Oh, and as long as you’re down there, you might as well pick up the trash. It’s about all you’re good for."

Jacob inverts his bag and dumps its contents onto my head. His leftover fries and a half-empty fountain drink rain down on me, and I instinctively shield my face from the falling garbage. A terrible, impotent rage builds up inside me as I feel the soda trickling down the back of my neck and soaking into my shirt.

I want to kill them both. I want to get up off the floor and claw their eyes out, but instead I stay down and try not to look at them as I protect my homework from the soda.

I’ve never been so humiliated in my life and I’m ashamed of myself for putting up with it, but I know better than to stick up for myself. The last time one of the Sme r in a m started a fight, I’m the one who got in trouble for it. The punishments aren’t balanced fairly either. Since this is their home school district, the worst the teachers can do to my classmates is to give them detention. They can send me back to New Haven, however, and I’ll do anything to avoid that.

"See ya later, Nina," Sarah calls over her shoulder with a smirk as she and her boyfriend stroll down the deserted hall, leaving me behind with their mess.

I hate them. I hate Sarah, Jacob, every last fucking one of them. I hate myself for putting up with it. I should be fighting back and giving them a taste of their own medicine.

"Let’s see how they like being fucked with all the time," I grumble to myself, working myself into a fury as I shove my papers back into my bag. "I’m going to—"

"Nina, are you okay?"

My mouth claps shut and my eyes shoot upward as I hear the voice. The tall, green-eyed boy from my literature class kneels down beside me with a worried look on his face and grabs my papers from the floor.

"Give that back! That’s my homework!" I snarl, reaching out and trying to claw them back from him.

"I’m just helping pick up," he says with a warm smile, and he holds out the stack of papers. I snatch them out of his hands and shove them into my backpack.

"Here, let me help you up," he offers, standing and extending his hand to me. "I’m Isaac, by the way."

I look warily up at him from the floor and give him a cold glare. What’s he trying to do? I don’t believe for a second that he’s actually interested in helping me. Nobody’s nice to me at this terrible school.

I reach out and gingerly take his hand. His skin is warm and soft, but his grip as he helps me to my feet is as strong as a vice. The second I’m on my feet, I yank my hand free from his and look away in embarrassment. I know that I’m being horrible to him, but I still don’t trust him. He’s just trying to get me to let my guard down so he can hurt me like the others.

"Are you okay, Nina?" he asks. He sounds genuinely concerned, and I feel even worse about how I’m treating him. "Look, I saw what they did to you. Let’s get you down to the office and report them—I’ll vouch for whatever you say."

It’s a trap. It must be. Everyone at this school wants me thrown out. They want to point and laugh as I’m shuffled back to New Haven where poor people belong instead of desecrating their precious little academy.

"No," I blurt out, backing away from him.

"But..."

"Just leave me alone," I hiss, and I turn and run for it.

"Irene?" as
ks Terrence, breaking me out of my bad memory. "Are you okay?"

I take a deep breath and firmly shake his hand. Here goes nothing.

"It’s a deal," I tell him with a smile even though I know he can’t see it. "Meet your new personal assistant."

I
t’s five-thirty in the evening, I’ve missed the bus home to N Vme r nter"ew Haven thanks to yet another detention, and the rain is pouring down so hard that I can barely see. I’m soaked to the bone, freezing cold, and it’s all I can do not to start crying.

God, I hate this. Why did I ever come to this school? Why did I think I could do better for myself—that I’d just test into their school, show up, and everything would be great? Nothing works that way! They all hate me, even the teachers.

I stumble into a deep pothole on the side of the highway and the muddy water soaks straight through my sneakers. The hole worn clean through the rubber sole of my left shoe probably isn't helping any.

A semi-truck flies past me and its wake splatters me from head to toe in mud. Only six more miles, I tell myself. Only six more miles and I’ll be off the highway.

Two more cars shoot past, and the second one blares his horn at me as if that’s going to do anything. What, does he think I’m just wandering on the highway in the rain for the fun of it or something? I’m here because I have to get home!