Continuum (10 page)

“Cool down.  Are you trying to get expelled?”  Ethan's calm voice in my ear makes my body go slack and he releases me.  He addresses the crowd, “Everything’s cool.  Get out of here.  There's nothing to see.  Go to class.”  The crowd starts to dissipate as the bell rings starting 5th period but Mackenzie holds her ground, staring at me with pure venom in her eyes.

Chloe grabs Mackenzie's hand and starts pulling her down the hallway, “Come on, Mackenzie.  She’s not even worth it.”  Mackenzie lets Chloe lead her down the hallway but not before shooting me a look that reads clearly “this is not over.”

I start walking away but Ethan grabs my hand and tugs it, forcing me to around and face him.  Worry is etched in his beautiful face, “Hey, hold on a second.  Care to tell me what the hell just happened here?”

Avoiding his inquisitive eyes, I pretend to pick off a piece of invisible lint from my sweater as I respond stiffly, the animosity clear in my voice, “Mackenzie being Mackenzie.”  

Ethan folds his arms across his chest, his voice giving away to exasperation, “Come on, Fallon.  I just saved you from expulsion back there.  We're not going anywhere until you tell me what is going on.”

“Just Mackenzie playing one of her stupid jokes,” I try for dismissive and end up somewhere around petulant.  My fingers are positively tingling with the desire to punch something.

A tiny V forms in between his eyebrows, his concern clear in his tone, “What did she do?”

I sigh, feeling defeated, “It’s nothing I wouldn’t expect from her.  But she just took things too far.  I couldn’t let her get away with it.”

He snorts, “You mean Mackenzie isn’t as sweet as she lets on?”  Ethan steps around me, picks up my bag, and hands it to me.  I slip it on over my left shoulder, my right arm throbbing from Mackenzie’s sucker punch with her extremely heavy purse.  My eyes unwillingly travel up to the balloons curled against the ceiling, their ribbons just out of my reach.  

Ethan’s gaze follows and he leaps up, grabbing the strings.  “So,” he hands them to me without reading the card.  His voice is steady, but I think I see a brief flash of emotion in his normally cool blue stare, “Who asked you to Homecoming?”

He runs his right hand through his hair, moving the chestnut strands out of his eyes.  His penetrating stare is unwavering, like he is trying to draw the answer right from my brain.  I adjust the strap of my book bag and try to look anywhere but at him, “It doesn’t matter who it is.”

“Why is that, Fallon?”

“I'm not planning on going,” I reply curtly.  Why am I even entertaining his questions?  I just want to go home and let this awful day disappear behind me.

“Someone clearly wants you to go with him.  Plus it’s the social event of the season.  Or the only event... Everest Heights isn’t exactly a happening place.”  For every other girl at Everest Heights High School, school dances were the highlight of the school year.  Why couldn’t I be more like them?  The reason I was even a target for Mackenzie was because of my outsider status.

I manage a shrug, “I'm not into dancing.”

Ethan gestures toward the balloons, “Well, it looks like you're gonna be disappointing someone today.”

Only myself because I let myself think it was true.
  “Mmm, maybe.  But he doesn't really know what he wants anyway.”

He raises an eyebrow, “And you know what you want?”

I am taken by surprise by his bluntness.  No one is ever that direct with me.  I pause to contemplate this before I respond, “Sometimes, I think I know what I want.  But then again, we don’t always get what we want.”  

“No, I guess we don’t.”  The longing in his voice is evident.  For once, I wish I knew how to comfort him.

This is getting too intense for me, my voice comes out too breathy as I make my escape, “I should really get to class.”

He nods absently, picking his own book bag off the ground.  “Yeah, me too.”

“Thanks for, uh... your assistance.  I lost my cool.  Let Mackenzie get to me, but you’re right.  Mackenzie isn’t worth getting expelled over.”

“Yeah, sure thing.  Take care of yourself, Fallon.”  Suddenly, he reaches out and his fingertips brush against my cheekbone sweeping off a stray lock of my hair.  Every nerve in my body is on alert and my intake of breath is sharp in my ears.  Then just as quickly, his hand falls back to his side. 
Did that really happen?
  I can still feel the tingle of his skin against mine.  

“You too.  I’ll see you around, Ethan.”

I turn away without waiting for him to respond and start walking down the empty stretch of hallway.  I can feel Ethan's gaze on me as I make my way to the foreign language corridor.  As soon as I am out of his line of vision, I make a detour exiting the building near the parking lot.  Standing in the gentle fall breeze, I release the balloons into the sky, the tainted note floating away with the balloons.  As they recede into the sky, I will my desires to float away with them.  I have to stay away from Ethan Hayes.

I am thoroughly exhausted by the time my studio Art class rolls around.  Even my usually steady hand betrays me today.  I am redrawing the same arch for what seems like the hundredth time when the bell rings signaling the end of 6th period.  Squinting at the page, I am still dissatisfied and carefully erase the arch once again.

Not moving from the drafting table, I channel all my focus into my project.  I have no desire to be in the lunchroom today, not even for a brief minute to buy a sandwich.  I don't think I can handle another in depth analysis of this past weekend's game.  But honestly, I didn’t want to risk running into Ethan or worse--running into Ethan with Mackenzie.  The art room sits empty during 7th period so I can continue to work in peace.  The classroom door squeaks open and my pencil slips from its path along the curve once again.

Frustrated, I throw down my pencil and look up to glare at my disruption.  Ethan is standing in the doorway and the accusation flies out of my mouth before I can stop myself, “What do you think you're doing in here?”

Disbelief flashes across his expression.  “I'm sorry, I didn't know I needed your permission,” he replies, his voice equally hostile.  “But this is a small school and there's only one room with a potter's wheel.”

“Shouldn’t you be eating lunch with Mackenzie?”

“Shouldn’t you be eating lunch with Sam?” he mutters under his breath.

He is being exasperating on purpose and I can’t blame him.  I wouldn’t put up with my crappy behavior either.  I close my eyes and take a deep breath, attempting to soften my expression and my tone, “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right.  What I meant is that I didn’t expect to see anyone else in here.”

“I didn’t know I was interrupting but don’t worry I won’t be bothering you,” he says petulantly.  It’s so different from his normal friendly demeanor, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

Ethan stomps deliberately across the classroom and hangs up his black leather jacket, snatching a clay speckled, black rubber apron off the hook by the potter's wheel.  He makes a point of moving the chair around, dragging it so the legs clatter against the linoleum floor so that he can sit with his back to me.  

His presence is more surprising than annoying.  Since his back is turned I can stare openly at the back of his head.  The overhead lights bring out the golden quality of his chestnut hair as he adjusts the potter wheel.  I desperately try to think of something to say to make him forget my rude behavior but I never had a gift for words. 

“I really am sorry, Ethan.  My behavior is... I don’t know how to...  If you haven’t noticed I am kinda of a social idiot.”

Ethan doesn’t turn around but replies with a snort, “You aren’t exactly bashful when it comes to saying what’s on your mind.  It's okay, Fallon.  I’m sorry too.  I shouldn't have snapped back like that.”

“My brain to mouth filter doesn’t work very well,” I confess.  

“I would disagree with that.”

“Really?  You think I filter myself?”  I can be much more candid when his head is turned in the other direction and his eyes aren’t inspecting me.

“All the time.  I can practically see your mind whirring.”

His observation takes me by surprise.  He hardly knows me.  How would he know what I’m really thinking?  “Well then I guess I don’t do a very good job of filtering.  Sorry once again for my boorishness.  We are two mature people, capable of working cordially in the same room.”

Ethan nods in agreement as he pulls out a lump of wet clay from a container, carefully weighing it in his hands.  He pulls a little more clay out of the container and rolls them together with his hands.  He places the hunk of clay onto the wheel and begins to shape it into a ball.  I am mesmerized by his beautiful hands as they mold the clay.  

After a few minutes of working the clay, Ethan asks gruffly without turning around or moving his hands from the clay, “What are you working on?”  

I look down at the dreaded arch on my drawing board, “Just a rendering.”

“What’s your subject?”

“Arc de Triomphe.”  

“How’s it coming along?”

I turn the drawing on it’s side, tilting my head to gauge the lightly penciled in curve.  This angle is impossible.  “I’m not making much progress.  Actually, I am starting to feel quite defeated by it.”

“I seriously doubt that.”  I can hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m having trouble getting the angle of this arch right.  When I close my eyes I can see the line perfectly, but my hand doesn’t seem to be cooperating with my brain today.”

He stops spinning the wheel to turn around and look at me, his voice softening, “That drawing in your notebook the other day... You have an incredible talent.” 

I look away, my face feeling hot.  I had never liked to show people my artwork.  My talent was part of my... irregularity.  “It was just a doodle,” I say dismissively.

“Well, it was an amazing doodle.”

“Thank you,” I reply, a shy smile spreading across lips in response. 

“So have you been to see the Arc?” 

“No.  I haven’t really left the Midwest much.”

“My dad is half French.  My family lived there for a couple years when I was young.  My parents tried to rear me the French way.  My grandmother still lives in Paris.  We used to visit almost every year.  The architecture?  Magnifiques.”  

Sophia was right, his French accent really was impeccable.  I see him out of the corner of my eye as he turns back and starts up the wheel again.  His interrogation is over for now and internally, I let out a small sigh of relief.   My eyes continue to watch as his hands shape the lump of clay.  With Ethan, I have no idea what the future holds.  The thought is terrifying.

Ethan and I walk quietly to Psychology together.  Our shoulders almost touch in the crowded hallway as we make our way through the throngs of students milling around before the next bell.  Emma almost walks into a locker as she stares, openmouthed at us walking past.  I almost want to laugh at the preposterousness of the situation.

Ethan holds the door open for me.  As we make our way to the back corner of the classroom, the chatter dies down.  They turn around and only stare as Ethan takes the desk in front of mine.  The bell rings and the class turns around, once again buzzing.  There is also a flurry of texting under the desks.  The outcast and the new boy sitting together.  After my blow out with Mackenzie, Ethan sitting with me is the height of scandal.  I peak over at Ethan and he is nonplussed, pulling out his Psychology book from his bag.

Our substitute hands out a worksheet to be completed by an accompanying DVD.  Trying to concentrate, I force my eyes to focus on the grainy image on the projection screen in front of the classroom.  But Ethan is fidgeting in his seat, he keeps running his hand through his hair or tapping his pen against his notebook as he waits for the answers to the questionnaire.  

I am distracted by the movement of his elegant hands.  After working in the art room, his hands are speckled with bits of dried clay.  I find myself wondering how his hands would feel against my skin.

When the bell rings today, Ethan is prepared for me to bolt.  He has his bag slung over his shoulder and is standing by his desk, waiting patiently for me.  I put my things away with deliberate slowness, hoping he'll give up and leave.  I delay as long as I can but eventually I have to get up.  He stands to the side so that I have to brush past him to get through the narrow aisles between the desk.  As I leave the classroom, he is trailing right behind me.

As we walk to my locker, he is fiddling with the strap of his bag.  “You know I was thinking about what you said about saving the planet and all.  So I walked to school today.  Let me walk you home, Fallon.”

His uncertain expression almost breaks my resolve.  He looks downright adorable.  I concentrate on twisting in my locker combination, “I don't need to be walked home.”

Ethan doesn’t respond but he also doesn’t move from his position, leaning casually against the locker next to mine.  He just watches wordlessly as I pull out the books I need for the night and stuff them in my bag.  I grab my jacket and put it on hastily not bothering to zip it.  Walking at a fast clip, I push through the front door into the cold autumn air, turning left to walk home.  

My shadow is still with me.  Ethan is nothing if not persistent. 

Ethan easily keeps pace next to me, walking with an easy confidence.  He grins widely at me, “What a coincidence.  I live this way as well.”

I roll my eyes and keep walking.  Ethan continues trying to make conversation.

“How’s your English project going?  Is Sam pulling his weight?”

“Sam’s smarter than you think,” I reply, my tone defensive.

His tone changes immediately, “I didn’t say he wasn’t.  I work with Sam every day in Bio.”

My reply is crisp, “I can read between the lines.” 

“Hey, I was just trying to make small talk.  What’s your problem?”

Frowning, I reply, “I told you I do not need to be walked home.  You don't take a hint very well, do you?”

He stops dead in his tracks and immediately I want to kick myself for my harsh words.  His voice is soft, “You really have a way with people, don't you?”