For Your Heart (Hill Dweller Retellings) (15 page)

    
She glances sideways at me.  “Jean?”  I meet her eyes.  She’d be the only one to get it.  Emily’s been my friend the longest, knew me when only one person called me by that name.  “Didn’t that kid Timmy call you that?”

    
I bite my cheek and shoot an annoyed glare at Tamrin.  “He insists on calling me that.”  Stupid Tamrin.  Who knows how long he’s been living in that forest and peeking into my backyard.  He’s probably been around since before Timmy disappeared, most likely once heard Timmy calling me that and it stuck in his subconscious.  That’s maybe why he’s calling me that now.

    
“You know, Nett–” The bell rings, cutting Emily off.

    
“Oh gosh, look at the time!  Don’t want to be late!”  I grab Emily by the arm and rush to class without another thought for Tamrin in this shark tank.

    
Let them ogle.  Better yet, let Celeste swoop in and charm him with her dark bottomless eyes and pouty, over-glossed lips.  I want to crawl in a hole and die.  Outside, it felt like everyone was staring at us.  I can’t blame them.  Celeste is the prettiest girl in school, Emily is the strangest, Amber’s probably the most charmingly loveable, and I’m the principal’s daughter.  And Tamrin?  Well, he’s kind of like Dave Strider from
Homestuck
, in that every girl wants him.  And a little like Brock Sampson from
Venture Brothers
, in that every guy wants to be him.  So, of course people want to stare.  What they don’t know is this hot boy comes with mega baggage…Baggage I’m having to claim.

    
Tamrin follows me into English and sits in Marc Donahu’s seat next to mine.  Marc is a wrestler with a bad temper. Since the third grade, he’s sat next to me in every class we’ve had together.  Amber, true to her self-designated title as my match-maker, insists it’s because he’s got a crush on me.  I insist it’s because I’m smart and easy to cheat off with my huge handwriting.  Marc comes in, sees Tamrin, and scowls.

    
Aw crap.

    
Tamrin lifts his eyes, meeting Marc’s gaze with his impassive glance.  Marc huffs and slams his palm so hard against the desk, the floor vibrates.  Students stare.  The tension thickens.

    
“This seat’s taken,” Marc growls.  He’s got such a grating voice.  I never noticed it before.  Nothing like Tamrin’s.

    
Tamrin’s lip quirks.  “Funny, I don’t see your name on it and I’m fairly certain this class has no assigned seats.”

    
He’s right.  Sister Aster lets us sit wherever.  How Tamrin knows that, but calls glasses spectacles, is beyond me.

    
“I always sit next to Jeanette,” Marc clarifies.  His fists ball, ready to throw a punch. 

    
Oh crap, they're going to fight.  Great, just great.  Like school doesn't suck enough with people thinking I’m the teacher’s pet.  My heart hammers.  I’m not sure if it’s excitement, fear, or anticipation.

    
Tamrin gives me a side glance and his full lips pull down distastefully.  He looks back at Marc.  “You don’t anymore,” he says matter-of-factly.  “From now on, I sit next to her.”

    
Scoffing, Marc drops his bag, turns slightly, and then swivels insanely fast to smash a fist into Tamrin’s cheek.  An audible
clap
echoes as knuckles hit flesh, but Marc’s hand never touched Tamrin’s face.  Instead, Tamrin caught Marc’s fist and holds it inches from his chin.  His hand tightens around Marc’s fist then Tamrin drives it into the desk, making the wood split. Marc squeaks in restrained pain. 

    
The room erupts into surprised whispers.  Someone yells, “Fight!”  It hangs in the air like a bomb threat.

    
Tamrin grabs a fistful of Marc’s black uniform tie and pulls him close enough so only Marc and I can hear what Tamrin says.  “You make Jeanette nervous, I don’t like that.”

    
“Don’t you dare drag me into this,” I hiss.  The last thing I need are two guys who aren’t even romantic interests fighting over the right to sit next to me.  This is ridiculous.

    
“You will sit as far away from her as humanly possible.  Is that clear?”

    
Marc's blue eyes flick to me.  I nod at him.  Not because he makes me uncomfortable, because frankly after years of him sticking to me like glue, I don't care anymore.  I just don't want this to become a scene and I know Marc will try to defend his honor.  Focusing on Tamrin, he leans closer – their noses nearly touch.  He yanks his hand from under Tamrin's and shoves it into his trouser pocket before anyone but me can see it's already starting to bruise.  Then he snatches Tamrin's grasp from his neck.

    
“Watch your back, Dick-Head.  We don't take well to upstart new kids,” Marc warns.

    
Tamrin leans back in his chair and casually opens his jacket to put his own hands in his pockets.  The way his cream shirt lays against his torso, I easily see every defined inch of his chest and stomach, even through the undershirt.  “I look forward to whatever party you're planning.”

    
Marc straightens, picks up his backpack, and retreats to the other side of the classroom where Rebecca Cline begins to fuss over him. 

    
I narrow my eyes at Tamrin and he smirks at me devilishly.  I start to yell at him, but Sister Aster bustles in, her habit billowing after her.  She's already barking orders to pull out our books and turn to page three hundred ten.  I do as I’m told and then immediately rip open my notebook and scrawl my thoughts.

    
WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU THINKING?  YOU CAN'T GO STARTING FIGHTS!

    
I wait for Sister Aster to turn before smacking the note on Tamrin's desk.  He picks it up, glances over the contents, and reaches into the breast pocket of his hunter green jacket.  Taking out a pen, he clicks it with his thumb, then whips a message across the paper.  Without bothering to hide the gesture from Sister Aster, he hands it back to me.  She doesn't notice. 

    
I unfold the note surreptitiously.

    
HE STARTED IT.

    
I stare at Tamrin's small, perfect handwriting.  Something about the way he hooks his capital “H” reminds me of something, but I can't put my finger on why.  I reply:

    
THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU SHOULD STOOP TO HIS LEVEL.  YOU BROKE THE DESK!  COULDN'T YOU HAVE BEEN LESS FLASHY WITH THE SAMURAI SKILLS?  HOW'D YOU DO THAT ANYWAY?

    
As Sister Aster bends over her book I slip him the note.  He looks at it, grins, and shakes his head.  For a second, he pauses, pen over paper, and then writes his note in the blink of an eye.  He hands it back, again, right under Sister Aster's nose.  This time she notices and clears her throat.  I wait for her to walk toward the other side of the room before looking at his response.

    
DON'T BE STUPID.

    
Annoyed, I shove the note into my book.  I have every intention of ignoring his rude comment, but I find myself turning toward him.  He's watching, eyes narrowed in expectation.   I raise my eyebrow at him.  “Stupid?” I mouth.

    
Leaning forward and propping his chin on his fist, he gives me an endearing look.

    
I can't help but pull out the sheet again and write the obvious question.

    
WHY IS THAT STUPID?

    
I shove it back to him, but Sister Aster turns around and catches my retreating hand.  She walks down the row of desks and stops in front of me.  Unused to persons of authority looking at me with such distaste, I feel myself blush. 
Great, she's going to read it in front of the whole class.
  Her steely eyes swivel toward Tamrin's cracked desk, the note, and then they meet the cool expression Tamrin is giving her.

    
“Tamrin Chevalier,” Sister Aster says, her voice like iron.

    
Chevalier?  Oh, that’s cute…Not.  Well, kind of…but only because I know it means ‘knight’ in French.

    
“Yes, Sister,” Tamrin replies.

    
“Where is your book?”

    
Tamrin shrugs.  “I left it at home.”

    
Sister Aster's frown deepens.  “And what good is it doing you there?”

    
Tamrin glances toward the ceiling like he’s trying to recall something.  “I believe I'm using it to prop up a rickety side table.  Why do you ask?”  He sounds so sweet and innocent.  I can't help but stifle a giggle against my hand.

    
Sister Aster shoots me a diminishing glare and I force myself to hold my breath.  “The point is, Mr. Chevalier, you cannot learn without proper materials.  How can you refer to a page without the book in front of you?”

    
Tamrin grins that puckish grin of his.  “Oh, is that all?  I don't need a book for that.”

    
Sister Aster’s expression changes from disapproval to annoyed.  “Are you trying to be sent to the principal's office?”

    
“No, Sister, I see Mr. Sauderheim enough at home.”  That prompts whispers out of the students and I sink in my seat.

    
Sister Aster ignores the students.  “You do realize you are being insubordinate.”

    
“That's not my intent,” he says.  “If I may?”  He leans over, takes my book, and hands it to Sister Aster.

    
She cradles it in her meaty arms.

    
“I will be reading from page three hundred three.  A poem called
A Dream Pang
by Robert Frost.  Does that meet your approval?”

    
Sister Aster turns to the correct page, skims the contents, and nods.

    
Tamrin looks directly at me and begins to speak.

“I had withdrawn in forest, and my song
          Was swallowed up in leaves that blew away;
          And to the forest edge you came one day
          (This was my dream) and looked and pondered long,
          But did not enter, though the wish was strong:
          You shook your pensive head as who should say,
          'I dare not–too far in his footsteps stray–
          He must seek me would he undo the wrong.”

     Tamrin's voice floats, more beautiful than ever, like silky smoke.  Like a forgotten memory trickling up to tempt my interest and my unsteady pulse. But his tone is sad, melancholy.  I can't shake the feeling the poem is meant for him to say to me.  As if he’s speaking only to me in this instant.  He continues.
         
“Not far, but near, I stood and saw it all
          Behind low boughs the trees let down outside;
          And the sweet pang it cost me not to call
          And tell you that I saw does still abide.
          But 'tis not true that thus I dwelt aloof,
          For the wood wakes, and you are here for proof.”

     Tamrin is staring so intently at me that I swear he's trying to use telepathy on me.  He's doing something to me, and it's not bending my pencil.  Is this some quasi-romantic way of admitting to stalking me?  ‘Cause I’m not buying the woo-fest, no matter how masterful the delivery.

    
“Lucky strike,” Sister Aster croons.  Her voice challenges.  “What's on three-ten?”

    
Tamrin drags his eyes from me, like it's nearly painful.  He looks annoyed. “
Fire and Ice,
same author.”

    
“Recite that as well.”

    
Tamrin draws a breath and begins to recite the first stanza.  This time it has none of the artistry, beauty, or reminiscence of the previous poem.  He sounds almost angry.

     “Some say the world will end in fire,
          Some say in ice.
          From what I've tasted of desire
          I hold with those who favor fire.
          But if it had to perish twice,
          I think I know enough of hate
          To say that for destruction ice
          Is also great
          And would suffice.”

     Tamrin turns flat eyes on Sister Aster.  “Would you like me to also recite the book’s critique of the poem?”

    
Sister Aster glances at the book, even though she knows that he recited the poem correctly, and clears her throat.  “I'd much prefer your own take on the poem, Mr. Chevalier.”

    
Tamrin looks at me.  I'm not sure if it's to see if I'm listening or to get my approval before speaking.  I lift my brows, curious. 
I'm all ears
.  He cocks his head and keeps his eyes on me as he speaks.  “I think it's about love and lust.”