For Your Heart (Hill Dweller Retellings) (17 page)

    
Celeste twirls a finger through her hair, and forces an annoyed, bored voice.  “Who the hell knows.  She’s being Jeanette.”

    
Amber’s expression turns irritated – something I didn’t think possible because she always seems to be grinning like she’s been in the pixie dust.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

    
Celeste frowns at her, obviously as surprised by Amber’s defensive tone as I am and holds out her hands in a defenseless gesture.  “You know what I mean.”  She sounds at a loss for words.

    
Still looking annoyed, Amber angles herself away from Celeste.  “I don’t actually.”  Her fingers grasp my sleeve and she tugs at my arm.  “Come on, Tamrin.”

    
Uncertain, I follow Amber, wishing I’d had sense enough to run after Jean when she was still in eyesight.  I have no business getting mixed up in female drama, I have enough back home. 

    
“Amber,” Celeste calls.  “Wait a minute.”

    
But Amber ignores her, dragging me around a corner and then slowing.  She drops my sleeve, returns her hand to the shoulder strap of her backpack, and then shakes her head.  “Ugh, she makes me so mad sometimes,” she growls.  “She doesn’t think.”

    
I glance at her as we walk down the hall, I don’t know if I’m supposed to respond or not, so I nod.

    
Amber stares up at me with bright hazel eyes and her grin suddenly returns.  “You can talk to us, you know.  I’m sure it would make Nett happy.”

    
I stare into those big eyes that seem to be laughing at me.  Suddenly, I get the feeling that this Amber girl is smarter than she looks.  “I don’t know what to say to you.”

    
“Well,” she says, turning away, “why don’t you try answering my questions from this morning without lying?”

    
Part of me wants to gape at her.  “Why does everyone insist on accusing me of lying?”

    
She cuts her eyes at me.  “Jeanette would never shack up with some random guy she just met.”

    
I cock my head, confused as to why Leah’s Bend – the spell that’s supposed to make people accept me – doesn’t seem to be working on this girl.  “Perhaps we’ve known each other longer than you know?”

    
She examines me harder, her mouth serious and the skin under her eyes pinched.  “I don’t think so.  Jeanette tells me and Em everything.  If she was dating someone, I would have known about it.”

    
“We are not dating.”  For whatever reason, I’m almost disappointed at the admission.

    
“I know that.”

    
“Then why did you call me her boyfriend this morning?”

    
Smiling again, she slips close and hooks her elbow around my arm in a conspiratorial way.  “Do you want to know how long I’ve been trying to convince Jeanette that she should have a boyfriend?”

    
I give her a confused look.  What is she getting at?

    
“Ever since we met.  Any time there is even a suggestion that she might be with someone or is with someone, even if I suggest someone is looking at her – she
always
denies it.”  She lifts her chin and flashes her teeth.  “She didn’t do it this morning.”

    
I blink down at her, trying to figure out what she means. 

    
“Take that as you will.”  Her small hand pats my bicep and she slides away from me as we reach the door.

    
Why do women have to be so confusing?  I trail after her, more confused than ever as she practically skips to a high-top table where Jean is already sitting.

Jeanette

    
I drop my bag and flop down on my bed.  I don't even want to acknowledge Tamrin standing in my doorway, his leather bag slung over his shoulder, his arms folded, and his eyes staring at me.  I want to slug him right now.

    
“What do you want to do?” he says.  Something in his voice knows he's done something wrong, but he insists on talking anyway.  He doesn’t know when to shut up.

    
“I just want to lay here until I turn to dust,” I mumble into my pillow.  It smells like Tamrin.  Everything in my room smells like him, even though he's only been here for a couple of days.

    
“Somehow, I don’t think that would be an acceptable chemistry project,” Tamrin reasons.

    
I scoff into the pillow.  “Good.  Maybe then I'll get expelled and I'll be able to transfer out.”

    
I hear him drop his bag beside mine and then his weight is shifting the other side of the bed, but I don't move.  Why should I have to move?  It's my room – my bed.

    
Tamrin puts his hand on my back.  It's hot through both my sweater and my collared shirt.  When I don't acknowledge his presence, he grasps my shoulder and rolls me over.  I don’t bother trying to resist.  He's too strong and I'm not willing to hurt myself over something as dumb as not wanting to look at him.  Although, I do turn my face away from him.  He straddles my hips and sits, staring at me until I can't help but wonder why he's sitting there and glance in his direction. 

    
He's watching me with bottomless, ethereal eyes.  “Why do you want to be expelled?”

    
I roll my eyes.  “I wasn't being serious.”

    
“Then why did you say it?”

    
Exhaling, I try to adjust my position, but all my squirming does is wrench my skirt further up.  I feel the coarse fabric of his trousers and the hard planes of his muscles against my legs.  “I was exasperated.  I don't want to be expelled, but I do want to go to a school far away from here.”

    
Tamrin cocks his head and leans back.  The gesture exerts pressure between us and I have to look away again.  I shouldn’t let him be on me like this.  It makes my body want things it shouldn’t.  How can you be both terrified and attracted to someone?

    
“You mean far away from me,” he says after a long moment.  “You're mad at me.

    
I lift a sarcastic brow.  “Ya think?”

    
Tamrin looks down and his fingers suddenly find a stray string on my sweater incredibly fascinating.  For a long moment, he picks at it like a kid sent to the corner.  “I knew it,” he whispers.  “I can tell when you're mad at me.”

    
“I'm always mad at you,” I mutter.  Though, it’s not true.  I’m more mad at me for
not
being mad at him, for not tossing out this whacko fantasy when I had the chance.  Because I don’t have a ghost of a chance now.  I’m in way too deep too fast and I have no idea what to do about it.

    
He looks up, his eyes search mine and when he doesn't see what he's looking for, he looks down at the string again.  “Why are you mad at me?”

    
Groaning, I throw my head back.  “Are you kidding me?  Tamrin, you broke Marc Donahu's hand in English, you nearly made Brandon Balducci pee his pants in chem, you got in a fist fight with half the soccer team in gym class, you were completely rude to my friends all day, and you somehow got Senora Reyes to let me retake the last Spanish test.”

    
Tamrin bites his bottom lip.  “Perhaps I do not understand or accept human social norms as well as I thought.”

    
I scoff.  “That’s an understatement.”

    
“I dislike how some of your male schoolmates act in your presence…But, I will attempt to reign in my aggression.”

    
That’s a start, I suppose.  “And my friends?”

    
He thinks about this for a long moment.  “I shall be more civil to them as well.  Even the one named Celeste, though, I don’t know how I feel about her.”

    
I roll my eyes.  “That makes two of us.”

    
He smirks at me.  “And yet, you are friends.”

    
I look away from him.  “She’s not that bad once you get to know her.” 

    
Tamrin looks away.  “No, I suppose not.  She seems conflicted.”

    
Tamrin picks up on things, I’ll give him that.  New Celeste is using her attitude and new personality to hide something, to lash out and pick at others so they won’t look too close at her.  “Something happened to her this summer.  One of these days, I’m gonna figure out what.”

    
Tamrin nods, as if agreeing it’s a smashing idea.  Then, after a moment, he says, “Have I done everything wrong?  I thought the re-test would be a good thing.  Why does that anger you?”

    
Drawn back to the here and now, I pull my glasses off and pinch the bridge of my nose.  Doesn’t he understand I want to pass or fail on my own?  I don’t want anyone asking for me to have second chances.  Real life isn’t like that.  And why does he even care if I pass Spanish or not?  Why are we having this conversation?  This guy makes me want to knock my head against walls.  “Because, just – because.”

    
Sagging forward, Tamrin pulls my hand away from my face.  “Don't do that Jean, I hate when you do that.”

    
I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to see the expression I imagine accompanying such a familiar, concerned voice.  “Do what?”

    
He takes my glasses out of my other hand and, for a moment, shifts forward over me.  I hear him put my glasses on the bed stand and when he shifts back, my skirt has ridden up entirely.  “Wish that you could bang your head against something.  I hate when I make you feel that way.”

    
I open my eyes and stare at him.  How does he know these things?  “Can you read my mind?”

    
Tamrin flashes me his deep smile and looks down, almost...bashfully.  I think he would have found the string and played with it again, if my upturned skirt wasn't such an obvious distraction.  He slides down my legs and traces the hems of my shorts.  The gesture shoots electricity into my core and my arms and legs break out in goosebumps.  Realizing I should struggle away, I pull a ragged breath, but can't manage enough strength to get out from under him.

    
“If I could read your mind, my life would be much easier.  I would know how to get your heart,” he says solemnly, his fingers still tracing half arcs across my thighs.

    
Annoyed, I reach down and pin his hand flat and still.  “You're still fussing over that?”

    
Tamrin looks up at me, confused.  “Of course, I'm fussing over that.  Why do you think I'm debasing myself in the human realm?  Why do you think I'm following you around like some lost spaniel even though you spurn me?”

    
Good question.  Had I thought for an instant that this was something more?  Well, it’s obviously not for him.  Although, this seems like an awful lot to go through for one measly flower.  I look at the rose sitting upright in the crystal vase on my desk.  There's a puddle of red around it, petals that have fallen since this morning.  More and more petals fall each day, but the rose never seems to get smaller.  Will that always be?  Will it ever fade?  If it only loses petals then why can't we simply go glue it back to its stalk?  It looks the same as it did when I picked it.  Even more beautiful now.  Perhaps it really is a magic rose?  Would that mean Tamrin’s been telling me the truth this whole time?  Could faeries really be real?

    
“Why is the rose so important?” I ask.

    
Tamrin's fingers curl underneath my palm, gathering a fist full of my shorts.  The feeling of his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of my already short shorts and pressing into my skin makes me shiver.  “Roxel commanded me to watch the roses – to protect them with my life.”

    
“So, if they’re so important, won’t she notice before a year is over?”  What am I saying?  I’m mashing down my own terms.

    
Sighing, Tamrin releases his hold on my shorts.  His hand wanders up the expanse of my thigh, beneath my skirt, and he rhythmically traces his thumb over my hip bone.  I stay still, terrified by the delight his touch brings my body.  If he’s out to win possession of my heart, he’s doing a good job.  It’s turning traitor.

    
“I don't know,” he says after a minute.  “I've watched those roses for so long and she never came to see them once.  But that does not mean she will not come tomorrow or the next day.  That is why I fear this agreement that we've made.  If there is anything that will satisfy you sooner than a year, I must know.  I will get it for you and then you can give me your heart.”

    
Annoyed that he can’t let it go, that he can’t enjoy the moment, that he’s upsetting my heart by not feeling what I do, that I’m even feeling anything – I wrench myself over onto my side in a feeble attempt at escape.  Tamrin clenches his thighs around my legs and I squeak in surprise at both his strength and audacity.  Realizing I can't go anywhere, I wrestle myself into a sitting position and brace myself with both hands, fuming.