T
he whole school is buzzing with the news and Megan delights in regaling me with all the gory details, and the specifics are very grisly, indeed. "Can you believe it? Cara Oliver, the head cheerleader, murdered right here in the theater. I wonder if the stage had something to do with the murderer's fantasy." She leans against the locker next to mine, clutching a stack of books to her chest. "The police have been crawling all over the school ever since the janitor found her body. They say it was torn to pieces." I swallow with difficulty, spinning the dial on my locker with shaking fingers, my blood icy in my veins. "D - do they know anything or have any leads?" I ask, proud of the stability in my hoarse voice. "Not a thing." Megan says with a decisive shake of her head. Her blue eyes are shining with an excitement I honestly can't share. I am not sure whether to be relieved or frightened. I settle for relieved, but now I am stuck with trying to decide whether to talk to the police and tell them what I know or stay quiet. Was this what Spencer really wanted to talk to me about? I retrieve my books, slam the locker shut, and turn around to find him striding down the hall with determination. My breath hitches along with the waves of panic flooding through me. I could be wrong. He might not be coming for me. He might have nothing to do with what happened to poor Cara. And maybe the sun won't rise in the morning either. All of the above are equally likely. The one thing I am sure of is that I'm not at all ready to deal with this or him. I mutter a soft curse that refocuses Megan's attention on me and grab her arm.
"What?" She asks, bewildered as I drag her down the hallway in my wake. "What is with you, Sabine?" I can hear him calling my name over the racket of students shoving along toward class but I pretend not to "Never mind, just hurry up!" I hiss. She stumbles, cocks her head and frowns at me. "Isn't that - "? "Yes. Now let's move!" "But " "Come on, Meg, Please!" I beg as she hesitates. She knows about Spencer and how much of a fool I've been about him. She drove me over to see him the day I foolishly offered my body to him. She doesn't understand the attraction, but she is a good friend and refrains from judging.
The piercing wail of the first bell has never sounded sweeter to me. I am saved. I don't look behind me before I duck into the classroom but I can see him hovering indecisively outside the room for a long breathless moment, his face clouded with some hidden concern. I don't breath again until he moves on and then I collapse in a boneless heap onto my desk. Thank God... I do manage to avoid him for the remainder of the day, although it proves a remarkably difficult task. The constant whispered discussions about poor Cara drive me nuts. I don't want to hear about poor Cara and I definitely do not want to be reminded of last night.
After school, I deliberately ignore the instructions we young ladies have been given to remain in pairs and drag the costumes I am working on for drama class off to a dressing room with an excellent view of the athletic fields. It isn't that I care about seeing half naked muscular guys running around sweating, it's more that this is the greenest space I am likely to find around the school. An asphalt sea of parking lots consumes the remainder of the area. I am absorbed in altering a Civil War dress to fit the leading lady with my headphones on blaring Styx into my ears so I don't hear the door open, but I feel him. A hot, quivering tingle spreads through my abdomen and drips down my legs, pulsing in waves. I inhale slowly, so deep, and then let it go on a shaky sigh.
"Hello, Gabriel. Are you feeling better?" I ask, switching off my portable CD player. The silence rings terribly loud in my ears in the absence of the driving musical beat. I've known Gabe forever, at least since seventh grade when we shared a table together in biology, taught by the roly-poly Mrs. Evans. He used to steal my notes, my stories, and my diaries on a regular basis. A lot of what I wrote then was actually about him though I would have chewed razor blades before admitting it. He didn't need to ask who it was about, though, and I think he rather enjoyed being an object of worship. For some reason, whenever he was around, I feel this weird warmth creep through my stomach and ripple through my lower body. It's a definite sexual thrill, one that I am not sure whether I am pleased about or uneasy with. It's almost like a doorbell for him, though, because I always know when he is coming.
He's been out of school for a couple of days and when I look at him, I wonder what he is doing back already. "You look like hell." I observe, noting the huge dark circles beneath his eyes, the limp, lifeless golden blonde hair dull and unkempt, and the lines of tension bracketing his mouth. "What are you doing here, anyway? You look like you need a few more days in bed." "Thanks for the vote of confidence," he says with wry amusement. "But don't worry - I'm just here to pick up my assignments for the next week or so." "That sick?" I study him with a critical eye - now I'm actually worried. "Something like that," he agrees evasively. "Listen, I need to talk to you about something. Spencer, " He stops suddenly at the narrowed gaze I level on him. "Spencer? What about him?" I already know though. Gabriel and Spencer have been talking, God help me. Dread and mortification tangle up in my stomach at the thought of them discussing me and my folly. "Look, he said he made a pass at you last night and that it didn't go over well, " Hot color rushes into my cheeks, burning me with humiliation from the inside out. Gabriel and Spencer are better friends than I imagined. Gabriel is still speaking, but I tune him out. With great care, I set the voluminous dress on the table and stand up, teeth clenched against the confused mass of emotion I haven't any hope of dealing with or separating. I shrug into my jacket, heft my backpack over my shoulder and push past Gabriel who is still standing in the doorway, now quiet and watchful.
"Sabine, wait." He catches hold of my arm, but I shake him off with savage fury. "Don't touch me." I hiss. "Ever." "Shit!" The sound of his hand slamming on the doorframe echoes down the empty hall. "You're being just as unreasonable as Spencer said you were!" "I think I'm entitled." I say with quiet misery. He moves so quietly I don't hear him come up behind me and I jerk as his hand closes over my arm. I throw my entire weight against his grip but he is ready for my protest this time and it barely fazes him. He leans in, gripping my chin in one hand to keep my face turned toward his. I expect I will have bruises on my face and arm from his brutal grip to match the ones around my ankle. His warm, moist breath faintly scented with mint and coffee, fans across my cheek and his hazel eyes, now slate grey with anger, glitter with suppressed emotion. "The two of you can work out your hormonal issues later but right now this is too important to allow that to get in the way. Spencer and I need to talk to you. He tells me you won't listen to him and I can see that for myself. Now get a hold of yourself, girl. " He snaps, shaking me gently. I tremble with cold fury. Hormonal differences? The king of the one night stand is accusing me of having hormone troubles? With one arm held immobile by Gabriel and the other blocked, I instinctively react in the only way possible; I jam my knee into his groin. All the air wheezes out of his lungs and I am immediately free. I back away, watching him double over in pain while the color drains from his face. The satisfaction surging through me confirms it, there is definitely a special place in hell reserved for me. "For your information, Casanova, my hormones are well in check. You might want to give your own zipper a good look before you go accusing me of shit like that."
He reaches one hand out imploring me to stay, but I spin around and stalk down the hall, still simmering. Bastard... I slam the door open, lifting my face to the weak, late afternoon sun and let loose a low growl of anger. God, what did I do to deserve this anyway? Have I just pissed you off one too many times lately? I've been going to church regularly. I've even been volunteering to help out with the disabled kids once a week - well, okay, so that's for class credit, but I've been going, haven't I? I cut across the nearly empty parking lot, wanting to get home before dark. Whoever killed Cara is still out there and I have no idea what little pet Spencer has acquired and I don't want to find out. Thanks to my bubbling rage, I make it in plenty of time.
Mom is home when I get there, waiting to hear a download about my day. She hasn't heard about Cara yet, surprise, surprise. Having avoided her last night, I know I am not going to manage it today so I stow my books in my bedroom and come out to the kitchen to have a cup of coffee and talk to her while she makes dinner. She is taking a logic class right now, which is giving her fits. The instructor is terribly impressed with her, but she doesn't return the affection and doesn't think she is learning a thing.
She regales me with Fred's latest screw up as I shred lettuce and dice onion. I tell her about Cara and my French test, which I think I probably wound up with a B on, in spite of not studying a lick. Dad will be home for dinner, not a big surprise to me, considering the way we started out the morning. He will want to know exactly what happened, moment by moment. I brace myself for the onslaught of questions and am shocked when he does nothing more than hug me and kiss my cheek. It doesn't occur to me until later that he might have seen me get out of Spencer's car and finish walking to school. I am simply grateful to drown in the normality of being at home.
The mournful howl I heard last night pierces the soft night sounds again tonight, this time closer and more savage than before. I lie in bed and listen to it, trapped with my own thoughts as company and those aren't very conducive to sleep. I wonder about Spencer's little 'pet', about how Cara died and when, about what he's told Gabriel about me and why. I flop from side to side, unable to shut my mind down but unwilling to get up. Finally, finally I drift off to sleep.
