Halo

3 Venus Cove

The Bryce Hamilton School was located on the outskirts of town, set high on the peak of an undulating slope. No matter where you were in the building, you looked out to see a view: either vineyards and verdant hills with the odd grazing cow, or the rugged cliffs of the Shipwreck Coast, so named for the many vessels that had sunk in its treacherous waters over the last century. The school, a limestone mansion complete with arched windows, sweeping lawns, and a bell tower, was one of the town’s original buildings. It had once served as a convent before it was converted to a school in the sixties.

A flight of stone steps led to the double doors of the main entrance, which was shadowed by a vine-covered archway. Attached to the main building was a small stone chapel; the occasional service was still held there, we were told, but mostly it served as a place for students in need of refuge. A high stone wall surrounded the grounds, and spiked iron gates stood open to allow cars access to the gravel driveway.

Despite its archaic exterior, Bryce Hamilton had a reputation for moving with the times, and was favored by progressive parents who wanted to avoid subjecting their children to any kind of repression. Most of the students had a long-standing association with the school through parents and grandparents who were former pupils.

Ivy, Gabriel, and I stood outside the gates watching the students arrive. I concentrated on trying to settle the butterflies that were doing callisthenics in my stomach. The sensation was uncomfortable and yet strangely exhilarating. I was still getting used to the way emotions could affect the human body. I took a deep breath. It was funny how being an angel didn’t make me any more prepared for the first-day nerves of starting somewhere new. I didn’t have to be human to know that first impressions could make all the difference between acceptance and ostracism. I’d listened in on the prayers of teenage girls and most of them centered on being accepted by the “popular” crowd and finding a boyfriend who played on the rugby team. I just hoped I would find a friend.

The students came in groups of three and four: the girls dressed just like me; the boys wearing gray trousers, white shirts, and blue-and-white-striped ties. Even in school uniform, it wasn’t difficult to distinguish the particular social groups I’d observed in the Kingdom. The music posse was made up of boys with shoulder-length hair, untidy strands falling over their eyes. They carried instrument cases and had musical chords scrawled on their arms in black felt pen. There was a small minority of goths who had set themselves apart by the use of heavy eye makeup and spiky hairdos, and I wondered how they got away with it. Surely it must contravene school regulations. Those who liked to think of themselves as artistic had accessorized the uniform with berets or hats and colorful scarves. Some girls traveled in packs, like a group of platinum blondes who crossed the road with their arms linked. The academic types were easily identified; they wore pristine uniforms with no alterations and carried the official school backpack. They tended to walk with a missionary zeal, heads down, eager to reach the sanctity of the library. A group of boys in untucked shirts, loose ties, and sneakers loitered under the shade of some palms, taking swigs from soda cans and chocolate milk cartons. They were in no hurry to move inside the school gates, instead taking turns at punching and leaping on one another. They tumbled to the ground laughing and groaning at the same time. I watched one boy throw an empty can at his friend’s head. It bounced off and rattled on the sidewalk. The boy looked stunned for a moment before bursting into laughter.

We watched with growing consternation and still hadn’t moved from our position outside the front gates. A boy sauntered past us and looked back with curiosity. He was wearing a baseball cap backward and his school pants hung so loosely on his hips that the label of his designer underwear was in full view.

“I must admit, I struggle with some of these latest fashion trends.” Gabriel pursed his lips.

Ivy laughed. “This is the twenty-first century,” she said. “Try not to look so critical.”

“Isn’t that what teachers do?”

“I suppose so, but don’t expect to be popular.” She looked resolutely toward the entrance and stood a little straighter even though she already had perfect posture. It was easy for her to be confident; she wasn’t the one facing the firing squad. Ivy squeezed Gabriel’s shoulder and handed me a manila folder with my class schedule, a school map, and other notices she had collected for me earlier in the week. “Are you ready?” she asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied, trying to steel my nerves. I felt as if I were about to go into battle. “Let’s do it.”

Ivy stood at the gates waving like a proud but anxious mother seeing her children off on their first day of school.

“We’ll be fine, Bethany,” Gabriel promised. “Remember where we come from.”

We had predicted that our arrival would make an impression, but we hadn’t counted on people stopping to openly gawk at us, or stepping aside as though they were being visited by royalty. I avoided making eye contact with anyone and followed Gabriel to the administration office. Inside, the carpet was dark green and a cluster of upholstered chairs were arranged in a row. Through a glass partition we could see an office with an upright fan and shelves almost to the ceiling. A short, round woman with a pink cardigan and an inflated sense of self-importance bustled up to us. A phone rang on a desk nearby and she glared pointedly at an office assistant, indicating it was her job to answer it. Her expression softened a little when she got close enough to see our faces.

“Hello there,” she said brightly, eyeing us up and down. “My name’s Mrs. Jordan and I’m the registrar. You must be Bethany, and you”—her voice dropped a notch as she scanned Gabriel’s flawless face in appreciation—“must be Mr. Church, our new music teacher.”

She came out from behind the little glass wall and tucked the folder she was carrying under her arm to shake our hands enthusiastically. “Welcome to Bryce Hamilton! I’ve allocated Bethany a locker on the third floor; we can head up there now, and then I’ll escort you, Mr. Church, to our staff room. Briefings are Tuesdays and Thursdays at eight-thirty sharp. I hope you enjoy your time here. You’ll find it’s a very lively place, never a dull moment!”

Gabriel and I exchanged glances, unsure now what to expect of our first day at school. Mrs. Jordan bustled us outside and past the basketball courts, where a group of sweaty boys were furiously pounding the asphalt, shooting hoops.

“There’s a big game on this afternoon,” Mrs. Jordan confided, winking over her shoulder. She squinted up at the gathering clouds and frowned. “I sure hope the rain holds off. Our boys will be so disappointed if we have to forfeit.”

As she prattled on, I saw Gabriel glance up at the sky. Discreetly, he turned his hand so that it was palm up toward the heavens and closed his eyes. The engraved silver rings he wore glinted in the sunlight. Immediately, as if in response to his silent command, beams of sunlight burst through the clouds, washing the courts in gold.

“Well, would you look at that!” Mrs. Jordan exclaimed. “A change in the weather — you two must have brought us luck.”

In the main wing the corridors were carpeted in a dark burgundy and oak doors with glass panels led to antiquated-looking classrooms. The ceilings were high and some of the old ornate light fixtures still remained. They were a stark contrast to the graffiti-covered lockers lining the corridor and the slightly nauseating smell of deodorant coupled with cleaning agents and the greasy odor of hamburgers coming from the cafeteria. Mrs. Jordan took us on a whirlwind tour, pointing out the main facilities (the quadrangle, multimedia department, science block, assembly hall, gymnasium, and tracks, playing fields, and the performing arts center). She was obviously pressed for time, because after showing me my locker, she blurted some vague directions to the nurse’s office, told me not to hesitate should I have any questions, and took Gabriel by the elbow and whisked him away. He looked back at me apprehensively.

“Will you be okay?” he mouthed.

I gave him a wan smile by way of reply, hoping I looked more confident than I felt. I certainly didn’t want Gabriel worrying about me when he had matters of his own to deal with. Just then a sonorous bell rang, reverberating through the building and signaling the beginning of the first class. I found myself suddenly standing alone in a corridor full of strangers. They pushed indifferently past me as they headed to various classrooms. For a moment I felt invisible, as if I had no business being there. I studied my schedule and realized that the jumble of numbers and letters may as well have been written in a foreign language for all the sense they made to me. V.CHES11—how on earth was I supposed to decipher that? I even considered ducking through the crowd and making my way back to Byron Street.

“Excuse me.” I caught the attention of a girl with a tumble of titian curls who was striding past. She stopped and surveyed me with interest. “I’m new,” I explained helplessly, holding out my schedule. “Can you tell me what this means?”

“It means you have chemistry with Mr. Velt in room S-eleven,” she said. “It’s just down the hall. I’ll take you if you like — we’re in the same class.”

“Thanks,” I said with obvious relief.

“Do you have a spare after chem? If you do I can show you around.”

“A what?” I asked, my confusion growing.

“A spare — as in a free period?” The girl gave me a funny look. “What did you call them at your old school?” Her face changed as she considered a more disturbing possibility. “Or didn’t you have any?”

“No,” I replied with a nervous laugh. “We didn’t.”

“That must’ve sucked. I’m Molly, by the way.”

The girl was beautiful with glowing skin, rounded features, and bright eyes. Her rosiness reminded me of a girl in a painting I’d seen, a shepherdess in a bucolic setting.

“Bethany,” I said with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Molly waited patiently at my locker while I rummaged through my bag for the relevant textbook, a spiral notebook, and a handful of pens. Part of me wanted to call Gabriel back and ask him to take me home. I could almost feel his strong arms encircling me, hiding me from everything, and steering me back to Byron. Gabriel had a way of making me feel safe, no matter what the circumstances were. But I didn’t know how to find him in this vast school; he could have been behind any of the numberless doors in any one of the identical corridors; I had no idea how to find the music wing. I silently reproved myself for my dependence on Gabriel. I needed to survive here on a daily basis without his protection, and I was determined to show him that I could. Molly opened the classroom door and we walked in. Of course, we were late.

Mr. Velt was a short, bald man with a shiny forehead. He was wearing a sweater patterned with geometric shapes that looked like it had faded from overwashing. When Molly and I came in, he was in the middle of trying to explain a formula scrawled on the whiteboard to a bunch of students, whose vacant faces indicated they wished they were anywhere but in his classroom.

“Glad you could join us, Miss Harrison,” he said to Molly, who slunk quickly to the back of the room. Having already checked the roll he seemed to know who I was.

“Late on your first day, Miss Church,” he said, clicking his tongue and raising an eyebrow in reprimand. “Not exactly off to a good start. Hurry up and sit down.”

Suddenly he remembered he had forgotten to introduce me. He stopped writing long enough to make a perfunctory introduction. “Everyone, this is Bethany Church. She’s new to Bryce Hamilton, so please do your utmost to make her feel welcome.”

Almost every pair of eyes in the room followed me as I took the last seat available. It was at the back next to Molly, and when Mr. Velt stopped talking and told us to work through the next set of questions, I was able to study her more closely. I saw now that she wore the top button of her school dress undone and large silver hoops in her ears. She had drawn an emery board from her pocket and was filing her nails under the desk, blatantly ignoring our teacher’s instructions.

“Don’t worry about Velt,” she whispered, seeing my look of surprise. “He’s a total stiff, bitter and twisted after his wife served the divorce papers. The only thing that gets him going these days is his new convertible, which he looks like a loser driving.” She grinned, and I saw she had a broad smile and white teeth. She wore a lot of mascara but her skin had a natural glow. “Bethany, that’s a pretty name,” she went on. “Kinda old-fashioned though. But hey, I got stuck with Molly, like some character in a picture book.”

I smiled awkwardly at her, not entirely sure how to answer someone so confident and forthright.

“I guess we’re stuck with the names our parents chose for us,” I said, knowing it was a lame attempt at making conversation. I figured I really shouldn’t have been talking at all, seeing as we were in class and poor Mr. Velt needed all the help he could get. It also made me feel like a fraud, as angels didn’t have parents. For a moment I felt like Molly would see right through my lie. But she didn’t.

“So where are you from?” Molly wanted to know, blowing on the nails of one hand and shaking a bottle of fluorescent pink polish.

“We’ve been living overseas,” I told her, wondering what her reaction might be if I told her I was from the Kingdom of Heaven. “Our parents are still there.”

“Really?” Molly seemed impressed. “Whereabouts?”

I hesitated. “Different places. They move around a lot.”

Molly seemed to accept this as if it were fairly commonplace.

“What do they do?” she asked.

I fumbled for the answer in my head. I knew we’d discussed this but my mind went blank. It would be just like me to make a critical mistake within my first hour of being a student. Then I remembered.

“They’re diplomats,” I said. “We came with our older brother. He just started as a teacher here. Our parents will join us when they can.” I tried to cram in as much information as I could to satisfy her curiosity and stem further questions. By nature, angels were bad liars. I hoped Molly hadn’t seen through my story. Technically speaking, none of it was a lie.

“Cool,” was all she said. “I’ve never been overseas but I’ve been to the city a few times. You’d better be prepared for a change of lifestyle at Venus Cove. It’s usually pretty chill around here except things have been a bit weird lately.”

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, I’ve lived here my whole life; my grandparents even lived here and ran a local business. And in all that time, nothing really bad has ever happened; there’s been the occasional factory fire and some boating accidents — but now…” Molly lowered her voice. “There’s been robberies and freak accidents all over the place — there was a flu epidemic last year and six kids died from it.”

“That’s devastating,” I said weakly, feeling a hollowness in the pit of my stomach. I was starting to get a sense of the extent of the damage done by the Agents of Darkness, and it wasn’t looking good. “Is that all?”

“There was one other thing,” Molly said. “But you’d want to be careful bringing it up at school — a lot of kids are still pretty torn up over it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll watch my mouth,” I assured her.

“Well about six months ago, one of the senior boys, Henry Taylor, climbed up on the school roof to get a basketball that had landed up there. He wasn’t screwing around or anything, he was just trying to get it down. No one saw how it happened, but he slipped and fell. He came down right in the middle of the courts — his friends saw the whole thing. They were never able to completely get rid of the bloodstain, so no one plays there anymore.”

Before I could respond, Mr. Velt cleared his throat and looked daggers in our direction.

“Miss Harrison, I assume you are explaining to our new student the concept of covalent bonding.”

“Um, not exactly, Mr. Velt,” Molly replied. “I don’t want to bore her to death on her first day.”

I saw a vein throb on Mr. Velt’s forehead and realized I should probably intervene. I channeled a calming energy toward him and watched with satisfaction as he started looking less harangued. His shoulders seem to relax, and his face lost its livid hue and returned to a more natural shade. He looked at Molly and gave a tolerant, almost paternal chuckle.

“Your sense of humor is unfailing, Miss Harrison.”

Molly looked confused but was smart enough to refrain from further comment.

“My theory is he’s having a midlife crisis,” she whispered to me instead. Mr. Velt ignored us and busied himself setting up a projector slide. I groaned inwardly and tried to suppress a rising wave of panic. We angels were radiant enough in daylight. In the dark it was worse but concealable, but in the halogen light of an overhead projector, who knew what might happen. I decided it wasn’t worth taking the risk. I asked for permission to go to the bathroom and then slipped out. I hung around just outside, waiting for Mr. Velt to finish his presentation and switch the lights back on. The slides clicked sharply into place, and through the glass panel on the classroom door I could see that they demonstrated a simplified description of the valence bond theory. I was glad I wouldn’t have to study such basic things on a permanent basis.

“Are you lost?”

The voice came from behind, startling me. I spun around to see a boy lounging against the lockers opposite the classroom. Even though he looked more formal with his shirt buttoned, tie neatly knotted, and school blazer, there was no mistaking that face or the nut-colored hair flopping over vivid blue eyes. I hadn’t expected to run into him again, but now the boy from the pier was standing right in front of me, wearing that same wry smile.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I said, turning away quickly. If he had recognized me, he wasn’t giving himself away. I hoped that turning my back on him, as rude as it seemed, might cut the conversation short. He had caught me unawares, and something about him made me unsure where to look or what to do with my hands. But he seemed in no hurry.

“You know, the more conventional way to learn is from inside the classroom,” he continued.

I was forced to turn back then and acknowledge his presence. I tried to communicate my reluctance to engage in conversation with a cool look, but when I met his eyes, something entirely different happened. I had an instant, gut-wrenching physical reaction as if the world were falling from under me and I had to steady myself to stop from falling with it.

I must have looked like I was about to pass out because he involuntarily put out an arm to catch me. I noticed the fine cord of plaited leather he wore around his wrist, the only item out of keeping with his otherwise traditional appearance.

My memory of him hadn’t done him justice. He had the striking good looks of an actor but without any trace of conceit. His mouth was curved into a half-smile, and his limpid eyes had a depth I hadn’t noticed the first time. He was tall and slender, but underneath his uniform I could make out the shoulders of a swimmer. He was looking at me as though he wanted to help me but didn’t quite know how, and as I stared back at him, I realized that his attractiveness had as much to do with his air of composure as his regular features and smooth skin. I wished I could come up with some witty retort to match his confidence, but I couldn’t think of anything.

“Just feeling a little light-headed, that’s all,” I mumbled. He took a step closer, still looking concerned.

“Do you need to sit down?”

“No, I’m fine now.” I shook my head decisively.

Reassured that I wasn’t going to faint, he held out his hand and flashed me a dazzling smile.

“I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself last time we met — I’m Xavier.”

So he hadn’t forgotten.

His hand was broad and warm. He held mine a fraction too long. I remembered what Gabriel had said about steering clear of risky human interaction. Warning bells sounded in my head as I frowned and pulled my hand away. It wouldn’t exactly be the wisest move befriending this boy with his ridiculous good looks and hundred-watt smile. The flutter in my chest when I looked at him told me I was already in hot water. I was learning to read the signals given out by my body and knew that this boy was making me nervous. But there was a hint of another feeling, one that I couldn’t identify. I backed away from him, toward the classroom door, where I could see the lights had just come on. I knew I was being rude, but I was too unsettled to care. Xavier didn’t look offended, just bemused by my behavior.

“I’m Bethany,” I managed to say, already halfway through the door.

“See you around, Bethany,” he said.

My face felt beet red as I came back into the chem lab, and Mr. Velt threw me an accusatory look for having taken so long in the bathroom.

By lunchtime I’d realized that Bryce Hamilton was a minefield of projector slides and other traps designed to ferret out undercover angels like me. In gym class I had a mild panic attack when I realized I was expected to change in front of all the other girls. They peeled off their clothes without a second thought and tossed them into lockers or onto the floor. Molly got her bra straps tangled and asked for my help, which I gave nervously, hoping she wouldn’t notice the unnaturally soft touch of my hands.

“Wow, you must moisturize like mad,” she said.

“Every night,” I replied lightly.

“So what do you think of the Bryce Hamilton crowd so far? Boys hot enough for you?”

“I wouldn’t say hot,” I said, puzzled. “Most of them seem to have a normal body temperature.”

Molly stared at me. She looked like she was about to snicker, but my expression convinced her I wasn’t trying to be funny. “Hot means good-looking,” she said. “Have you seriously never heard that before? Where was your last school — Mars?”

I blushed as soon as I understood the meaning of her original question. “I haven’t really met any boys yet,” I said, shrugging. “I did run into someone called Xavier.” Speaking his name aloud was strange. There was a cadence to it that made it sound special. I was glad the boy with the intense eyes and the floppy hair wasn’t a Peter or Rob. I’d hoped to sound casual bringing him up, but his name exploded into the conversation like a firework.

“Which Xavier?” Molly quizzed, all ears now. “Is he blond? Xavier Laro’s blond and plays on the lacrosse team. He’s pretty hot. I wouldn’t blame you for liking him, but I think he might already have a girlfriend. Or did they break up? I’m not sure; I could try and find out.”

“This one had light brown hair,” I interrupted her, “and blue eyes.”

“Oh.” Molly’s expression changed. “That would be Xavier Woods. He’s the school captain.”

“Well, he seemed nice.”

“I wouldn’t go for him if I were you,” she counseled. Her expression was all concern, but I got the feeling she expected me to take her advice no matter what. Maybe that was one of the rules in the world of teenage girls: “Friends are always right.”

“I’m not really going for anyone, Molly,” I said, but was unable to resist asking, “Why, what’s wrong with him?” It didn’t seem possible that the boy I’d met could be anything other than perfect.

“Oh, he’s nice enough,” Molly replied, “but let’s just say he’s got baggage.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, a whole heap of girls have been trying to get his attention for ages, but he’s emotionally unavailable.”

“You mean he’s already got a girlfriend?”

“He did have. Her name was Emily. But no one’s been able to comfort him since…” She trailed off.

“They broke up?” I prompted.

“No.” Molly’s voice dropped and she twisted her fingers uncomfortably. “She died in a house fire almost two years ago. Before it happened they were inseparable, people even talked about them getting married and everything. No one’s been able to measure up to her. I don’t think he’s ever really gotten over it.”

“How awful,” I said. “He would have been only…”

“Sixteen,” Molly finished. “He was pretty close with Henry Taylor as well — he spoke at the funeral. He was just getting over Emily when it happened. Everyone kinda expected him to break down, but he just shut off emotionally and kept going.”

I didn’t know what else to say. Looking at Xavier’s face, you would never have guessed the pain he must have endured, although now I remembered there was a slightly guarded look about his eyes.

“He’s all right now,” Molly said. “He’s still friends with everyone, still plays on the rugby team, and coaches the junior swimmers. It’s not like he can’t crack a smile, it’s just that relationships are sort of off-limits. I don’t think he wants to get involved again after the crappy luck he’s had.”

“I guess you can’t blame him,” I said.

Molly suddenly noticed that I was still in my uniform and her serious tone lifted. “Hurry up and get changed,” she urged. “What are you, shy?”

“Just a bit.” I smiled at her and disappeared into a shower cubicle.

My thoughts about Xavier Woods were cut off as soon as I saw the sports uniform I was expected to wear. I even contemplated crawling out the window to make my escape. It was completely unflattering; the shorts were too short, and the top rode up so much that I could hardly move without flashing my midriff. That was going to be a problem during games seeing as we angels didn’t have a navel — just smooth white skin, freckle and indentation free. Luckily my wings (feathered but paper thin) folded flat across my back, so I didn’t have to worry about them showing, but they were starting to cramp from lack of exercise. I couldn’t wait until the predawn flight in the mountains that Gabriel had promised us soon.

I tugged the top down as far as I could and joined Molly, who was at the mirror applying a liberal coating of lip gloss. I wasn’t sure why she needed lip gloss for gym class, but when she offered me the brush, I accepted, not wanting to appear ungracious. I wasn’t exactly sure how to use the applicator but managed to apply a fairly uneven coating. I assumed it was something that took practice. Unlike the other girls, I hadn’t been experimenting with my mom’s cosmetics since I was five. I hadn’t even known what my human face looked like until recently.

“Rub your lips together,” said Molly. “Like this…”

I mimicked her and found that the motion smoothed out the gloss, making me look less clownlike.

“That’s better,” she said approvingly.

“Thanks.”

“I guess you don’t wear makeup very often.”

I shook my head.

“Well, it’s not like you need it. That color suits you though.”

“It smells amazing.”

“It’s called Melon Sorbet.” Molly looked pleased with herself, then became distracted by something and began sniffing the air.

“Can you smell that?” she asked.

I stiffened, gripped by a sudden rush of insecurity. Was it me? Was it possible that we smelled terrible to people on earth? Had Ivy sprayed my clothes with some sort of perfume that was socially unacceptable in Molly’s world?

“It smells like… like rain or something,” she said. I relaxed instantly. What she could smell was just the characteristic scent that all angels carried, and rain was a pretty good description on her part.

“Don’t be a ditz, Molly,” one of her friends said. Taylah, I thought her name was, recalling earlier rushed introductions. “It’s not raining in here, duh.”

Molly shrugged and tugged on my sleeve, leading me out of the locker room and into the gym where a blonde fifty-something woman with a sun-ravaged face and Lycra shorts was bouncing on the balls of her feet and shouting at us to drop and give her twenty.

“Don’t you just hate gym teachers?” Molly said, rolling her eyes. “They’re so… up all the time.”

I didn’t reply, but given the steely-faced look of the woman and my lack of athletic enthusiasm, we probably weren’t going to get along very well.

Half an hour later we had run ten laps of the court, done fifty each of push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and lunges, and that was only the warm-up. I felt sorry for the other students who were staggering around with chests heaving and shirts damp with sweat. Angels didn’t get tired; our energy was limitless and so didn’t need to be conserved. We didn’t perspire, either; we could run a marathon and not produce a single drop of sweat. Molly became suddenly aware of this.

“You’re not even puffing!” she said accusingly. “Jeez, you must be really fit.”

“Or use a really good deodorant,” added Taylah, tipping the contents of her water bottle down her cleavage. It attracted the attention of a gaggle of boys nearby, who gaped at her. “It’s getting hot in here!” she teased, parading past the boys with her now see-through shirt until the gym teacher noticed the spectacle and charged over to us like a raging bull.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, except that I found myself scouring the corridors, hoping to catch another glimpse of the school captain, the boy called Xavier Woods. Given what I had learned about him from Molly, I was feeling flattered that he had paid me any attention at all.

I thought back to our meeting on the pier and remembered marveling at his eyes — such a brilliant, startling blue. They were the kind of eyes you couldn’t look into for too long without going weak at the knees. I wondered now what might have happened had I accepted his invitation and sat down beside him. Would we have talked while I tried my hand at fishing? What would we have said?

I shook myself mentally. This wasn’t why I had been sent to earth. I made myself promise that in the days that followed I wouldn’t think about Xavier Woods at all. If I chanced to see him, I would ignore him. If he tried to speak to me, I would give token answers and move away. In short, I wouldn’t allow him to have any effect on me.

Needless to say, I was to fail spectacularly.