Halo

6 French Class

Someone was calling my name. Even though I tried to ignore it, the voice persisted and I was forced to surface from the warm, shadowy depths of sleep.

“Wake up, sleepyhead!”

I opened my eyes and saw morning light spilling into the room like warm liquid gold. I squinted, sat up, and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Ivy was standing at the foot of my bed with a cup in her hand.

“Try this, it’s awful but it wakes you up.”

“What is it?”

“Coffee — a lot of humans think they can’t function properly without it.”

I sat up and sipped at the bitter, black brew, resisting the urge to spit it out. I wondered how people could actually pay money to drink it, but it didn’t take long for the caffeine to hit my bloodstream, and I had to admit that I did feel more alert.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Time you were up.”

“Where’s Gabe?”

“I think he’s gone for a run. He was up at five this morning.”

“What’s wrong with him?” I groaned, pushing back my covers reluctantly and sounding like a bona fide teenager.

I shook out my hair and ran a comb through it before washing my face and traipsing downstairs to the kitchen. Gabriel, back from his run, was cooking breakfast. He had just showered and combed his wet hair back from his forehead, which gave him a leonine look. He wore only a towel wrapped around his hips, and his taut body gleamed in the morning sun. His wings were contracted and looked like nothing more than a rippling line between his shoulder blades. He was standing by the stove, holding a stainless steel spatula.

“Pancakes or waffles?” he asked. He didn’t have to turn around to determine who had come into the room.

“I’m actually not very hungry,” I said apologetically. “I think I’ll skip breakfast and have something later.”

“No one leaves this house on an empty stomach.” He sounded implacable on the subject. “So what’ll it be?”

“It’s too early, Gabe! Don’t make me, I’ll be sick!” I sounded like a child trying to get out of eating my Brussels sprouts.

Gabriel looked offended. “Are you suggesting my cooking makes people sick?”

Oops. I tried to rectify my mistake. “Of course not. I just…”

My brother put his hands on my shoulders and looked at me intently. “Bethany,” he said, “do you know what happens when the human body isn’t fueled properly?”

I shook my head irritably, knowing he was about to present facts I wouldn’t be able to argue with.

“It can’t function. You won’t be able to concentrate and you might even feel light-headed.” He paused to allow the impact of his words to register. “I don’t think you want to faint on your second day of school, do you?”

This had the effect he hoped it would. I slumped unceremoniously into a chair, visualizing myself keeling over from lack of nutrition and a host of concerned faces looking down at me. Maybe even the face of Xavier Woods, suddenly wanting nothing to do with me.

“I’ll have the pancakes,” I said glumly, and Gabriel turned back to the stove with a satisfied look.

Breakfast was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell, and I wondered who could be calling at such an unconventional hour. We had been careful to steer clear of the neighbors and thwart any offers of friendship. We must have appeared stand-offish compared to the locals.

Ivy and I looked at Gabriel expectantly. He was able to sense the thoughts of those around him, a useful talent in many circumstances. Ivy’s celestial gift was her healing hands. My gift was yet to be determined — apparently it would surface when the time was right.

“Who is it?” Ivy mouthed.

“The woman from next door,” Gabriel said. “Ignore her, and she might go away.”

We sat very still and silent, but our neighbor was not the type to be easily dissuaded. Gabriel left the kitchen and returned wearing a pair of freshly laundered jeans. A few minutes later we were surprised to hear the click of the side gate, and next thing we knew she was at the window, waving at us enthusiastically. I was outraged by the intrusion, but my siblings maintained their composure.

Gabriel went to open the door and came back followed by a woman somewhere in her fifties with platinum blond hair and a bronzed face. She was wearing a lot of gold jewelry, bright lipstick, and a velour tracksuit. Tucked under her arm was a large paper bag. She looked dazed for a moment when she saw all three of us together. I couldn’t blame her; it must have been an unnerving sight.

“Hello there,” she said in a bright voice with a Southern drawl, leaning across the table to shake our hands. “I’d check out that doorbell if I were you — it doesn’t seem to be workin’. I’m Dolores Henderson from next door.”

Gabriel took care of the introductions, and Ivy, ever the perfect hostess, offered her a cup of tea or coffee and set a plate of muffins on the table. I saw Mrs. Henderson eyeing Gabriel in much the same way as the girls at school had.

“Oh, no, thank you,” she said in response to the offer of food. “I’m watching my caloric intake. I just wanted to pop over and say hello now that you’re all settled in.” She set the paper bag down on the countertop. “Thought you might enjoy some homemade jam, I’ve popped in an apricot as well as a fig and strawberry — I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Henderson.” Ivy was all politeness, but I could see Gabriel bristling with impatience.

“Oh, call me Dolly,” she said. “You’ll find we’re all like that around here — very neighborly.”

“That’s good to hear,” Ivy said.

I marveled at how she seemed to have a ready response for every circumstance. As for me, a few moments later, I’d already forgotten the woman’s name.

“You’re the new music teacher at Bryce Hamilton, aren’t you?” persisted Mrs. Henderson. “I have a very musical niece who is keen to take up the violin. That’s your instrument, isn’t it?”

“One of them,” Gabriel replied distantly.

“Gabriel plays several instruments,” said Ivy, flashing him an exasperated look.

“Several! Oh my, how talented you must be,” Mrs. Henderson exclaimed. “I hear you playin’ most nights from my porch. Are you two girls musical as well? What a good brother you are to take care of your sisters with your parents away.”

Ivy sighed, the news of our arrival and our personal story seemed to have become town gossip very quickly.

“Will your folks be joinin’ you anytime soon?” Mrs. Henderson asked, looking around nosily, as if expecting a set of parents to jump out of the cupboards or drop from the ceiling.

“We hope to see them soon,” Gabriel said, his eyes flicking to the clock.

Dolores waited expectantly for him to elaborate, and when he didn’t, she pursued another line of questioning. “Do you know anyone in town yet?” It amused me to watch how the more she tried prying information out of him, the less forthcoming Gabriel became.

“We haven’t had much time for socializing,” said Ivy. “We’ve been quite busy.”

“No time for socializing!” Mrs. Henderson cried. “Good-lookin’ young things like you! We’re gonna have to do somethin’ about that. There are some very hip clubs in town; I’ll have to introduce you to them.”

“I look forward to it,” said Gabriel tonelessly.

“Look, Mrs. Henderson…,” Ivy began, realizing that the conversation was not about to wind up any time soon.

“Dolly.”

“Sorry, Dolly, but we are in a bit of a hurry to get to school.”

“Of course you are. How silly of me to prattle on. Now, if you need anythin’, don’t hesitate to ask. You’ll find we’re a very tight little community here.”

Because of Dolly’s “pop in” I missed the first half of English, and Gabe found his class of seventh graders entertaining themselves by throwing stationery at the ceiling fan. I had a free period next so I caught up with Molly at the lockers. She touched her cheek to mine by way of greeting and then gave me a rundown of last night’s adventures on Facebook while I unpacked my books. Apparently a boy named Chris had signed off with more hugs and kisses than usual, and Molly was theorizing on whether or not it marked a new phase in their relationship. The Agents of Light had cleared our home of any “distracting” technologies, so I didn’t know much about what Molly was talking about. But I managed to nod at regular intervals, and she seemed not to notice my ignorance.

“How can you tell what someone’s really feeling online?” I asked.

“That’s why we have emoticons, silly,” Molly explained. “But you still don’t want to read too much into things. Do you know what today’s date is?” Molly, I was discovering, had a disconcerting habit of jumping from one topic to another without warning.

“It’s March sixth,” I said.

Molly pulled out a pink pocket diary and, with an excited squeal, crossed off the day with a feathery tipped pen.

“Only seventy-two days to go,” she said, her face flushed with excitement.

“Until?” I asked.

She looked at me in disbelief.

“Until the prom, you loser! I’ve never looked forward to anything more in my life.” Ordinarily I would have been offended by her use of the word loser, but it hadn’t taken me long to realize that the girls around here used insults as a form of endearment.

“Isn’t it a little early to be thinking about that?” I suggested. “It’s more than two months away.”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s the social event of the year. People start planning for it early.”

“Why?”

“Are you for real?” Molly’s eyes widened. “It’s a rite of passage, the one event you’ll remember your whole life, apart from maybe your wedding. It’s the whole shebang — limos, outfits, hot partners, dancing. It’s our one night to act like princesses.” It occurred to me that some of them already behaved like that on a daily basis, but I refrained from commenting.

“It sounds fun,” I said. In reality, the whole thing sounded ridiculous, and I resolved on the spot to avoid it at all costs. I could just imagine how strongly Gabriel would disapprove of such an event, with its emphasis on vanity and all things shallow.

“Any idea who you want to go with?” Molly nudged me suggestively.

“Not yet,” I dodged. “How about you?”

“Well,” Molly lowered her voice. “Casey told Taylah that she overheard Josh Crosby telling Aaron Whiteman that Ryan Robertson is thinking of asking me!”

“Wow,” I said, trying to pretend like I’d understood a word of what she’d said. “That sounds great.”

“I know, right!” Molly squealed. “But don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to jinx it.”

She grinned and circled a date in mid-May in my school planner, drawing a big red heart around it before I could stop her. She handed it back and tossed her own into the mess of her locker. There were books piled haphazardly, posters of famous bands taped to the inside walls, empty snack wrappers, a half-finished bottle of diet soda, and an assortment of lip glosses and tins of mints littering the bottom. In striking contrast, my books were arranged in a neat row, my blazer was pegged on the hook provided, and my color-coded class schedule was taped neatly inside my locker door. I didn’t know how to be messy like a human; every instinct in me screamed for order. The proverb that “cleanliness is next to Godliness” couldn’t have been more accurate.

I followed Molly to the cafeteria, where we frittered away time until she had to go to math and I to French. But first I needed to detour back to my locker to collect my French books, which were big and cumbersome. I stacked them on top of my folder while I bent to retrieve my English-French dictionary, which was wedged at the back.

“Hey, stranger,” said a voice behind me. I was startled and jumped up so fast that I hit my head on the roof of my locker. “Careful!” the voice said.

I spun around to find Xavier Woods standing there with the same half-smile on his face that I remembered from our first meeting. Today he was dressed in a sports uniform — dark blue track pants, white polo top, and a track jacket in the school colors slung over his shoulder. I rubbed the top of my head and stared at him, wondering why he was talking to me.

“Sorry I scared you,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” I replied, surprised to find myself once again dazzled by his striking looks. His turquoise eyes were fixed on me, his eyebrows half raised. He was standing close enough this time for me to notice that his eyes were flecked with streaks of copper and silver. He ran a hand through the hair that flopped over his forehead, framing his face.

“You’re new to Bryce Hamilton, aren’t you? We didn’t get much of a chance to talk yesterday.”

I couldn’t think of a single thing to say in response, so I nodded and focused on my shoes. Looking up was a huge mistake. Meeting his gaze caused the same intense physical reaction I’d had last time. I felt as if I were falling from a great height.

“I hear you’ve been living overseas,” he continued, undeterred by my silence. “What’s a well-traveled girl like you doing in a backwater town like Venus Cove?”

“I’m here with my brother and sister,” I mumbled.

“Yeah, I’ve seen them around,” he said. “Hard to miss, aren’t they?” He hesitated a moment. “So are you.”

I could feel myself starting to blush and I backed away from him. I felt so feverish that I was sure I must be radiating heat.

“I’m late for French,” I said, snatching up the closest books I could find and half stumbling along the corridor.

“The language center’s the other way,” he called after me, but I didn’t turn back.

When I did eventually find the right room, I was relieved that our teacher had also only just arrived. Mr. Collins, who didn’t look or sound very French to me, was a tall, lanky man with a beard. He was wearing a tweed jacket and cravat.

It was a small classroom and almost full. I glanced around for the closest empty seat and stifled a gasp when I saw the person who was sitting right next to it. My heart somersaulted in my chest as I moved toward him. I took a breath and steadied my nerves. He was just a boy, after all.

Xavier Woods looked mildly amused as I took my seat beside him. I tried my best to ignore him and focused on opening my textbook to the page Mr. Collins had written on the blackboard.

“You’re going to have some trouble learning French from that,” I heard Xavier murmur in my ear. I realized with a flood of embarrassment that in my confusion I had picked up the wrong book. In front of me lay not my French grammar book but one on the French Revolution. I felt my cheeks flush scarlet for the second time in less than five minutes, and I leaned forward, attempting to conceal them with my hair.

“Miss Church,” Mr. Collins called out, “would you please read aloud the first passage on page ninety-six titled: À la bibliothèque.”

I froze. I couldn’t believe I was going to have to announce to everyone that I had brought along the wrong books to the very first class. How incompetent would I seem? I opened my mouth to begin an apology just as Xavier slid his book inconspicuously across the desk toward me.

I gave him a grateful look and began to read the passage with ease, although I’d never read or spoken the language before. That was just the way it was with us — we only needed to start something before we excelled at it. By the time I was finished, Mr. Collins had come to stand beside our desk. My reading had been fluent — too fluent. I realized that I should have mispronounced a few words or at least stumbled once or twice, but it hadn’t occurred to me to do so. Maybe part of me was trying to show off in front of Xavier Woods to make up for my previous clumsiness.

“You’re as fluent as a native speaker, Miss Church. Have you lived in France?”

“No, sir.”

“Visited perhaps?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

I glanced across at Xavier, whose raised eyebrows indicated he was impressed.

“We must put it down to natural ability then. You might be happier in the advanced class,” Mr. Collins suggested.

“No!” I said, not wanting to attract any more attention and wishing Mr. Collins would let the matter drop. I vowed to be less perfect next time. “I’ve still got plenty to learn,” I assured him. “Pronunciation is my strong point, but grammatically I’m all over the place.”

Mr. Collins seemed satisfied with that explanation. “Woods, continue from where Miss Church left off,” he said, then looked down at Xavier and pursed his lips. “Where’s your textbook, Woods?”

I quickly passed the book back to him, but Xavier made no move to accept it.

“Sorry, sir, I forgot my books today; had a late one last night. Thanks for sharing, Beth.”

I wanted to protest but Xavier’s warning look silenced me. Mr. Collins glared at him, scribbled something in his notebook and muttered all the way back to his desk.

“Not setting much of an example as school captain. See me after class.”

The lesson over, I waited outside for Xavier to finish with Mr. Collins. I felt I at least owed him a thank-you for saving me from embarrassment.

When the door opened Xavier strolled out as casually as someone taking a walk on the beach. He looked at me and smiled, pleased that I had waited for him. I was supposed to be meeting Molly at morning break, but the thought floated into my head and straight out again. When he looked at me it was easy to forget to breathe.

“You’re welcome and it was no big deal,” he said before I could even open my mouth.

“How did you know what I was going to say?” I asked irritably. “What if I wanted to tell you off for getting yourself into trouble?”

He looked at me quizzically. “Are you angry?” he asked. There was that half-smirk again, playing around his lips, as if he was deciding whether the situation was amusing enough to warrant a full smile.

Two girls walked past and looked daggers at me. The taller one waggled her fingers at Xavier.

“Hey, Xavier,” she said in a syrupy voice.

“Hi, Lana,” he replied in a friendly but dispassionate tone.

It seemed obvious to me that he had no interest in talking to her, but Lana didn’t seem to notice.

“How’d you do on the math test?” she persisted. “I thought it was sooooooo hard. I think I might need a tutor.”

I couldn’t help but notice the way Xavier looked at her — blankly, like someone might look at the screen of a computer. Lana was chatting away and arching her back so that Xavier could get the full effect of her curvaceous figure. Any other boy would have been unable to resist giving her body an appreciative appraisal, but Xavier’s eyes didn’t move from her face.

“I think I did okay,” he said. “Marcus Mitchell does tutoring; you should ask him if you really think you need it.” Lana’s eyes narrowed in annoyance at having given so much and received so little.

“Thanks,” she snapped before flouncing away.

Xavier didn’t seem to notice that he had offended her, or if he did, he wasn’t perturbed by it. He turned back to me with a very different expression. His face was serious as if he were trying to solve some sort of puzzle. I tried not to feel a rush of pleasure at this; he probably looked at lots of girls in the same way, and Lana was just an unlucky exception. I remembered what I’d been told about Emily and scolded myself for being so conceited as to think he was showing interest in me.

Before our conversation could resume, Molly spotted us with a look of surprise. She approached cautiously, looking a little worried that she might be interrupting something.

“Hi, Molly,” Xavier said when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to initiate conversation.

“Hi,” she replied briskly and gave my sleeve a proprietary tug. When she spoke, it was in the wheedling voice of a small child. “Beth, come to the cafeteria with me — I’m practically dying of starvation! And after school on Friday I want you to come back to my place — we’re all getting facials from Taylah’s sister, who’s a beautician. It’s going to be awesome. She always brings lots of samples so we can do our own at home.”

“That does sound awesome,” said Xavier with a feigned enthusiasm that made me giggle. “What time should I come over?”

Molly ignored him.

“Will you come, Beth?”

“I have to ask Gabriel and let you know,” I said. I saw a look of surprise cross Xavier’s face. Was it the idea of a night spent having facials or my need to ask my sibling for permission that puzzled him?

“Ivy and Gabriel are welcome to come too,” Molly said, her voice picking up.

“I’m not sure it would be their cup of tea.” I saw Molly’s face fall and added quickly, “But I’ll ask anyway.”

She beamed at me.

“Thanks. Hey, can I ask you something?” She glared at Xavier who was still standing there. “In private?”

He raised his hands in mock defeat and walked away. I resisted the urge to call him back. Molly’s voice dropped to a low whisper. “Has Gabriel… um… said anything about me?”

Neither Gabriel nor Ivy had mentioned Molly since our encounter at the ice cream parlor, except to repeat their general warning about the danger of making friends. But I knew from her tone that she was captivated by Gabriel, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. “Actually, yes,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing. There was only one circumstance when lying was permitted: in order to avoid causing someone unnecessary pain. But even then it didn’t come easily.

“Really?” Molly’s face lit up.

“Of course,” I said, thinking that, technically, I hadn’t really lied. Gabriel had mentioned Molly, just not in the context she hoped for. “He said it was good to see I’d found such a nice friend.”

“He said that? I can’t believe he even noticed me. He’s so gorgeous! Beth, sorry, I know he’s your brother and all, but he is seriously hot.”

In an elated mood Molly took my arm and pulled me in the direction of the cafeteria. Xavier was there, sitting with a table of athletes. This time when our eyes met, I held his gaze. As I looked at him, I felt my mind go completely blank and I couldn’t think about anything except his smile — that perfect, endearing smile that made his eyes crinkle ever so slightly at the corners.