Extraordinary October. Diana Wagman
Читать онлайн книгу.
closer. It was a cat. The sweet little black and white cat that belonged to our neighbors. I waited for it to move. We had too many birds around for the cat to be in our yard. “Scat!” I hissed out the window. But nothing. It was lying on its side not moving. I watched for a moment and I knew it wasn’t sleeping. The cat was dead. I swallowed. My father hated cats. He always had and since the birdhouses he hated them even more, but this was—had been—a nice cat. A big black crow flew down and landed beside the body. I turned away as it began to peck at the poor cat’s eyes.
It was after one. I had to go. I absolutely had to get out of the house. I splashed some water on my face and looked at myself in the mirror. I was a little pale, but not green like that kid in the nurse’s office. And I realized I felt fine. My palms were fine. Once again, whatever it was had passed. I ran my brush over my hair, pleased that it was still looking good. As I turned to go, I caught a glimpse of my neck. There was an inch long raised red mark, like a burn. I must have scratched myself running upstairs.
Dad was standing at the bottom of the stairs as I came down.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fine. Funny. It’s been a weird day.” I looked around. “Did she leave?”
He nodded. “Isn’t she something?”
“I don’t know. I’m not crazy about her.”
“Let’s give her a chance.”
“Okay.” I gave him a hug. Big as he was, he was still a great hugger. “You’re a bird, huh? That explains so much.” We laughed. “I wonder what I am.”
“She said you were a bear.”
“Second time I’ve heard that today.” And I didn’t think it was a good thing. I grabbed the car keys off the end table. “Gotta run. I’ll be home for dinner.”
“Have fun.” He headed back to his birdhouses and I headed out the door.
It’s embarrassing, but I was four days from turning eighteen and had never had a boyfriend. Yes, I was still a virgin. Oh boy, was I. Far from having sex, I had never been kissed—unless you counted that time in 6th Grade playing that stupid Truth or Dare game. I had to kiss Jacob the Jock, but I didn’t want to and neither did he so it was more like a peck. Afterwards he pretended to throw up.
It wasn’t that I was afraid or frigid or wanted to wait until I was 30. I just hadn’t met the right person. I’d read books. I’d seen plenty of movies. I just wanted someone like that—someone who made my toes curl, my breath come faster, my stomach flip. As I drove to Henderson Park thinking about Blue-Eyes was definitely making me sweat. Maybe it was the itch, maybe it was the color of his eyes—the opposite of my own—but for the first time ever I felt my heart thumping and jumping in my chest. I knew it was nuts and of course unrequited, he was older and way out of my league, but I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, I rolled up the window so my hair wouldn’t get messy, and I kept checking my reflection in the rear view mirror.
I saw the car behind me, a Ferrari, low and black and expensive. It was odd that I, the car lover, hadn’t noticed it before. The woman driving looked a lot like Madame Gold. Oh no, I thought. It was Madame Gold. Was she following me? No, she had left my house way before I did. The neighborhood surrounding Henderson Park was much more upscale than ours. I figured she lived nearby. Who would have thought hypnotists made so much money? Begrudgingly I admitted she had nice taste in cars.
The weather had taken a turn for the worse. I could feel the wind pushing on my old car and it rattled the windows. Leaves and sticks and trash skittered across the street. An empty rubber trashcan blew right in front of me and I jammed on my brakes just in time. Madame Gold’s tires squealed behind me as she swerved and zipped past. She lifted one hand in a wave—obviously she had recognized me too—before she peeled around the next corner and disappeared. I was breathing hard. The trashcan continued rolling out of the way and I drove on.
Walker Smith was sitting alone on a bench as I walked across the playground from the parking lot. He was texting someone furiously and I got a quick pang of jealousy.
Stop it, I told myself. He’s a college student. You’re in high school. This is just an experiment.
I knew what kind of experiment I wanted it to be.
“Hey,” I called to him.
He looked up, saw me and grinned. His face opened like the sun coming through the gray clouds. I stopped. I wanted to spend a moment just bathing in that smile, letting it warm me. Driving over I’d been so nervous, but seeing him my stomach calmed, my shoulders relaxed. The only way to describe it is that he seemed familiar, comfortable, as if we were members of the same tribe. Which, I told myself, we couldn’t be. He was from the College of Incredibly Handsome and I was from Camp Ordinary.
“Sit with me,” he said.
I sat beside him on the cement bench. Some brainchild juvenile delinquent had written “ass” on the edge of the seat in black marker, not even on the part where your ass actually went. I wanted to add an arrow. I looked at Walker. He didn’t have a laptop with him, or a notebook, only his phone that he had put away. What about the experiment? I waited for him to say something. Instead, he took my hand. I felt the touch of his fingers all the way up my arm, into my chest. He closed his eyes and put two fingers to my wrist, taking my pulse.
“Your heart is racing,” he said.
“Is this part of the experiment?”
He laughed and opened his eyes. “You’re a worrier.”
“I’m thoughtful,” I countered. “There’s a lot in this world to think about.”
“Not for long,” he said.
I didn’t know what he meant. “I don’t think the world’s problems are going away any time soon.”
“Other things will become more important.”
“Like what?” I wondered if this was part of the experiment. I wondered if holding my hand was part of the experiment. Was the point to totally throw me off balance and then ask weird questions?
He played with my fingers. “Still itching?”
“Not at all.”
“Right as rain,” he nodded. “Isn’t that what you said?”
I blushed, mortified that he chose to remember that of all things.
“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s perfect.” He looked up at the darkening sky. “Rain is always exactly right.”
I didn’t want him to let go of my hand, but everything he said was a little confusing. He had blond, curly hair that was casually messy and I wondered if he worked hard to make it look that way. His jeans were expensive, if well worn, and he wore nice sneakers and a gray sweater that looked like cashmere. A blue T-shirt exactly the color of his eyes was just visible around the neck of the sweater. That T-shirt was definitely on purpose. He knew how good-looking he was and in my experience—okay, in books I’d read—guys like that were not to be trusted. I didn’t know anything about him, I’d never even heard of Hayden College, and more importantly, no one knew where I was.
“When is this experiment thing going to start?” I forced my voice not to quaver.
“Soon.” He saw my discomfort and apologized. “I’m just curious, so curious.”
“About what?”
“You.” He did seem to be studying me. He smiled. “How did the itch begin?”
I groaned. I really didn’t want to talk to him about that. “It went away.” I hoped that was enough, but he was persistent.
“Did it come on slowly? Gradually? Like a little tickle first, then a little more?”
Maybe