Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight
5 – Clair de Lune
The next day, school is, rather predictably, a nightmare.
The morning starts well enough; last night the temperature climbed back up and now all the ice is gone. It's all downhill from there.
Everybody enquires about my health and/or asks me how I survived, all eager, polite, and sickeningly sweet. They just make me want to barf. Instead, I patiently explain that luckily Lynn Cullen was standing next to me and thanks to her quick reaction I'm still alive and well. I repeat it so many times I almost start to believe it myself.
Of course, she did save me, but in an inexplicable manner, not to mention she was nowhere near me when it all started. Even though she reneged on her promise, I will keep her secret. I owe her everything and I've always had sympathy for misfits anyways. I wonder why.
In the cafeteria, at lunch, all the Cullens studiously ignore the rest of the world. I glance at them occasionally, but nobody's ever looking at me or the people at my table. I forget all about them when I'm forced to retell in detail what happened, as long as everybody agrees to never ask me about it again. I hope it's the last time I narrate my misadventure and I try to make it more memorable, within the confines of the established version I've been peddling. Angela oohs demurely. The guys want more.
"So, wait, in the end you were unscathed but trapped between the vehicles, right?" Jeff starts it.
"Yeah. We had to wait for our rescuers to get us out. Why?"
"It must have been very narrow in there?" Mike adds, a leer starting to reshape his face.
"Did you get to, you know, feel her up? Were you very close to her?" Eric clarifies and seals with a dreamy smile.
"Guys, you realize I'd just had my whole life flash before my eyes right? For half a second I thought I was dead. It felt a lot longer than it sounds, trust me. You have to live through it to understand. I wasn't really worried about that kind of stuff."
"Yeah, but man, come on. You got close to Lynn Cullen, the Ice Queen…."
"Look, I was lying on the concrete. She was crouching next to me, checking on my health. That's all. Happy now?"
One belated thought enters my head….. She's fast and strong… I wonder whether she has other abilities. Oh well, not my business after all.
"You're no fun, Arizona." Jeff drawls.
"Whatever." I reply with a pucker.
"She's not paying attention to him today, though." Mike mumbles, with an unduly happy smile.
"Forget the Cullens. We should organize a trip to the beach, as soon as the weather improves of course. Maybe do some surfing if the waves cooperate." Eric seems full of energy today.
I space out for a bit, munching on my unappetizing lunch. I really don't know what to expect from Lynn now, and I'm starting to dislike the shiver I feel every time I think of her name. Maybe I'm coming down with something.
In French class, she is already at her desk when I arrive. As usual, she's wearing simple yet elegant jeans, a long-sleeve top and a leather jacket, all in dark colors. They bring out the red highlights in her hair. She's gone back to sitting as far from me as possible. I try a friendly approach.
"Hi, Lynn." I smile openly, hoping to initiate a polite friendship. She responds with a curt nod, nothing more, and turns away from me, clearly meaning to ignore me. And that she does for the whole class. I fume a little inside; okay, if she wants to treat me like a leper I can return the favor.
In a sense I should be grateful for her coldness. It's not like she would have ever been really interested in me. She was probably just trying to be polite the other day. The whole idea is preposterous. Still, there was something about our chat. It felt so natural to be talking to her, after my initial surprise. I try to forget about it, but the rest of the day I remain oddly distracted, disappointed by her attitude and a little mad at her too, now.
In the evening, my father and I have guests. Billy Black, one of the elders of the Quileute reservation, comes over with Jacob. Billy, his wrinkled face framed by long, braided white hair, is in a wheelchair these days. His son serves as his chauffeur. Once again I notice how strong Jacob seems to be. His arms are heavily muscled, way thicker than mines. I guess living on the reserve is hard work.
While dad and Billy focus on the game, Jacob and I talk about soccer. His attempts to start a conversation about cars only met consternation and stony silence. He tells me that occasionally Jeff and other kids play with him and other kids from the reservation. I reply I'll be happy to join their next game, but I'm not surprised. In Phoenix I met several natives at drop-in soccer. All you need to play is a ball and a few players. A pitch can be improvised almost anywhere. It tends to be popular with the less-moneyed.
Eventually I excuse myself and go to sleep, after promising Jacob I'll go hang with him and his sister at the reservation. Dad knows I don't like baseball. In bed, I wonder again about Lynn's appalling distrust. It's really unnecessary, considering I kept quiet as she requested. I wish I could talk to her again, but I'm resigned to a different fate. Two can play the same game.
The next two weeks are fairly uneventful. I go hiking a lot, almost every day, keep up with homework, do my share of house chores, play soccer, practice classical on my guitar and get to know some of my new friends better. Sometimes I still miss the sun, but overall I'm enjoying living here a lot more than I thought I would. It's all temporary anyways. Soon I'll be off to college, in less than two years. I can't wait for that kind of freedom.
On the Cullen front, nothing really new happens. Lynn continues to treat me like I'm incommunicado and I mostly do the same. Once in a while I sneak a glance at her, cursing my weakness. She's like a magnet, or like a moon with a strong gravitational pull, hard to resist. I try to recall my anger at her manners, or lack thereof, to cement my ability to pretend she doesn't exist.
After a few days, I grow rather comfortable with our arrangement. The memory of her smile, the one time she was friendly, is now a sore spot, a source of pain, true, but pain heals and it could have been a lot worse, whatever it was. With a bit of luck next year I won't end up sitting next to her in any class and that will be that. I still resent her rudeness, but I have to admit it makes my life a lot easier, if maybe a little emptier.
Everything changes, for me, on Friday, at the end of the week. I'm in French class again, but Mrs. Morrison is sick and there is no real substitute available. One of the admin guys comes to check on us while we do some homework or review our notes. I have my classical guitar with me for music class later on and the admin guy asks me if I'd like to play something. I blush, but tell him I could practice one piece I've been working on, if it's okay.
And so I get the guitar out of the bag, check the tuning, and hit the first melancholy notes. In my peripheral vision Lynn turns toward me, intrigued, biting her lip.
The piece straddles melancholy and joy in the first movement, but eventually grows in intensity, finds more possibilities in its melodies, explores new avenues, ends slowly winding down; music for a casual evening stroll. In theory. My poor execution doesn't do it justice, not even close. I fluff a couple of transitions, hit a few bum notes, and I can't even play the whole thing yet. Lots of work to do on this one. Lynn obstinately faces away from me, her eyes closed. I wonder whether she's just bored or actually listening to the music. She doesn't say a word, not until the bell, when suddenly, her eyes still shut, she speaks to me for the first time since the day of the accident.
"You like Debussy?" She asks so softly I'm not even sure she's really expecting an answer.
"I like Clair de Lune." I reply as I gather my stuff and head out.
The last period is boring but easy and I dodge most of my new friends on the way to my truck. Lynn's odd reaction to the music is nothing; probably she's just into classical. I know I have a bit of a crush on her, but I'll survive. It's not the first time I like a girl who barely knows I exist. Lynn Cullen, however, is obviously far from being just another girl. Her speed and strength are, as far as I know, unnatural for any normal human being, regardless of training or martial arts. She's not a ninja, I muse. Too bad. I'm still burning with curiosity; how did she do it?
I keep pondering all the clues at my disposal until it's time to go to bed. Instead of rolling over on one side, I just stare at the shadowy ceiling for a bit, asking myself why it's become so important to me to really understand her.
I think of her face again, usually devoid of makeup, not that she needs any. I think of her smile, beautiful but rare, and her usual scowl. The last couple of weeks she seemed sullen even in the company of her family, at lunch. She's just so cranky all the time. Maybe she's a manic depressive or something. I think of the unkempt velvet cascade of her hair. There is no hope of sleeping for now.
I get out of bed and start practicing Clair de Lune on my classical. We don't have any close neighbors I can wake up, and dad could sleep through a rock concert.
I let my hands work and pay little attention to the music while I think of the whole Cullen family. The togetherness they exude. Their clear sense of belonging. Their similarities despite the lack of blood ties. The way they move, the way they dress. Their pale skins…..
I am sure that any assumption I might have to make about Lynn would also apply to the others. If she has special abilities, they must do too. It all leads me back to my guess that they could be the subjects of an experiment or maybe mutants living together, without the gaudy uniform of comic books.
The only thing I'm certain of is: they all have a secret. They all fear that excessive contact with normal people like me might expose them somehow. I can't believe they're evil; Lynn saved my life despite the risk of being discovered. Maybe I should look at them from a different perspective. I had come to believe, probably influenced by the chatter I surround myself with in the canteen, that they were standoffish, pretentious, stuck-up. In some way they probably are, of course, but they're also worried people might get too close to them, find out who or what they really are.
They must feel lonely, surrounded by normal human kids. They have their family, and I envy their cohesion, but they cannot really relate to anybody else at the school. However stronger or smarter they might be, all of a sudden I feel a little sorry for them. They don't really belong here. They can just pretend. Like I do, in a sense. I'm not as special, that is for sure, but I also can't relate to many of my peers. I also feel like a stranger. It's just that for me pretending to be normal is a lot easier since I can't stop vans with my arms.
Actually, they don't only have their family. Emmet's strong, passionate connection with Rosalie is unbreakable, obviously so. Alice and Jasper, apparently less intense, are never far away from each other. Both couples are the kind that makes me feel torn. Should I envy their easy intimacy or feel horrified by their constant proximity?
And then I think of Lynn. She's the only one without a partner. I know Doctor Cullen is happily married. Well, Lynn is only seventeen, like me. Still, it can't be easy for her, surrounded by happy couples and clearly unable to interact freely with all the other students. She's beautiful; normally all the guys would be lining up at her door to ask her out, but she has to make herself unavailable to protect whatever secret of theirs. Of course I would have never stood a chance to be the lucky guy she'd choose to date, but it doesn't matter. She will never fit in. For a brief moment, I think we are more similar than I thought at first, both of us resigned to our lonely fate. I only realize I'm crying when a teardrop falls on my guitar. I curse my innate weepiness and head to bed.
This is the first night I dream of Lynn Cullen.
In the dream, at first I'm alone. I'm in a large house, made of glass, devoid of furniture. Outside, the night sky is cloudy, starless. Lights glow warmly in the windows of a small town. It spreads all around us. I can see, or sense, many rooms in the house, but at first I think it's empty. My neck swivels. I scan the view. I notice a light closer to me, on the same floor I am on.
I walk toward it, and I realize that there is a girl sitting next to a low table. A single candle is the only source of luminescence. She is doing something, but I can't see her well. Maybe she's playing the piano. I hear a faint melody. Before I can reach her, I run into some resistance. An invisible glass wall is in my way. I keep a hand against it and move forward, in search of an opening. I can see the girl in the room, now. It's Lynn Cullen. The candle glow dances on her hair, old fires smoldering in the darkness. After going around the whole room, I can't seem to find a way in. If there is a door, I don't see it, and it's probably locked.
I call Lynn's name, again and again, but she never even looks at me.