10. Interrogations
It was very hard, in the morning, to argue with the part of me that was sure last night was a dream. Logic wasn't on my side, or common sense. I clung to the parts I couldn't have imagined — like his smell. I was sure I could never have dreamed that up on my own.
It was foggy and dark outside my window, absolutely perfect. She had no reason not to be in school today. I dressed in my heavy clothes, remembering I didn't have a jacket. Further proof that my memory was real.
When I got downstairs, Gummy was gone again — I was running later than I'd realized. I swallowed a granola bar in three bites, chased it down with milk straight from the carton, and then hurried out the door. Hopefully the rain would hold off until I could find Fiona.
It was unusually foggy; the air was almost smoky with it. The mist was ice cold where it clung to the exposed skin on my face and neck. I couldn't wait to get the heat going in my truck. It was such a thick fog that I was a few feet down the driveway before I realized there was a car in it: a silver car. My heart thudded, stuttered, and then picked up again in double time.
I didn't see where she came from, but suddenly she was there, pulling the door open for me.
"Do you want to ride with me today?" she asked, amused by my expression as she caught me by surprise yet again. There was uncertainty in her voice. She was really giving me a choice — I was free to refuse, and part of her hoped for that. It was a vain hope.
"Yes, thank you," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. As I stepped into the warm car, I noticed her tan jacket was slung over the headrest of the passenger seat. The door closed behind me, and, sooner than should be possible, she was sitting next to me, starting the car.
"I brought the jacket for you. I didn't want you to get sick or something." Her voice was guarded. I noticed that she wore no jacket herself, just a light gray knit V-neck shirt with long sleeves. Again, the fabric clung to her perfectly fit top. It was a colossal tribute to her face that it kept my eyes away from her body.
"I'm not quite that delicate," I said, but I pulled the jacket onto my lap, pushing my arms through the too-long sleeves, curious to see if the scent could possibly be as good as I remembered. It was better.
"Aren't you?" she contradicted in a voice so low I wasn't sure if she meant for me to hear.
We drove through the fog-shrouded streets, always too fast, feeling awkward. I was, at least. Last night all the walls were down… almost all. I didn't know if we were still being as candid today. It left me tongue-tied. I waited for her to speak.
She turned to smirk at me. "What, no twenty questions today?"
"Do my questions bother you?" I asked, relieved.
"Not as much as your reactions do." She looked like she was joking, but I couldn't be sure.
I frowned. "Do I react badly?"
"No, that's the problem. You take everything so coolly — it's unnatural. It makes me wonder what you're really thinking."
"I always tell you what I'm really thinking."
"You edit," she accused.
"Not very much."
"Enough to drive me insane."
"You don't want to hear it," I mumbled, almost whispered. As soon as the words were out, I regretted them. The pain in my voice was very faint; I could only hope she hadn't noticed it.
She didn't respond, and I wondered if I had ruined the mood. Her face was unreadable as we drove into the school parking lot. Something occurred to me belatedly.
"Where's the rest of your family?" I asked — more than glad to be alone with her, but remembering that her car was usually full.
"They took Lady's car." She shrugged as she parked next to a glossy red convertible with the top up. "Ostentatious, isn't it?"
"Um, wow," I breathed. "If she has that, why does she ride with you?"
"Like I said, it's ostentatious. We try to blend in."
"You don't succeed." I laughed and shook my head as we got out of the car. I wasn't late anymore; her lunatic driving had gotten me to school in plenty of time. "So why did Lady drive today if it's more conspicuous?"
"Hadn't you noticed? I'm breaking all the rules now." She met me at the front of the car, staying very close to my side as we walked onto campus. I wanted to close that little distance, to reach out and touch her, but I was afraid she wouldn't like me to.
"Why do you have cars like that at all?" I wondered aloud. "If you're looking for privacy?"
"An indulgence," she admitted with an impish smile. "We all like to drive fast."
"Figures," I muttered under my breath.
Under the shelter of the cafeteria roof's overhang, Fiona was waiting, her eyes about to bug out of their sockets. Over her arm, bless her, was my jacket.
"Hey, Fiona," I said when we were a few feet away. "Thanks for remembering." She handed me my jacket without speaking.
"Good morning, Fiona," Marceline said politely. It wasn't really her fault that her voice was so irresistible. Or what her eyes were capable of.
"Er… hi." She shifted her wide eyes to me, trying to gather her jumbled thoughts. "I guess I'll see you in Trig." She gave me a meaningful look, and I suppressed a sigh. What on earth was I going to tell her?
"Yeah, I'll see you then."
She walked away, pausing twice to peek back over her shoulder at us.
"What are you going to tell her?" Marceline murmured.
"Hey, I thought you couldn't read my mind!" I hissed.
"I can't," she said, startled. Then understanding brightened her eyes. "However, I can read hers — she'll be waiting to ambush you in class."
I groaned as I pulled off her jacket and handed it to her, replacing it with my own. She folded it over her arm.
"So what are you going to tell her?"
"A little help?" I pleaded. "What does she want to know?"
She shook her head, grinning wickedly. "That's not fair."
"No, you not sharing what you know — now that's not fair."
She deliberated for a moment as we walked. We stopped outside the door to my first class.
"She wants to know if we're secretly dating. And she wants to know how you feel about me," she finally said.
"Yikes. What should I say?" I tried to keep my expression very innocent. People were passing us on their way to class, probably staring, but I was barely aware of them.
"Hmmm." She paused to catch a stray lock of hair that was escaping the twist on my neck and wound it back into place. My heart spluttered hyperactively. "I suppose you could say yes to the first… if you don't mind — it's easier than any other explanation."
"I don't mind," I said in a faint voice.
"And as for her other question… well, I'll be listening to hear the answer to that one myself." One side of her mouth pulled up into my favorite uneven smile. I couldn't catch my breath soon enough to respond to that remark. She turned and walked away.
"I'll see you at lunch," she called over her shoulder. Three people walking in the door stopped to stare at me.
I hurried into class, flushed and irritated. She was such a cheater. Now I was even more worried about what I was going to say to Fiona. I sat in my usual seat, slamming my bag down in aggravation.
"Morning, Bonnie," Marshall said from the seat next to me. I looked up to see an odd, almost resigned look on his face. "How was Port Angeles?"
"It was…" There was no honest way to sum it up. "Great," I finished lamely. "Fiona got a really cute dress."
"Did she say anything about Monday night?" he asked, his eyes brightening. I smiled at the turn the conversation had taken.
"She said she had a really good time," I assured him.
"She did?" he said eagerly.
"Most definitely."
Mr. Mason called the class to order then, asking us to turn in our papers. English and then Government passed in a blur, while I worried about how to explain things to Fiona and agonized over whether Marceline would really be listening to what I said through the medium of Fio's thoughts. How very inconvenient his little talent could be — when it wasn't saving my life.
The fog had almost dissolved by the end of the second hour, but the day was still dark with low, oppressing clouds. I smiled up at the sky.
Marceline was right, of course. When I walked into Trig Fiona was sitting in the back row, nearly bouncing off her seat in agitation. I reluctantly went to sit by her, trying to convince myself it would be better to get it over with as soon as possible.
"Tell me everything!" she commanded before I was in the seat.
"What do you want to know?" I hedged.
"What happened last night?"
"She bought me dinner, and then she drove me home." She glared at me, her expression stiff with skepticism. "How did you get home so fast?"
"She drives like a maniac. It was terrifying." I hoped she heard that.
"Was it like a date — did you tell her to meet you there?"
I hadn't thought of that. "No — I was very surprised to see her there."
Her lips puckered in disappointment at the transparent honesty in my voice. "But she picked you up for school today?" she probed.
"Yes — that was a surprise, too. She noticed I didn't have a jacket last night," I explained. "So are you going out again?"
"She offered to drive me to Seattle Saturday because she thinks toy truck isn't up to it — does that count?"
"Yes." She nodded.
"Well, then, yes."
"W-o-w." She exaggerated the word into three syllables. "Marceline Abadeer."
"I know," I agreed. "Wow" didn't even cover it.
"Wait!" Her hands flew up, palms toward me like she was stopping traffic. "Has she kissed you?"
"No," I mumbled. "It's not like that."
She looked disappointed. I'm sure I did, too. "I was almost sure she is into girls… Do you think Saturday…?" She raised her eyebrows.
"I really doubt it." The discontent in my voice was poorly disguised.
"What did you talk about?" She pushed for more information in a whisper. Class had started but Mr. Varner wasn't paying close attention and we weren't the only ones still talking.
"I don't know, Fio, lots of stuff," I whispered back. "We talked about the English essay a little." A very, very little. I think she mentioned it in passing.
"Please, Bonnie," she begged. "Give me some details."
"Well… okay, I've got one. You should have seen the waiter flirting with her — it was over the top. But she didn't pay any attention to him at all." Let her make what she could of that.
"That's a good sign, as I thought, into girls" she nodded. "Was he handsome?"
"Very — and probably nineteen or twenty."
"Even better. She must like girls, I insist, and like you specially."
"I think so, but it's hard to tell. She's always so cryptic," I threw in for her benefit, sighing.
"I don't know how you're brave enough to be alone with her," she breathed.
"Why?" I was shocked, but she didn't understand my reaction.
"She's so… intimidating. I wouldn't know what to say to her." She made a face, probably remembering this morning or last night, when she'd turned the overwhelming force of her eyes on her.
"I do have some trouble with incoherency when I'm around her," I admitted.
"Oh well. She is unbelievably gorgeous." Fiona shrugged as if this excused any flaws. Which, in her book, it probably did.
"There's a lot more to her than that."
"Really? Like what?"
I wished I had let it go. Almost as much as I was hoping she'd been kidding about listening in.
"I can't explain it right… but she's even more unbelievable behind the face." The vampire who wanted to be good — who ran around saving people's lives so she wouldn't be a monster… I stared toward the front of the room.
"Is that possible?" She giggled.
I ignored her, trying to look like I was paying attention to Mr. Varner.
"So you like her, then?" She wasn't about to give up.
"Yes," I said curtly.
"I mean, do you really like her?" she urged.
"Yes," I said again, blushing. I hoped that detail wouldn't register in her thoughts.
She'd had enough with the single syllable answers. "How much do you like her?"
"Too much," I whispered back. "More than she likes me. But I don't see how I can help that." I sighed, one blush blending into the next.
Then, thankfully, Mr. Varner called on Fiona for an answer.
She didn't get a chance to start on the subject again during class, and as soon as the bell rang, I took evasive action.
"In English, Marshall asked me if you said anything about Monday night," I told her.
"You're kidding! What did you say?!" she gasped, completely sidetracked.
"I told him you said you had a lot of fun — he looked pleased."
"Tell me exactly what he said, and your exact answer!"
We spent the rest of the walk dissecting sentence structures and most of Spanish on a minute description of Marshall's facial expressions. I wouldn't have helped draw it out for as long as I did if I wasn't worried about the subject returning to me.
And then the bell rang for lunch. As I jumped up out of my seat, shoving my books roughly in my bag, my uplifted expression must have tipped Fiona off.
"You're not sitting with us today, are you?" she guessed.
"I don't think so." I couldn't be sure that she wouldn't disappear inconveniently again.
But outside the door to our Spanish class, leaning against the wall — looking more like a Greek goddess than anyone had a right to — Marceline was waiting for me. Fiona took one look, rolled her eyes, and departed.
"See you later, Bonnie." Her voice was thick with implications. I might have to turn off the ringer on the phone.
"Hello." Her voice was amused and irritated at the same time. She had been listening, it was obvious.
"Hi."
I couldn't think of anything else to say, and she didn't speak — biding her time, I presumed — so it was a quiet walk to the cafeteria. Walking with Marceline through the crowded lunchtime rush was a lot like my first day here; everyone stared.
She led the way into the line, still not speaking, though her eyes returned to my face every few seconds, their expression speculative. It seemed to me that irritation was winning out over amusement as the dominant emotion in her face. I fidgeted nervously with the zipper on my jacket.
She stepped up to the counter and filled a tray with food.
"What are you doing?" I objected. "You're not getting all that for me?"
She shook his head, stepping forward to buy the food.
"Half is for me, of course."
I raised one eyebrow.
She led the way to the same place we'd sat that one time before. From the other end of the long table, a group of seniors gazed at us in amazement as we sat across from each other. Marceline seemed oblivious.
"Take whatever you want," she said, pushing the tray toward me.
"I'm curious," I said as I picked up an apple, turning it around in my hands, "what would you do if someone dared you to eat food?"
"You're always curious." She grimaced, shaking her head. She glared at me, holding my eyes as she lifted the slice of pizza off the tray, and deliberately bit off a mouthful, chewed quickly, and then swallowed. I watched, eyes wide.
"If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could, couldn't you?" she asked condescendingly.
I wrinkled my nose. "I did once… on a dare," I admitted. "It wasn't so bad."
She laughed. "I suppose I'm not surprised." Something over my shoulder seemed to catch her attention.
"Fiona's analyzing everything I do — she'll break it down for you later." She pushed the rest of the pizza toward me. The mention of Fiona brought a hint of her former irritation back to her features.
I put down the apple and took a bite of the pizza, looking away, knowing she was about to start.
"So the waiter was handsome, wasn't he? I possibly couldn't like it, being gay and all" she asked casually.
"You really didn't notice? Not like I liked him or anything…"
"No. I wasn't paying attention. I had a lot on my mind."
"Poor boy." I could afford to be generous now.
"Something you said to Fiona… well, it bothers me." She refused to be distracted. Her voice was husky, and she glanced up from under her lashes with troubled eyes.
"I'm not surprised you heard something you didn't like. You know what they say about eavesdroppers," I reminded her.
"I warned you I would be listening."
"And I warned you that you didn't want to know everything I was thinking."
"You did," she agreed, but her voice was still rough. "You aren't precisely right, though. I do want to know what you're thinking — everything. I just wish… that you wouldn't be thinking some things."
I scowled. "That's quite a distinction."
"But that's not really the point at the moment."
"Then what is?" We were inclined toward each other across the table now. She had her large white hands folded under her chin; I leaned forward, my right hand cupped around my neck. I had to remind myself that we were in a crowded lunchroom, with probably many curious eyes on us. It was too easy to get wrapped up in our own private, tense little bubble.
"Do you truly believe that you care more for me than I do for you?" she murmured, leaning closer to me as she spoke, her dark golden eyes piercing.
I tried to remember how to exhale. I had to look away before it came back to me.
"You're doing it again," I muttered.
Her eyes opened wide with surprise. "What?"
"Dazzling me," I admitted, trying to concentrate as I looked back at her.
"Oh." She frowned.
"It's not your fault," I sighed. "You can't help it."
"Are you going to answer the question?"
I looked down. "Yes."
"Yes, you are going to answer, or yes, you really think that?" She was irritated again.
"Yes, I really think that." I kept my eyes down on the table, my eyes tracing the pattern of the faux wood grains printed on the laminate. The silence dragged on. I stubbornly refused to be the first to break it this time, fighting hard against the temptation to peek at her expression.
Finally she spoke, voice velvet soft. "You're wrong."
I glanced up to see that her eyes were gentle.
"You can't know that," I disagreed in a whisper. I shook my head in doubt, though my heart throbbed at her words and I wanted so badly to believe them.
"What makes you think so?" Her liquid topaz eyes were penetrating — trying futilely, I assumed, to lift the truth straight from my mind.
I stared back, struggling to think clearly in spite of her face, to find some way to explain. As I searched for the words, I could see her getting impatient; frustrated by my silence, she started to scowl. I lifted my hand from my neck, and held up one finger.
"Let me think," I insisted. Her expression cleared, now that she was satisfied that I was planning to answer. I dropped my hand to the table, moving my left hand so that my palms were pressed together. I stared at my hands, twisting and untwisting my fingers, as I finally spoke.
"Well, aside from the obvious, sometimes…" I hesitated. "I can't be sure —I don't know how to read minds — but sometimes it seems like you're trying to say goodbye when you're saying something else." That was the best I could sum up the sensation of anguish that her words triggered in me at times.
"Perceptive," she whispered. And there was the anguish again, surfacing as she confirmed my fear. "That's exactly why you're wrong, though," she began to explain, but then her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'the obvious'?"
"Well, look at me," I said, unnecessarily as she was already staring. "I'm absolutely ordinary — well, except for bad things like all the near-death experiences and being so clumsy that I'm almost disabled. And look at you." I waved my hand toward her and all her bewildering perfection.
Her brow creased angrily for a moment, then smoothed as her eyes took on a knowing look. "You don't see yourself very clearly, you know. I'll admit you're dead-on about the bad things," she chuckled blackly, "but you didn't hear what every human male in this school was thinking on your first day, I must also add some interested females in the list."
I blinked, astonished. "I don't believe it…" I mumbled to myself.
"Trust me just this once — you are the opposite of ordinary."
My embarrassment was much stronger than my pleasure at the look that came into her eyes when she said this. I quickly reminded her of my original argument.
"But I'm not saying goodbye," I pointed out.
"Don't you see? That's what proves me right. I care the most, because if I can do it" — she shook her head, seeming to struggle with the thought — "if leaving is the right thing to do, then I'll hurt myself to keep from hurting you, to keep you safe."
I glared. "And you don't think I would do the same?"
"You'd never have to make the choice."
Abruptly, her unpredictable mood shifted again; a mischievous, devastating smile rearranged her features. "Of course, keeping you safe is beginning to feel like a full-time occupation that requires my constant presence."
"No one has tried to do away with me today," I reminded her, grateful for the lighter subject. I didn't want her to talk about goodbyes anymore. If I had to, I supposed I could purposefully put myself in danger to keep her close… I banished that thought before her quick eyes read it on my face. That idea would definitely get me in trouble.
"Yet," she added.
"Yet," I agreed; I would have argued, but now I wanted her to be expecting disasters.
"I have another question for you." Her face was still casual.
"Shoot."
"Do you really need to go to Seattle this Saturday, or was that just an excuse to get out of saying no to all your admirers?"
I made a face at the memory. "You know, I haven't forgiven you for the Cinnbun thing yet," I warned her. "It's your fault that he's deluded himself into thinking I'm going to prom with him."
"Oh, he would have found a chance to ask you without me — I just really wanted to watch your face," she chuckled, I would have been angrier if her laughter wasn't so fascinating. "If I'd asked you, would you have turned me down?" she asked, still laughing to herself.
"Probably not," I admitted. "But I would have canceled later — faked an illness or a sprained ankle."
She was puzzled. "Why would you do that?"
I shook my head sadly. "You've never seen me in Gym, I guess, but I would have thought you would understand."
"Are you referring to the fact that you can't walk across a flat, stable surface without finding something to trip over?"
"Obviously."
"That wouldn't be a problem." She was very confident. "It's all in the leading." She could see that I was about to protest, and she cut me off. "But you never told me — are you resolved on going to Seattle, or do you mind if we do something different?"
As long as the "we" part was in, I didn't care about anything else.
"I'm open to alternatives," I allowed. "But I do have a favor to ask."
She looked wary, as she always did when I asked an open-ended question. "What?"
"Can I drive?"
She frowned. "Why?"
"Well, mostly because when I told Gummy I was going to Seattle, he specifically asked if I was going alone and, at the time, I was. If he asked again, I probably wouldn't lie, but I don't think he will ask again, and leaving my truck at home would just bring up the subject unnecessarily. And also, because your driving frightens me."
She rolled her eyes. "Of all the things about me that could frighten you, you worry about my driving." She shook her head in disgust, but then her eyes were serious again. "Won't you want to tell your father that you're spending the day with me?" There was an undercurrent to her question that I didn't understand.
"With Gummy, less is always more." I was definite about that. "Where are we going, anyway?"
"The weather will be nice, so I'll be staying out of the public eye… and you can stay with me, if you'd like to." Again, she was leaving the choice up to me.
"And you'll show me what you meant, about the sun?" I asked, excited by the idea of unraveling another of the unknowns.
"Yes." She smiled, and then paused. "But if you don't want to be… alone with me, I'd still rather you didn't go to Seattle by yourself. I shudder to think of the trouble you could find in a city that size."
I was miffed. "Phoenix is three times bigger than Seattle — just in population. In physical size —"
"But apparently," she interrupted me, "your number wasn't up in Phoenix. So I'd rather you stayed near me." Her eyes did that unfair smoldering thing again.
I couldn't argue, with the eyes or the motivation, and it was a moot point anyway. "As it happens, I don't mind being alone with you."
"I know," she sighed, brooding. "You should tell Gummy, though."
"Why in the world would I do that?"
Her eyes were suddenly fierce. "To give me some small incentive to bring you back."
I gulped. But, after a moment of thought, I was sure. "I think I'll take my chances."
She exhaled angrily, and looked away.
"Let's talk about something else," I suggested.
"What do you want to talk about?" she asked. She was still annoyed.
I glanced around us, making sure we were well out of anyone's hearing. As I cast my eyes around the room, I caught the eyes of her sister, Flame, staring at me. The others were looking at Marceline. I looked away swiftly, back to her, and I asked the first thing that came to mind.
"Why did you go to that Goat Rocks place last weekend… to hunt? Gummy said it wasn't a good place to hike, because of bears."
She stared at me as if I was missing something very obvious.
"Bears?" I gasped, and she smirked. "You know, bears are not in season," I added sternly, to hide my shock.
"If you read carefully, the laws only cover hunting with weapons," she informed me.
She watched my face with enjoyment as that slowly sank in.
"Bears?" I repeated with difficulty.
"Grizzly is Jake's favorite." Her voice was still offhand, but her eyes were scrutinizing my reaction. I tried to pull myself together.
"Hmmm," I said, taking another bite of pizza as an excuse to look down. I chewed slowly, and then took a long drink of Coke without looking up.
"So," I said after a moment, finally meeting her now-anxious gaze. "What's your favorite?"
She raised an eyebrow and the corners of her mouth turned down in disapproval. "Mountain lion."
"Ah," I said in a politely disinterested tone, looking for my soda again.
"Of course," she said, and her tone mirrored mine, "we have to be careful not to impact the environment with injudicious hunting. We try to focus on areas with an overpopulation of predators — ranging as far away as we need. There's always plenty of deer and elk here, and they'll do, but where's the fun in that?"
She smiled teasingly.
"Where indeed," I murmured around another bite of pizza.
"Early spring is Jake's favorite bear season — they're just coming out of hibernation, so they're more irritable." She smiled at some remembered joke.
"Nothing more fun than an irritated grizzly bear," I agreed, nodding.
She snickered, shaking her head. "Tell me what you're really thinking, please."
"I'm trying to picture it — but I can't," I admitted. "How do you hunt a bear without weapons?"
"Oh, we have weapons." She flashed her bright teeth in a brief, threatening smile. I fought back a shiver before it could expose me. "Just not the kind they consider when writing hunting laws. If you've ever seen a bear attack on television, you should be able to visualize Jake hunting."
I couldn't stop the next shiver that flashed down my spine. I peeked across the cafeteria toward Jake, grateful that he wasn't looking my way. The thick bands of muscle that wrapped his arms and torso were somehow even more menacing now.
Marceline followed my gaze and chuckled. I stared at her, unnerved.
"Are you like a bear, too?" I asked in a low voice.
"More like the lion, or so they tell me," she said lightly. "Perhaps our preferences are indicative."
I tried to smile. "Perhaps," I repeated. But my mind was filled with opposing images that I couldn't merge together. "Is that something I might get to see?"
"Absolutely not!" Her face turned even whiter than usual, and her eyes were suddenly furious. I leaned back, stunned and — though I'd never admit it to her — frightened by her reaction. She leaned back as well, folding her arms across her chest.
"Too scary for me?" I asked when I could control my voice again.
"If that were it, I would take you out tonight," she said, her voice cutting. "You need a healthy dose of fear. Nothing could be more beneficial for you."
"Then why?" I pressed, trying to ignore her angry expression.
She glared at me for a long minute.
"Later," she finally said. She was on her feet in one lithe movement. "We're going to be late."
I glanced around, startled to see that she was right and the cafeteria was nearly vacant. When I was with her, the time and the place were such a muddled blur that I completely lost track of both. I jumped up, grabbing my bag from the back of my chair.
"Later, then," I agreed. I wouldn't forget.