Classroom
Rafael's Diary Entry
"I sent him to find his family," Hope replied as though she helped Landon.
"You sent Landon to find the parents that abandoned him," I rephrased in a way that she would understand what she did. "He had a family, he had me."
"You're his foster brother, not his blood," she stated, and my heart sank, for I wondered if those were Landon's words. "Blood is family, and family is always and forever."
I took a moment to keep my emotions in check to not show her how much her words affected me. Landon didn't say anything about looking for his biological family in the letter that he left me. Nothing. I stood up to pace so that I could distract myself.
"First, you mysteriously find me in another state and take Landon and me away from Hector and Maria's custody 'for everyone's safety'," I listed with my fingers as she got to her feet. "Second, you track us when we leave this place. Third, you separate us from each other instead of keeping us together because 'this is a safe place for people like me' and 'Landon isn't safe here'.
"That's three strikes, Hope. Three! And that's not mentioning the other red flags and the ridiculously generous scholarship that I've been offered to study and stay here when there's only two weeks left before spring break. Why am I really here? Why is Landon really wherever you sent him? Where is he exactly?"
"You're being paranoid, Rafael," was Hope's dismissive response.
"Am I?" I questioned, halting my pacing to give her my full attention. "How did you find me? How did you find us?"
"Doctor Saltzman received a tip," she answered.
"From who?" I followed up.
"One of his scouts," she said, like Salvatore Boarding School was big on sports.
"Who? And scouts for what?" I pressed.
"I-I don't know them," she replied reluctantly. "But they're scouts for students like you. Like Alyssa Chang. Like Kaleb. Just a few months ago, Doctor Saltzman got a tip about a newly turned teenage vampire, that vampire is Kaleb. Years ago, it was Alyssa. She accidentally burned down her house and killed her parents, and Doctor Saltzman brought her here. This is a safe place for people like us."
"A school that has dangerous supernatural knifes that attract dragons and giant spiders is safe for students?" I asked, raising a brow. "How can it be safe when it doesn't even teach students how to protect themselves? And don't get me started on the lack of phones and computers. How the hell are students supposed to keep in touch with their families and friends? Or do independent research? Or call for help when they're trapped in a giant spiderweb with a dead student?!
"Are you safe, Hope? Running around with Doctor Saltzman like you're his sidekick? Don't you have a family that would be concerned if it found out that you're practically the Headmaster's pet?"
"I am not…!" she began to deny.
"Come on, Hope," I cut her off. "It's pretty clear you're Doctor Saltzman's favorite student, and don't forget that Josie and Lizzie's mother handpicked you to give me 'princely lessons' for her daughter's birthday party. You're the most trusted student on campus. Actually, now that I think about it, why am I even talking to you about this? You trust Doctor Saltzman more than anyone on campus, and with how you 'hate' liars, he's probably never lied to you, right?"
Yeah, right. With six foster homes in seven years, I had to change schools on the regular, and I knew better. Some of my coaches were the most manipulative people I've met, some more than some of my foster parents, and they got some of their best players hooked on steroids, and most of them were their favorite players and they were loyal to them. Wait. Loyalty.
"I mean," I continued, sitting on a desk. "He's the Headmaster of the boarding school for supernaturals and he wouldn't be stupid enough to lie to his favorite student who 'hates' liars with a passion and is his trusted muscle on recruitment missions that he, as a headmaster, has enough time to carry out in person instead of delegating them to, let's say, people who are hired by the school to specifically do the job, like that Jeremy guy he hired to track me and Landon."
I saw the wheels turn in Hope's head, but I knew that it would take more than my words to get her to start asking questions. It took me being an 'orphan' and a neighbor spilling the beans on my adoption to get me to question my adoption parents' biological parentage of me, and I still haven't said a word to the foster agency or anyone.
Not even Cassie, who sat me down when we were getting serious and told me the reason behind her obsession with the truth. It turned out the woman who raised her wasn't her mother, as she was told. The woman was actually her aunt, and when she died, the truth about her real mother was revealed and it made her obsessed with the truth even if it hurt. Lies were a huge deal breaker for her.
I knew that we had a somewhat similar background, but I couldn't tell someone that my parents gave me up to the people who called themselves my parents but didn't act like my parents unless it suited them. Telling someone would make it real and I couldn't let it be real.
"You know what, forget what I said," I said, standing up. "Where did you send Landon?"
"New Orleans," Hope replied absentmindedly, before shaking her head. It seemed like some of what I said struck a chord. "But he isn't going to stay there for long."
"Was it his idea?" I inquired, starting to pace again while Hope sat on a desk and swang her legs.
"It was mine," she said. "I took him from his foster family, I figured the least I could do was give him his biological family."
"And what about me?" I stopped pacing to look at her.
"You're a werewolf, Rafael," she said, and suddenly pleaded. "Please don't do that thing again! I laughed so hard my stomach hurt."
I smiled at the reminder and chuckled a little.
"Wait," she paused, looking at them, my legs, strangely. "I broke your leg, how are you walking around?"
I looked at the knee she broke and flexed it in question too, and I was amazed that everything was working fine.
"Huh, being a werewolf has great advantages," I marveled.
"But you're not supposed to have healed this quickly," responded Hope, curious. I figured the Moonlight ring must have sped up my healing process with the help of the vampire blood Alyssa and Jed gave me. "What's your werewolf bloodline?"
"My what?" I asked, confused.
"Your surname is Waithe," she said to herself, before looking at me. "Is it your birth father's or your mother's?"
"I am not telling you anything about my biological family," I stated firmly. "Next thing I know, there'll be strangers coming here calling me their family. Stay away from my business, Hope."
"I'm just asking to help you find out which bloodline you come from," she responded, hands in surrender. "There are seven original werewolf bloodlines: Crescent Wolf Pack, North East Atlantic Pack, Barry, BasRoq, Deep Water, Malraux, Paxon, and Poldark Pack, and each of them had unique traits, but they mixed through the ages. For example, my mother was from the Crescent Work Pack and my father was from the North East Atlantic Pack, so..."
"So you're from two original bloodlines," I found myself completing, interested against my will.
"Yep," Hope replied with a smile, probably seeing my interest. "The original bloodlines are actually considered royalty, so in a way, I'm a werewolf princess."
"Oh!" I finally realized something. "So this is why Mrs Forbes-Salvatore chose you to be my 'princely lessons' tutor."
"Not really," she said, her smile growing with a chuckle. "My family has been around for a long time and has met royalty. One of my aunts made sure to educate me and I was forced to attend Josie and Lizzie's birthday party last year and I wowed Caroline, um, Mrs Forbes-Salvatore."
"You must have been truly splendid for her Lady to think that you can educate a commoner like myself how to dance like royalty in a few hours, milady," I complimented with the kind of bow theater casts closed shows with, eliciting another laughter from Hope, but this time it was nice, not the torture we endured. I walked towards her and offered her my hand, palm up, just like in the movies. "May I have this dance, Princess?"
"No, thank you," she turned me down, grinning, and I retreated my offered hand with a smile, returning to my previous position.
"Alright, maybe next time," I replied, handling the rejection with grace because I've had my fair share of rejections in bars and clubs.
Usually, I would wait a few minutes to get over the rejection with a glass of water if it was just before, during or immediately after track season and build up my confidence for another try with a different girl. My third foster father Carter taught me that the secret to the success of the next dance invitation was handling rejection well and leaving a lady alone before things got awkward after the rejection.
He usually had the ladies that turned him down coming his way after some time, so he knew something and I took notes whenever he took me to a club or a bar with him, even though he was cheating on his wife.
"Do you know any books with the original werewolf bloodlines in the school library?" I asked as soon as I got back to my spot, sitting on the desk.
"So, you're the honey kind of guy," Hope said instead, studying me, and I raised an eyebrow in question. "My aunt Rebekah classifies a guy who takes rejection well as a honey kind of guy. You know the proverb: you catch more flies with honey than vinegar? (I nodded, and she got to her feet and approached me.) The same concept actually applies to dance invitations.
"More often than not, a guy who presents himself as a confident but calm guy who takes rejection well attracts more potential dancing partners, even those that he wasn't even going to approach end up finding interest in him and approach him, instead. Would you lie to dance?"
She offered her right hand, palm down, her smile back. I stood up, reciprocating her smile, and took her hand in my left hand and we walked towards the front of the classroom.
"Our joined hands slightly lifted, walking to the dance floor side by side," she listed. "We're off to a good start."
"I told you," I said as we turned to each other in the front of the classroom. "You must have been splendid for me to be entrusted to you, Princess. Your smile alone tells me that I'm in good hands, that's why I'll be honest with you, I don't know where to from here."
And so, my princely lessons began with a chuckling and smiling, but a little shy, Hope Mikaelson, after my compliment on her smile. Compliments. Compliments were one of the lessons Carter taught me. Compliments were one of the tools he used to distract his wife when she started asking questions about our whereabouts when we returned home late, coupled with the excuse that we were out 'bonding' and lost track of time and a little present on the side to sweeten her.
Speaking of sweetening, seeing this freely friendly, smiling and laughing version of Hope made me see what Landon saw in her. Her smile brightened her whole face and gave her this beautiful glow that reminded me of Josie.
As she gave me instructions, I waited for guilt to wash over me for thinking of Josie instead of Cassie, but it never came and I mourned it, along with the overwhelming self-hate, for I didn't feel it either. I actually felt light on my feet and I thanked Cassie for setting me free.
Hope gave me a few simple but important pointers for a few minutes before she had us move to the gym because she said that the princely lessons were just getting started.