Tremble (6 page)

I get up and wipe the grass off my shorts.

“I’m with Gage now.” I say it low, so he won’t hear. I want to shock him with something he’l never see coming, something that wil shut Michel e up for good.

“What’s going on?” He smiles slightly out of breath, sweat trickling down the sides of his face.

I step forward and pul him into a slow, sweet kiss. I can taste the salt on his lips. I’m slightly repulsed, but I push into him just a little deeper in an effort to get my point across to al roving eyes.

We pul away, and his eyes are wide with surprise. He looks relieved and silently happy. I can practical y see the fireworks going off in his electric blue eyes and a twinge of sadness washes over me. I bounce up on the bal s of my feet and give another quick peck.

Michel e looks up at me from over her shoulder—judging. There’s a hesitancy in her eyes that I can’t seem to quench. If I can’t extinguish al doubt from Michel e—Michelle who would love for me to be out of Logan’s life—who am I real y fooling? I’m going to have to amp up the believability.

I reach down and pick up his hand. Gage has a firm grip, thicker fingers than Logan.

“You mind walking me to the gym?” I ask.

“You’re real y picking up the pace today.” The sad undertones are right there for me to hear.

“I real y like you. You’re a good kisser.” I shrug. “I’m lucky.”

“You wanna hang out and bone up for that quiz Friday?”

Algebra Two and I are never going to be friends. I’l be ecstatic if I end up with a D in the class.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

***

Gage and I head over to the bowling al ey. It’s pretty dead, save for a few people from school. Logan, who had the facility handed down by his father, lost the kitchen in a fire several weeks ago, and it has yet to reopen.

“So what’s going on with the remodel?” I ask him while firmly holding Gage by the hand.

“Looks like six weeks, depending on which contractor I go with. I’m having a brick oven instal ed which complicates things.” There is not one emotion in his voice. It was as though he were reading back my order at a fast food restaurant. I can tel he doesn’t want to be around while I’m holding Gage’s hand, and I don’t want to be rude and shake Gage off since he’s the one who initiated the finger lock.

“I love brick oven pizza.” I over annunciate the word love without meaning to. It thril s me to be within touching distance of Logan let alone speaking with him in public. I want to tel him to come by the butterfly room later, but the thought of hurting Gage kil s me. It’s like I’m flame broiling his heart without meaning to.

Gage and I take a seat and start pouring over the first chapter of the Algebra Two book.

“Doesn’t Mr. Denny move a little fast for you?” I ask.

“No. A lesson a day, that’s the way it usual y goes.”

“I know, but it doesn’t give any room for error. Like if I get stuck on something I’m automatical y behind. I think he should do a lesson every two or three days. Everyone’s not a math genius like you.”

“I’m not a genius,” he says, riffling through his notes.

“Yeah right. Half the class is going to nosedive. You’l be the only one with an A ruining the curve for the rest of us.” I pause as a little girl in shorts walks by. “Oh, I know! We can both wear shorts, and I’l brush my leg up against yours, and you can tel me al the answers.” This is one time where being telepathic can actual y boost my GPA.

His tongue pushes deep into his cheek.

“Why don’t I do al your homework too?” He says unamused. “That way al you have to do is show up.”

“I’m liking this.”

“No thanks.” He gets back to his notes. “You need to understand this stuff. Besides I don’t want to be that boyfriend.” His cheeks flush when he says it.

My heart wrenches at the thought of al the creative ways I inadvertently choose to hurt him. Gage with his perfect features, deep expressive eyes—the dark glory of his crown. I could easily fal in love with Gage if I wanted.

“You wanna go on a date with me?” I ask, hopeful.

“Why, you want me to take a crack at your lit paper too?” He doesn’t bother looking up from the equation he’s jotting down.

“No. It involves just you, me and an adventure. I might even kiss you.” I bat my eyes. I leave out the tiny detail of visiting my dad.

“Kiss me? With no one around to impress?” He looks doubtful. “Promise me a kiss and you got a deal.”

I reach over and take up his hand.

“I promise not just any kiss, but a deep lingering kiss that wil haunt you in your dreams.”

Logan catches my eye from across the room, and my heart jerks a little.

Chapter Thirteen

Hide

Gage meets me in the butterfly room at ten o’ clock. He doesn’t need to break in through the attic. His gift of teleportation provides a dramatic and yet practical entrance. It may be a staple gift for the Levatio, but I’m determined to learn how to do this on my own. That’s the best thing about Gage, he’s not shy when it comes to experimenting with gifts.

“Check this out.” He runs his fingers over the hundreds of paper butterflies that Chloe once meticulously pinned to the wal s, and they start to flutter and come to life. Every color shape and size animates, and they oscil ate ful of vigor. Each one seems to express an intense desire to leave the confines of this partitioned enclosure.

He pul s a cobalt butterfly off the wal , one the exact shade of his eyes and holds it out on his finger. It stretches its wings in a fibril ating tantrum as though it were so relieved to move at last.

“This is you, Skyla.” He tosses the butterfly up, and it floats up to the ceiling. “You’ve come out of your cocoon and are starting to move.”

I can stare at the trembling wings for hours, but they die down far too quickly, returning to their paper state. “Sit across from me and fold your legs,” I instruct.

“OK.” He blinks into me with curiosity.

“We’re going to visit my dad.”

“I figured.”

“How’s that?” I tilt my head. It’s like Gage knows me.

“Logan said, ‘whatever you do, don’t let her talk you into time travel.’”

“Oh.” Or that. “Never mind him.” I take up both his hands. “Al I have to do is ransack the kitchen for the spare. It’l just take a sec, you wait upstairs in my old room.” I tighten my grip on his fingers. “Close your eyes and relax.”

“I’l go wherever you want. Only maybe not the dawn of time, I’m terrified of dinosaurs—Mastodons to be specific.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Real y. When we were kids, Logan pushed me into the bones of some ancient Mastodon at the museum. He kept saying, ‘Look out! He’s going to eat you.’” His hands gyrate above his head when he says it.

“You’re funny.” I take his hands back and thread our fingers.

And I think you’re beautiful. He says it openly, as a clear thought.

I pretend not to notice, and get our transport underway.

***

It’s stil and quiet when I open my eyes. Gage is already surveying the landscape, which leaves me panning the floor for bras and underwear because let’s face it, not much has changed.

“Stay here. I’l be right back,” I whisper, getting up.

The sweet scent of cookies lingers in the air from my mother’s latest baking endeavor. I miss those happy days when she would spontaneously bake up a storm. I don’t recal a single cookie emerging from our new oven on Paragon, not one cake. Tad sucks al the energy out of her.

I rush downstairs and into the dining room.

“Daddy!” I skip over to him like a third grader and give a tight embrace. His cologne smel s fresh, strong. I remember when he first started wearing it. It would make me sneeze, but I never told him. I loved the way he used to whisk through the room and let his scent linger like a ghost.

“Better already?” He pul s off his glasses, inspects me as if he’s seeing me for the very first time. “And, you’ve changed your clothes.”

“Girl thing,” I say, plucking at my sweater. Shit!

He remembers. Just like with Chloe, my last visit left an impression.

“I need a drink. Can I get you anything?” I used to detest doing menial chores for my parents. Now I would lick the bottom of his shoes if he wanted—if it meant I could have him back in my life again.

“No thanks. Get your drink and get back to bed.” He shakes out the paper. I try to memorize the straight bridge of his nose, the way his upper lip defines itself clearly like a prominent letter M, the patch of rosy flesh slightly elevated just beneath his left eye.

I head into the kitchen. For a second, it feels so natural, like I could real y be faking cramps and hanging out with my dad, like Gage isn’t real y in the room upstairs taking inventory of God knows what.

I pul open the official junk drawer—pens, lighters, loose receipts, keys—at least a dozen.

Shit.

What the heck does the spare look like? I pick at the dirty gold and silver discards, lying around like unwanted orphans.

In a panic, I pluck a plastic bag off the counter and start fil ing it with every available key I find, every shape and size. I don’t bother using reason when I toss in the one the size of a fingernail. Opening drawer after drawer, I find them hidden in even the most discriminating nooks and crannies. It’s a near impossible task. I open the desk in the front hal and discover a new treasure trove of dul ed out metal, three ful rings and one with an orange tag marked, spare.

I clutch it in my palm and close my eyes. This is it. He is not going to get on the freeway, his seatbelt won’t malfunction, and he won’t suffer the most excruciating death humanly possible.

The Holy Grail of my father’s destiny—that I traveled through time and space to retrieve—is tucked safely in my hand.

***

“Let’s go.” I shut the door to my room and try to secure it by pushing a stack of books against it. If my dad caught me with a guy in my room, he would have a major heart attack and defeat the entire purpose.

Gage is seated at my desk reading something out of a spiral bound notebook.

“You’re good.” He runs his fingers over the page as if to feel the words.

I briefly look over his shoulder before slapping the palm of my hand over my loopy handwriting.

Crap. I completely forgot about my sadistical y sweet poetry phase.

“Forgive me. I was stupid.” I snatch his hand and pul him towards the closet.

“I didn’t think it was stupid.”

Gage has a way of looking up at me from under his dark thick lashes. Those sapphire lenses warm me up and down as they laser through me. It sends my stomach on a rol er coaster, and I yank him down to the floor in an effort to distract myself.

“Come on, sit down,” I say, as we sit Indian style across from one another. “Think about fal ing asleep.” I tuck the bag under my shirt for safekeeping then lace our fingers together.

“I sleep better with a kiss before bedtime.” He tucks a smile into his left cheek and ignites a deep-set dimple.

Gage—those sweet soulful eyes, that painful angst of his that shreds me to pieces. I take a breath and lean forward, pressing my lips against his. He pul s me over, meeting me with soft, careful kisses. Then, like the careless toppling of a candle, it ignites into a ful throttle blaze.

Kissing Gage is like lying in the grass on a warm spring day. You forget the beauty, how amazing it can make you feel until you’re right there in the meadow glowing in the radiance. We rol onto the floor and lose ourselves for what feels like hours. I don’t think either one of us wants to go home.

Chapter Fourteen

Heavy

My father died in a cab on the way to work.

The cabdriver escaped unharmed. I remember it in detail as though it were an actual memory. It makes me wonder how many of my memories are real and how many came by way of supernatural alteration. Nevertheless, I’m depressed as hel .

I sludge through the week, masking my pain, holding Gage in between classes and al through lunch as though he were Logan. I’ve come to appreciate Gage al on his own, the way he tenderly touches the back of my hair, the way he rubs his cheek against mine as though it were enough

—his sad smiles.

Tonight is the first footbal game of the season, West Paragon Dawgs versus East Paragon Dolphins—Cerberus, guardian of the underworld versus, Flipper—go figure. Later, there’s a big party at some girl’s house from East that I’ve never heard of which probably means more of the Carly show. Every time I throw a high kick, I picture her face right there.

“Skyla!”

A voice shouts from out in the bleachers. I pan the crowd and catch my mother saying something to Tad. I see, Mia and Melissa, but I swear it sounded like a man.

“Skyla!”

My head snaps to the far left. A tal guy with an open, wel -chiseled face raises his hand in a stagnant wave. He doesn’t smile, instead he holds my gaze in a spel binding manner. There’s a sharp, dark beauty about him. Just as I’m about to grab Briel e and ask who he is, El is pops up.

“For you.” He thrusts a smal bunch of hot pink daisies into my chest.

“Oh.” I take them from him, dazed. I glance back into the crowd, but I don’t see the stranger anymore. “Thanks. What are they for?” I don’t mean to sound rude. I’m stil thrown off by the guy in the stands.

“For being you.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Need a ride to Carson’s?”

“Gage…” I point out at the field. “I’m going with him.”

“Al right. I’l catch you later then.”

“Yeah, sure.”

My eyes divert back to the stands. Something doesn’t feel right.

“Wow, Gage now El is? You real y get around.” Michel e pushes her blue and silver wad of tinfoil into my face. She’s stil wearing my claw marks high up on her cheek. They protrude like a badge I was honored to give her. “It kind of sucks because I enjoyed stealing Logan from you, I had no idea you’d rol over and play dead so easy. You’re turning out to be a good little bitch, you know that?”

A whistle blows, and we’re back in motion.

I alternate pretending to kick Carly and Michel e, producing some aerial feats in the meantime that even surprise me. It’s amazing what an energizer anger can be, how jealousy fuels a toxic hate so powerful I could jump to the moon if I wanted.