Haven Page 3

  “Wow.” Kate sat back in her seat, her arms folded over her chest. “You better milk it for all it’s worth—take your sweet time catching up, if you know what I mean.”

  I shook my head. “He makes me kind of . . . nervous.” No, that wasn’t the right word. Not nervous, just . . . self-conscious. I couldn’t explain it, really. I knew I was being silly—I’d only exchanged a couple of words with him, after all.

  “Nah, it’s not nerves you’re feeling.” Kate shrugged. “It’s just the Aidan effect.”

  “The Aidan effect?” I asked, curious.

  Kate smiled, her cheeks dimpling. “Yeah, he makes us all a little gooey and speechless. Come on, girls, back me up here.”

  “Sad, but true,” Sophie said, nodding gravely.

  “Embarrassing as hell,” Marissa added. “Jenna Holley seems to be the only one immune to it. He pretty much ignores her, though.”

  Kate nodded in agreement. “Even though she looks like a model.”

  “I think she is a model,” Cece put in. “Isn’t that what she does during summer break? In Europe, or something like that?”

  Kate shrugged. “As if I would know.”

  “Um, I don’t mean to interrupt,” I said, looking around at the long tables filled with students, all eating. “But I’m starving.”

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” Cece stood up, and the other girls followed suit. “We were so busy yapping, I forgot you skipped breakfast. C’mon, let’s get some food.”

  We left our bags sitting there at the table and hurried across the packed room. At the far side of the dining hall, several lines snaked out of open doorways.

  “Okay,” Cece said, “you’ve got hot lunch there. I think it’s spaghetti and meatballs today. Soup and salad bar that way. Sandwiches this way. What’ll it be?”

  Everyone looked at me expectantly. “A sandwich, I guess?”

  Minutes later I was back at the table, a chicken salad sandwich on my tray along with a bottle of iced tea. My stomach grumbled as I sat back down and attacked my food.

  “Sophie says your mom’s a hotshot lawyer at the UN,” Cece said, then took a bite out of her own sandwich.

  “Yeah, something like that,” I answered around a mouthful of chicken salad, wishing Sophie hadn’t been quite so forthcoming. “But she’s . . . um, she’s really my stepmom. My real mom died when I was little.”

  “What about your dad?” Marissa asked. “A lawyer, too?”

  That bite of sandwich suddenly felt like a rock in my stomach. “No, he’s a . . . um, he was a journalist, but he passed away too. A couple of years ago.” Might as well get it over with.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Cece said, giving Marissa a dirty look.

  “No, it’s okay,” I said, even though it was anything but.

  “Was he sick?” Sophie asked.

  My throat constricted. “No. It was . . . an accident.”

  “An accident? Like a car accident?”

  “C’mon, Soph, stop,” Cece said. “This isn’t the Inquisition. Let Violet eat, will you?”

  “What about your parents?” I asked, my voice wavering only slightly.

  “Both doctors,” Cece answered. “Dad’s a psychiatrist and Mom’s an ob-gyn. Boring as hell.”

  “Not as boring as mine.” Marissa pushed her long, straight hair behind one ear. “My dad’s a professor at Columbia, and my mom’s a fund-raiser. Nowhere near as interesting as Kate’s mom.”

  “It’s not really as interesting as it sounds.” Kate wrinkled her nose at Marissa, then turned toward me. “My mom’s an actress, mostly Broadway, though she’s done some TV, too. You know, Law and Order, stuff like that. No dad, though.”

  “Yeah, it was an immaculate conception.” Sophie laughed, and her friends joined in.

  Kate scowled at her. “I’m sure it wasn’t that innocent.” She turned her attention to me. “He dumped my mom when he found out she was pregnant.”

  Cece shrugged. “His loss.”

  “Douche,” Sophie said.

  Kate took a swig of her Coke. “But hey, get this. I’ve done the math, and it looks like I was conceived while my mom was in Phantom of the Opera. Maybe my dad was the Phantom. How cool is that?”

  Cece grimaced. “I guess you could call that cool.”

  “Or creepy,” Sophie put in. “You think he wore the mask while they were doing it?”

  Marissa choked, spitting out her drink as she did so. “Blech,” she sputtered. “Don’t even go there.”

  For a moment, no one said anything. I could feel Marissa’s eyes watching me as I took another bite of my sandwich. It was as if she was trying to figure me out, trying to decide . . . something. If she can trust me or not, my mind supplied. Which seemed a little silly, considering she’d just met me. All we were doing was making small talk, anyway.

  “How about your parents, Sophie?” I asked, trying not to look in Marissa’s direction. Her steady gaze was getting unnerving.

  “My dad’s in finance—manages a hedge fund—and my mom’s what I call a professional volunteer,” Sophie answered. “You know, committees, foundation boards, stuff like that.”

  “And they have a house in Saint Bart’s,” Cece added, smiling broadly. “That’s the best part. If we’re all real nice to her, we might get invited there for spring break.”

  “Cece likes to celebrity-watch. It’s disgusting,” Sophie said, tossing her hair.

  Cece narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, you didn’t think it was so disgusting last year when we were following Leonardo DiCaprio around, now, did you?”

  Everyone laughed, and I joined in. I think I’m going to like it here, I told myself. These girls were nice, all of them. Even Marissa, who clearly would take a bit more effort to win over than the rest of them.

  That they were accepting me as easily as they were was a miracle in itself, and I wasn’t going to complain if Marissa was a little standoffish at first. With a smile I watched them all chattering happily. Yeah, I’d made the right choice when I’d picked Winterhaven. Definitely.

  Suddenly the girls went entirely silent, all of them looking over my left shoulder. The hair on the nape of my neck rose, and for a moment I didn’t move. And then, as if in slow motion, I turned around and found myself looking up into the face of Aidan Gray. I swallowed hard, unable to utter a single syllable.

  “It’s Violet, right?” he asked.

  I cleared my throat before attempting to answer. “Yeah” was all I could say.

  His eyes regarded me for a moment, and I noticed a coldness there that I hadn’t noticed before. Finally, he spoke. “I thought maybe we could meet after sixth period. To go over the history material,” he added.

  “Um, okay.” Why was I tripping over my tongue?

  “What class do you have sixth period?”

  I just sat there, my mind spinning. I came up completely blank.

  “Fencing,” Sophie piped up. “Didn’t you say you had fencing sixth period?”

  I sighed my relief. “Oh, that’s right. Fencing.”

  “I’ll meet you outside the gym, then, and we’ll try to get you caught up.”

  “Okay, great. Thanks,” I added, feeling a bit woozy.

  His gaze traveled over my face, making me incredibly self-conscious. “See you then,” he said at last, and then he was gone.

  Slowly, I turned back to my tablemates, who all looked as stunned as I felt. What was with this guy?

  “The Aidan effect,” Sophie said with a sigh.

  3 ~ Tea for Two

  The afternoon sped by. Right after lunch I followed Sophie and Kate to fourth-period trig. It felt comfortable sitting there between them, chatting while we waited for class to begin. I was more at ease than I had been all day, and I was beginning to recognize several kids from my morning classes. Some even managed to smile at me rather than stare.

  Fifth period I was back on my own again. Cultural Anthropology: Folklore and Legend, which sounded much more promising than the plai
n old anthropology course taught at Windsor. Even more interesting, the headmaster was listed as the instructor. After double-checking the room number to make sure I was in the right place, I hurried inside. The classroom was much smaller than any other I’d been in so far, with the desks arranged in a semicircle. Seeing no one I recognized, I found an empty seat and slid into it.

  I dug out my notebook and pen and started doodling while I waited for class to begin. After a minute or two, a strange awareness shot through me, and I looked up to see Aidan Gray slip into the seat directly across the room, facing me. Great. There went my concentration, especially since he sat there watching me, studying me like some interesting bug under a microscope.

  Still waiting for Dr. Blackwell, I decided to study Aidan right back. He was tall, close to six feet, I’d say. More long and lean than muscular, but not skinny. He wore dark jeans with combat boots and a black hooded sweatshirt, a multicolored striped scarf hanging around his neck. The ball cap from earlier was gone, and his hair shone like gold in the afternoon sun that streamed in through the bank of windows behind him.

  Suddenly he swung his head toward the door, and a second later Dr. Blackwell walked in. The headmaster smiled when he saw me sitting there, and I could swear he actually winked when he passed my desk.

  “Has everyone met our new student?” he asked, moving to stand in front of his desk. For perhaps, oh, the twentieth time that day, everyone turned to stare at me.

  “No?” Dr. Blackwell asked in response to the unintelligible murmurs. “Well, then, Miss McKenna, if you’ll stand up, please.”

  Stand up? Oh, please, no. Why did teachers insist on doing this? Didn’t they realize how cruel it was? Feeling as if I were going to barf right then and there, I stood, my legs a little shaky.

  “Class, please welcome Miss Violet McKenna. I am confident that you will all do your best to make her feel right at home.”

  No one said a word.

  “Thank you,” the headmaster said. “You may sit, Miss McKenna. Now, I believe we left off yesterday with a discussion about tribal folk dance in West Africa, correct?”

  Everyone nodded, flipping open notebooks and pulling caps off their pens. I chewed on the end of my own pen, fully aware that Aidan continued to stare at me across the width of the room rather than take notes as Dr. Blackwell began his lecture. It was almost as if he was trying to distract me. Or annoy me, I wasn’t sure which. Don’t look up, I reminded myself, trying unsuccessfully to concentrate on Dr. Blackwell’s voice. What was he talking about, anyway? Tribal dances? In Africa?

  Instead of listening to the lecture, I concentrated on the sound of pens scratching paper, on the scent of chalk lingering in the air. Reaching up to stifle a sneeze, I let my gaze drift to the windows, where wide beams of sunlight cast long stripes across the green speckled carpet. Dust motes floated in the air, looking like insects. I knew I should be listening, paying attention to what Dr. Blackwell was saying, not allowing my mind to wander aimlessly. I also knew that Aidan was still watching me; I could feel his gaze, unrelenting.

  This was ridiculous. Straightening in my seat, I willed myself to concentrate. “. . . in an effort to ward off evil spirits and preternatural creatures,” Dr. Blackwell was saying, and my waning attention immediately snapped into focus.

  The girl sitting to my left raised her hand.

  “Yes, Miss Anderson?”

  “By preternatural creatures, do you mean like, well, like—”

  “Good question,” he interrupted with a nod. “But no. They call them by different names than we do, but werewolves, vampires. Assorted creatures of the night, and—”

  The bells interrupted him, and I let out my breath in a rush. Man, but that had been the longest fifty minutes of my life.

  “Please read chapter seven by tomorrow, and be prepared for a quiz,” the headmaster called out over the din. At once the class sprang into motion, slapping shut notebooks and retrieving bags. Careful not to raise my gaze, I reached for my own bag and took my sweet time stuffing my things back inside, hoping that Aidan would have done his speedy disappearing act by the time I stood up to leave.

  No such luck. “Miss McKenna, Mr. Gray,” Dr. Blackwell called out. “A moment, please.” I slid out of my chair, my heart thumping against my ribs as I made my way to his desk. Aidan followed two steps behind.

  “Mr. Gray, Dr. Penworth tells me he has asked you to help Miss McKenna catch up on your history material.”

  Aidan nodded. “He did.”

  “I might ask you to do the same with our class material, then. Would that be too much of an imposition?”

  A strange look passed between the headmaster and Aidan, and I shifted my feet uncomfortably. Finally Aidan spoke. “Of course not.”

  “Very well. Thank you, Mr. Gray.” He turned his attention toward me. “Miss McKenna, I vow you will not find a more able tutor here at Winterhaven. Mr. Gray will have you caught up in no time.”

  “Great,” I muttered, casting a sidelong glance at Aidan.

  “Off with you both, then.” He dismissed us with a nod toward the door.

  Sixth period was next, the last of the day. Only problem was, I had no idea where the gym was. Hurrying back to my desk to retrieve my bag, I pulled out my schedule. Sixth period, Varsity Fencing, Gymnasium Studio A. That was all it said. I turned back toward Dr. Blackwell’s desk, but he was gone. Great. Tossing my bag over my shoulder, I hurried out into the hall, hoping I’d run into someone who looked familiar.

  “Above the gym.”

  “Oh!” I stopped short, my breath catching in my throat. Aidan stood there, leaning against the wall. “You scared me.”

  “Sorry,” he said with a shrug. “Studio A. Above the gym. Come on, I’ll walk you there.”

  “Don’t you have a class or something?” I asked, trying to slow my breathing as he pushed off the wall and fell into step beside me.

  “Nope. I’m free sixth period. Independent study.”

  I could only nod.

  “It’s not far,” he said, his tone conversational. “Back through the courtyard, the one with the fountain, and then two buildings behind the dormitory, just up some stairs.”

  “I’m sure I can find my way,” I mumbled, feeling ridiculous. It wasn’t that I didn’t like being around him—in fact, the opposite was true. It was just that I knew that the more time I spent with him, the more likely I was to embarrass myself. As it was, I could barely form coherent sentences.

  “I don’t mind walking you,” he said with a smile.

  The afternoon sun was hidden by thick, gray clouds. The breeze blew some leaves across our path, and I shivered.

  “You look cold,” Aidan said, his brows drawn together.

  “I am cold.” I rubbed my arms. Maybe I was coming down with something—maybe that was why I felt so funny.

  “Here.”

  Before I knew it, Aidan had taken off his striped scarf and was wrapping it around my neck. “I can’t have you dying of hypothermia before I’ve had the chance to catch you up on your coursework.” His mouth curved into a smile, and my heart did a little flip-flop.

  Without thinking, I pulled the scarf up over my nose and inhaled. Immediately the sidewalk began to swim before my eyes.

  Aidan reached out to steady me, his hand grasping my wrist. I took a deep breath as his face swam back into focus. “You really don’t look well,” he said.

  I shook my head, trying to clear it. I didn’t know what was wrong, but I was totally and completely losing it. “I’m fine,” I lied. “I haven’t eaten much today, that’s all. God, your hand is cold.”

  He snatched it away and headed toward a steep staircase. “C’mon, this is a shortcut.”

  With a nod, I followed him up, trying my best to stay focused, to put one foot in front of the other. Finally we reached the top, and I paused to catch my breath. Aidan waited patiently, watching me. I took two deep, calming breaths—and then it happened, like it had so many times in the past.
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  My vision darkened, tunneled, and I sank to my knees with a groan. Squeezing my eyes shut, I fought to block the vision, but it came anyway, flashing across my mind’s eye like a sped-up movie.

  It was dark, nighttime, and I was walking down a mostly deserted street. I knew it was New York City, though the street was unfamiliar, more seedy than Patsy’s Upper East Side neighborhood. Dark, swirling fog obscured the sidewalk as I hurried on, in pursuit of someone. Something. A flash of movement to my right caught my eye and I sped off in that direction, seemingly unaware of any danger. A flyer on a post, HOW TO WRITE A NOVEL IN A WEEK spelled out in black type. Up ahead, I saw a figure materialize in the fog, a shadow in black. “Aidan!” I cried out, my hands cupped around my mouth.

  Aidan? And then the vision ended, just like that. No more than a couple of seconds had passed, and I hoped it just looked like I had stumbled.

  Aidan was beside me in a flash, reaching for my hands and helping me to my feet. “What happened?”

  “Nothing, I . . . I tripped is all.” My entire body felt flushed as I swayed against him. Damn it, I hated this. Hated it. Why couldn’t I be normal? Here it was, my first day at a new school, in a new state, for God’s sake, and everyone would see right off the bat what it had taken years for my friends at home to notice.

  He shook his head. “You didn’t trip. I don’t know what it was, but you called out my name.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Did I? No. No, I hadn’t said a word. I heard myself call out his name in the vision, but in reality I hadn’t said a thing. At least, I didn’t think I had.

  “Forget sixth period,” he said. “I’m taking you to the nurse. Now.” Without another word, Aidan reached for my hand. He took off toward the building just ahead, pulling me along.

  “I’m fine.” I tried to pull my hand from his, but he only tightened his grip. I knew he was trying to help, but it was humiliating—he probably thought I’d had some sort of seizure or something. Of course, that was better than him knowing the truth.

  For the first time since I’d arrived at Winterhaven, I wished I’d stayed in Atlanta after all.

  “You’re fit as a fiddle,” the school nurse proclaimed in a cheery Irish brogue. Nurse Campbell, she called herself. “No temperature, your blood pressure is fine. Did you eat well today?”