Chapter 10
On Monday, school can't end soon enough because I'm obsessing about Anthony and the possibility of him being a Huldu. Normally I'm a serious student, but today, I'm not able to pay attention to the teachers in the least. Most students seem restless and are ready for summer vacation, so I suppose I fit in.
I've convinced myself that there's definitely a possibility that Anthony's a Huldu. There's no other explanation for him not responding to my flair and perhaps he has even tried to get me to respond to his flair. I smirk. We could be playing the same game, he and I, and that might be why he invited me to his house. I remember him seeming very surprised when I didn't submit to his request to join him for volleyball. It's a stretch, but a stretch I'm willing to investigate further. All these things can't just be coincidences, can they? Now I just have to put my theory to the test.
When the day is finally over, I lock myself in the girl's handicapped bathroom stall, change my clothes, undo my hair, letting it fall down my back and shoulders, and apply some more make-up. When I'm finished, I stare at myself in the full-length mirror.
What am I doing?
This is ridiculous—desperate.
I never dress like this. I never do these kinds of promiscuous things!
I'm wearing an ivory mini skirt, a teal camisole top, that shows a little of my cleavage, and cork and leather wedges. I should just go back home again. However, if I do, I may never know if Anthony's like me.
I simply have to find out.
I spray on a dash of perfume, and I'm ready to go. No matter what happens, after today, I'll stop this insanity and stick to the promise I made my mom.
I head over to the greenhouse, feeling self-conscious about my skimpy outfit, but knowing I need to act confidently if I want some answers. As I near the glasshouse, I spot Anthony inside. My stomach turns into a million little butterflies at the sight of him and I take a deep breath before opening the squeaky front door. I remind myself of my purpose and to stay focused and not get distracted by him.
When I enter, Anthony immediately looks up at me, but doesn't even so much as nod to acknowledge me once our eyes meet.
"We're not working together anymore," he says coolly.
"Seriously?" I roll my eyes. "Did you really think I'd be weeding in this outfit and these shoes?" I say.
"Then why are you here?" He grunts as he lifts a huge plastic bag up onto a wood dolly.
He's being difficult, but that doesn't deter me at all, and in fact brings out the competitive side in me. "I'm here...to talk." I sound sure of myself, but I'm nothing of the sort.
"I don't have time to talk." He lifts another bag up onto the dolly. "I have to get to my soccer practice after this."
"Then when do you have time to talk?" I ask, taking a step closer.
Anthony exhales sharply and looks me in the eyes. "Never."
"You said we could be friends," I press.
"Well, I changed my mind. I have a girlfriend now, and she doesn't like you."
I feel like he just punched me in the stomach. A girlfriend? "How could she not like me? She doesn't even know me, and if you're referring to the blonde beach bimbo, you might want to get—"
He interrupts me. "Just let me be, okay? I'd like for nothing more than for you to leave me alone right now—and forever."
"Why?" I'm trying to act like his words don't affect me, but each word is another torrent of pain.
"I don't have to explain that to you," he says, brushing the dirt off his khaki pants.
I take a deep breath to help bolster my resolve. "You're not going to get rid of me, you know. I'm not about to follow your orders like all those other girls." Crap, I'm already getting distracted. Stay focused, Sonia. Find out if he's like me.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he says in an annoyed tone.
"Sure you don't," I say sarcastically, taking another step toward him.
Anthony pauses for a moment, looking as if he's trying to formulate a sentence. Then he shakes his head and laughs. "You're different from other girls, I'll give you that."
"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?" I ask.
"It's..." He grunts again. "Neither. It just is, okay? Why are you pestering me so much?"
That comment hurt, and I blink. My confidence is swept away by his unkind words.
"I'm sorry, that was mean. I'm not used to girls who are so—" He pauses for so long, I think he might never complete the sentence, but I truly want to know what he thinks of me.
"So...?" I press.
"So honest." Our eyes connect and chills go through my body.
"Honest?"
He folds his arms in front of his chest and his veins are visible beneath his skin. He looks away and I notice that I've stopped breathing for a moment.
"Most girls seem to just say what they think I want to hear, but you," he scratches his head, "you just blurt things out, and it drives me crazy! You drive me absolutely crazy."
"Don't you want people to be honest with you?" I ask.
"Well, not brutally honest." He glances at me as if accusing me.
Focus Sonia! I came in here for a purpose. He has a tendency to do that to me; make me want him, and forget what I want; make me weak in the knees and weak-willed; make my heart race and my mind forgetful. "Why are you so interested in Norse mythology?" I ask.
"What? Where did that question come from?" he sneers.
"I don't have to explain everything to you," I say, using his comment against him.
The edges of his lips turn upward. "I see how it is."
"All right, I'll tell you. There's a reason why I'm so interested in Norse mythology, and I'm wondering if we have the same reason or not." I don't want to be more direct than that and if he's a Huldu, he'll pick up on my hint.
"Are your ancestors from Norway, too?" he asks.
Now I think that he's just playing with me. How can I encourage him to tell the truth without revealing too much myself? I step forward, so he's only an arm's length away and there's a charge between us. His body tenses, making me think that he might be feeling the charge too.
He hesitates for a heartbeat, but then moves closer to me. I like him being near to me, nearer yet. Reaching for my cheek, he graces it softly, and then his eyes are on my lips. "I've never met anyone like you, Sonia." His eyes lock with mine.
I love the sound of my name on his lips. "What do you mean?" Now my focus is dwindling, my mind is shutting off, and the thrill of standing close to him has made me forget the reason I came to see him in the first place.
He doesn't answer my question, but instead, he reaches behind my head, to the sensitive area in the nape of my neck, and pulls my face so close I can smell his minty breath. I bite my lip and breathe heavily.
"You are like me," I whisper. "Aren't you?"
No response. He just peers into my eyes, as if trying to read them and then he moves his face closer and kisses me gently on the cheek, just missing my mouth. His other hand makes its way up along my arm and joins the other behind my neck, my skin tingling where he touches it. Pulling me in even closer, he leans his forehead onto mine.
"Why do you have to be so stubborn?" he asks.
I try to tell him he's the one who's being stubborn, but the words get caught in my throat.
He moves me backward and presses my hips up against the flowerbed so it creaks. His hands make their way down my back and I pull my hands up to his face and cradle it. Why is he refusing to answer my questions? He's not denying what I'm saying, so is my theory true?
I feel in his embrace that he wants me, and an irrepressible need wells up inside my abdomen. I have never felt anything like it before.
I want him.
I want his love, his affection, his mind and his body, and I want him to want me as much as I want him. Then the thought comes: I want to control him so he'll do what I want. This sudden thought frightens me and I manage to turn my head to the side and look away.
"Stop." I know that if I don't stop now, it will be too late. Too late for what, I don't want to think about, but my instincts tell me that I've reached my capacity for self-control.
Anthony stops and gives me a soft squeeze. "I'm dangerous, you know." He smiles.
"I believe you." Was that an admission to being a Huldu? It isn't enough to convict him.
I step away, in an attempt to regain my faculties. My hands feel clammy, though I thought I was incapable of sweating—anywhere, yet here I am with sweaty palms. "So are you going to answer the question?"
"Sorry, can you repeat the question, please?" Anthony smiles.
I turn around and face him. "Are you like me?" My voice, just above a whisper.
"How do you mean?" His eyes are almost too innocent looking to be read as real. He steps away.
"What happens when you kiss people?" I try.
He smiles, but says nothing.
I huff. He's not going to admit to anything. Not this way, at least. "Never mind, I have to go."
"Strange, I thought I was the one who needed to hurry, but you didn't seem to care a minute ago." His voice is playful.
I shoot him a don't-play-games-with-me glance and head to the exit. "See you later."
"Hey, do you want go see the Sarasota Ballet perform Sleeping Beauty tomorrow night?"
I'm speechless yet again because he's so back and forth with me that my head won't stop spinning. Maybe he isn't any good for me.
"You like ballet, right?" Anthony asks, as if reading my mind.
"Yes, but do you?" No guy I've ever spoken to will step within a mile of a ballet performance.
"Sure, especially if my date enjoys it," Anthony says.
How does he know I like ballet? I don't remember telling him. "What about your girlfriend? Won't she get upset?" I ask.
Looking away, he says, "I just said that so you'd leave me alone."
"You lied to me? Why would you do such a thing?"
He frowns. "I thought it would make things easier. I'm sorry."
"Easier? Lying to me makes things easier?" I take a few steps in his direction—angry again.
"My life is really complicated, Sonia. If you only knew...I wish I could tell you everything, but I can't."
This is exhausting. "Are we back to mysterious Anthony again? Trust me, if you want to share your craziness with anyone, I'd be the first one to understand, and I'm really trying to understand."
"Listen, I'm sorry, all right?"
My better judgment tells me that I should stay away from him and that I should run away and never look back, mainly because I can't trust him, but also because I can't trust myself around him. He has even told me straight out that he's dangerous and if I were smart, I would believe him. Even so, I say, "Alright. I forgive you."
"So, will you come with me to the ballet—please?" He's sincere.
"Sure, I'll come," I say and shut the door behind me.
Walking to my car, I never would have thought my confrontation with him would have ended this way. I had hoped for a confession, not a passionate encounter and a date to the ballet. It almost feels as if he has me pegged in every possible way, and the thought both thrills me senseless and frightens me out of my mind.