Free Residue by Laury Falter Page B

He’d defended me against Mrs. DeVille’s derogatory remark about my hat. He’d left me an unexpected birthday gift, written in smoke through the air. He’d been concerned for my safety in transporting a dangerous item back home. Even if it had turned out to be a seemingly innocuous rope, he didn’t know it. He was supposed to be my greatest adversary and yet he’d done nothing at all to prove it.
    This realization stayed with me until we crossed paths again, in my second class, History of the Civil War. As I walked through the door, I saw him seated at the back of the room, his head down, immersed in the words of a textbook.
    I found the teacher and introduced myself, quietly so I didn’t disturb him. For some reason, I was trying to delay the inevitable acknowledgement between us that we’d be in same room together for an entire semester.
    “ We sit in order of first name,” explained Ms. Wizner, a short, rotund woman with graying hair. “Easier for me to identify you. Now, that means you’ll be seated next to Jameson, since your name is Jocelyn.”
    Right then, at that very moment, his head snapped up.
    She and I were at my seat by that point so that she also noticed his reaction.
    “ Well, well, Jameson. That’s what it takes to earn your attention in my class? Sit a pretty girl next to you? If only I’d known last year…”
    At that point, I watched my mortal enemy blush.
    From then on, the tension flared between us. As the rest of the students filtered in and Ms. Wizner started her lecture, I didn’t have to look in Jameson’s direction to know his breathing was staggered or that his body remained motionless, rigid. By the end of the hour, the stiffness surrounding us must have been almost palpable. Feeling it full force, the first deep breath I took was when the bell rang.
    Unlike the rest of the students, I didn’t rush for the door and, I realized, neither did Jameson.
    When the commotion of skidding chairs, rustling bags, and hurried footsteps died down, we sat in a cocoon of quiet. Ms. Wizner had even left the room for a quick bathroom break before her next session started.
    Jameson and I sat staring ahead, our arms crossed over our bags set on top of our desks, our feet unmoving. It was almost as if we both had waited for this moment and now that it arrived we didn’t know how to react.
    I broke the silence. “Thank you for the birthday gift.”
    He released his breath, which he seemed to have been holding for a good length of time while waiting for either of us to speak. “You’re welcome. Did it-”
    “ You should have told me who you were,” I stated in a rush, acknowledging what had held me back, what had kept me in my chair as the room had emptied, before my time ran out and I had to run for my next class.
    “ I was about to bring that up,” he admitted. Then he sighed, seemingly frustrated with himself. “I should have.” He nodded. “But I…”
    “ Yes?” I urged, not really caring my tone was harsh.
    “ I knew what would have happened, if you learned I was a Caldwell.”
    “ How could you be so sure? You don’t know me.”
    He lifted one eyelid at me, skeptical. “Come on, Jocelyn. The first advice your family would have given you, probably before you even entered the city limits, would be to watch out for the Caldwells. And I’m a Caldwell.”
    He waited for my response, that intense gaze settled on me once again.
    I couldn’t deny it wasn’t true. It had happened exactly as he’d portrayed. “They’re only trying to keep me safe.”
    “ And you know, I don’t blame them. My family would have done the same thing.”
    As I turned my head toward him, our eyes met, stirring something deep inside me. While part of it was the excitement of being within arm’s reach of someone who was incredibly dangerous to me, it was also the fact that he’d recognized that our families were, in fact, similar. Albeit, it was that we shared a preservation instinct.
    My gaze dropped