aware of my ill-fitting
clothes, big and worn and hanging on me like on a hanger. I look a total mess
and it's never mattered before, this was my choice... yet now it hurts me to
know that perfectly-put-together and perfectly-handsome Seth is looking at me,
seeing me in all my dowdy glory, and finding me wanting.
Just get this over with! Head lowered so
that I don't accidentally meet anyone's gaze, especially Seth's, I whisper,
"My name is Summer. I've just moved here. I'm sixteen years old and a Junior."
That's all, just the bare, empty facts;
nothing personal, nothing that really says anything meaningful about me .
The teacher seems to be waiting for more, but when I remain silent he gives up
and sends me back to my seat.
The class is interminable. It almost
seems as if time has expanded with the sole purpose of increasing my torment. I
don't hear a single word coming out of the teacher's mouth; all I'm aware of is
Seth's watchful gaze encompassing me. I peek a few times at him but I don't
catch him glancing at me again; his eyes seem trained on the teacher. Still,
I'm not fooled. I've always known when he's looking at me, for I've always felt
it like a physical touch, and if anything, this awareness I have of him seems
to be even stronger now than when we were children.
Only now, for some reason, his gaze on
me also creates a slow burn in my chest and butterflies in my belly. Maybe I've
caught a stomach bug. And a fever. I really hope that's the explanation—I've
never felt this way before.
I look at my watch for what is probably
the thousandth time in the last forty-five minutes and start to discreetly
gather my stuff. The moment the bell rings, I'm up and moving and am the first
to leave the classroom. A few minutes later I go out the high school's doors
and head for the buses.
* * *
I'm sitting at dinner with the
Andersons.
After I casually complimented Louise on
the food, she's just finished informing me scathingly that she didn't prepare
it—they have a housekeeper coming in the mornings and taking care of such menial
tasks as cooking and cleaning the house. Naturally.
Now she's back to wearing the self-absorbed
expression that seems to be the norm for her, and Greg is trying to make polite
chit-chat, asking me about my first day of school.
"It was fine." My tone doesn't
invite further conversation.
Still, Greg persists. "How were
your classes?"
"They were fine, too."
"Yes?" Greg raises an eyebrow.
"No difficulties at all in view of the fact that the semester is already more
than halfway through?"
"I have to do some compensatory
assignments. I'm used to it."
"What about the other students?
Have you made any friends?"
I start to say no, but then I remember Marcie
and her group and think perhaps that answer wouldn't be completely truthful. So
I compromise by saying, "Maybe."
Jessica, who's been silently studying me
all this time—though not with her usual expression of distaste, but rather as
if she wanted to figure something out, which actually freaks me out more—chooses
that moment to butt into the conversation. "Oh, I don't think Summer's had
any time to make friends today. She's been too busy being a creep and stalking
the hottest guy in school." She laughs nastily. "Like she'd ever have
a chance with him! I mean, hasn't she ever looked in a mirror?"
"Now, Jessica, that is a bit harsh,
isn't it?" Greg tries to intervene, seeming uncomfortable.
Louise chooses that moment to speak as
well. "Jessica, you have to realize that not everyone can be as blessed as
you are in the looks department. That doesn't mean that unattractive people
don't have their own uses in society."
Jeez, this woman is something else! Did
she really say that, and with a straight face? Greg looks even more
uncomfortable.
I ignore the fosters and instead meet
Jessica's insolent gaze head-on. "I haven't been stalking anyone."
"Right!" She snorts, full of
sarcasm. "'Cause it wasn't you who stared at Seth Lewis all