Free Bluehour (A Watermagic Novel) by Brighton Hill Page A

instead of in the outer desk
as before. By their hovering presences, I got the feeling they were
guarding him.
    “Laurent, please pass out the pop quizzes on
Romeo and Juliet,” Mrs. Wallace said. Earlier she explained that
she wanted to see how much we remembered of the story from ninth
grade. It was her favorite and she wanted to read it aloud in
class.
    I couldn’t help but watch Laurent as he
gracefully walked from desk to desk passing out one paper at a
time. His long hair was so silky and smooth. I had a strong desire
to touch it. As he got closer to me, I noticed his teeth clench. My
pulse started to race. When he handed the quiz to me, his eyes
narrowed fiercely and his nostrils flared. I got flustered and
dropped my pencil.
    My eyes averted from his to the falling
object. To my utter shock, it seemed that as the pencil fell it
stopped short of the floor and levitated midair, a couple of inches
above Laurent’s foot. I blinked my eyes wondering if I had seen
correctly. Nobody would have noticed this oddity, but I happened to
be staring with keen attention as it fell.
    In an instant, I thought I saw Laurent
retrieve the pencil from the air. It couldn’t be possible. My
eyelids held wide open as I stared at his crouched body before me
and his fingers that held the object. His focus was on the pencil
which he carefully put in his mouth. If I wasn’t shocked enough—it
appeared as if he was enjoying the taste immensely. He closed his
eyes and shook his head slightly like he was experiencing great
pleasure.
    “You taste so good,” he whispered with his
eyes closed, almost as if he had no awareness of what he was
saying.
    Suddenly, he came to his senses. His eyelids
popped open. A self-contained rage overtook him. He set the pencil
down on my desk with fury in his burning blue eyes. And then with a
snarl he commanded, “Don’t drop your stuff.” With that, he set the
stack of papers on my desk. “You pass out the rest.” His melodic
voice was dark as he rushed gracefully back to his desk between his
cluster of friends.
    It looked like he was breathing heavily as he
sat in the chair before his desk. His chest rose and fell achingly
like a dying fish out of water.

Rhythmic Gate
    The next day at school, the très beaux
arrived at English class late. They sort of glided into the
classroom like a dream. As I watched them move toward their desks,
I must have gotten caught up in their energies because I felt
almost euphoric, like I was floating peacefully in midair. The
feeling was inexplicable. I felt mesmerized.
    I looked at Mrs. Wallace and her eyes
appeared glazed as she spoke of Romeo and Juliet’s never ending
love for each other. I got the feeling that she didn’t even notice
the exchange students’ late arrival. She looked so impassioned with
the play, with life. It was as if she was in her own magnificent
world.
    The other students appeared dreamy eyed too.
They also seemed to be oblivious to the très beaux ’s
entrances. It was my impression that I was the only one who noticed
their arrival. I couldn’t tell exactly what was happening though
because I felt so good. I just wanted to bask in the pleasure of
the moment. Nothing mattered much.
    But, then I came back to reality. The
blissful recall drifted away like a mist. Now, somehow, I felt
disappointed.
    I surveyed the classroom. The other students
looked normal now. Everyone, including the teacher looked slightly
disgruntled like they had been woken up too abruptly from sleep.
Mrs. Wallace continued lecturing on the Shakespearean play, but now
her enthusiasm had waned.
    I looked over at Laurent. He had switched
desks again. I sensed that he was purposely sitting as far away
from me as possible. He took the desk on the other side of the très beaux . I wasn’t sure if he changed seats because of me
or for some other reason. But, I couldn’t help but feel that it may
have been because he wanted to get away from me.
    As I watched him from the corner