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

of my eye, I
sensed that he was brimming in a self-contained rage. I couldn’t
figure him out. And as much as I tried to control myself, I
couldn’t help but sneak glances at him.
    His mannerisms as he took out his things and
arranged them assiduously on the desk seemed subtle, sort of
flowing in rhythm like a gentle ocean dance, but beneath the
surface, I intuited an inner turmoil that could be likened to shark
frenzy. The illusive contradiction made my mind spin with
wonder.
    In all logic, I should have been frightened
by him, but I wasn’t. His underlying anger hinted at something
fierce, but my heart drew me to him regardless. More than scared, I
was confused.
    The other French students seemed more focused
on Laurent than on me that day which was a relief. I got the
impression that they were acting more like body guards than
friends. I had to wonder who they were protecting him from.
    Oddly, the teacher acted more lenient with
the exchange students than with the rest of the class. She didn’t
appear to mind that they were late or that they traded desks
amongst themselves. I got the vague feeling that she didn’t even
notice, which was unlike her. English teachers are usually attuned
to detail. Maybe she was purposely ignoring them. But had it been
anyone else in the classroom, I bet she would have objected.
    For the next few days it seemed as if Laurent
was either ignoring my presence or he didn’t know I was alive. He
continued to sit between or on the opposite side of his friends in
English class. I noticed that his body was most often angled away
from me. Either his chair was turned or he leaned on his desk with
his hand on his face blocking his view from my side of the
room.
    At our swim team practices, he started
swimming on the farthest side of the pool away from the girls. I
never caught him looking at me as I had before. And his anger never
appeared to lessen. He acted normal enough, but his underlying rage
seemed ever present. From his fast, strong strokes in the water, I
imagined that he was taking out his fury through his impressive
physical exertion. I kept wondering and wondering what he was so
angry about.
    Whenever he got out of the pool, he seemed
charged with a crazed look in his electric blue eyes. He looked out
of control. Then he would rush away in his dreamlike manner and I’d
watch him in a daze.
    But then on Thursday, I was sitting on the
bench near the pool trying to tuck my hair into my swim cap and
Laurent sat down a few feet away from me. My body tensed. I was
shocked. We were nearly side by side. I could feel the intensity of
his body. He smelled like the ocean.
    My heart started racing. I turned to look at
him just to see what he wanted and he was studying my face as he
smiled.
    I gulped.
    “You have something on your nose,” he
mumbled, tilting his head to the side as he seemed to examine
me.
    I blushed, lifting my hand to wipe away
whatever I feared he was referring to.
    But, his fingers swiftly intersected. He
touched the tip of my nose with his pointer finger and thumb and
pulled something off.
    My eyes widened. “What was it?” I
demanded.
    His body tightened and he scooted away from
me slightly. With a devilish glint in his eyes, he glanced past me,
and then, to my surprise, he chuckled. “It was nothing.”
    Maybe I was wrong, but I got the feeling he
liked teasing me. “What?” I was confused. “Then why did you take
it?”
    He raised an eyebrow as his expression became
serious. “It was an angel kiss.” He was sitting up particularly
straight; his back was tense which gave me the impression that it
was uncomfortable for him to be close to me.
    “An angel kiss?” I asked, astounded.
    “Yes.” I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“People call them freckles.” He lifted his eyes upward before
reconnecting with me.
    Now I rolled my eyes and exhaled in
exasperation. “You can’t take a freckle off my face.” I laughed
lightly.
    “Well, I did.” His silky