Chapter Nineteen
The next day, when I pull into the parking lot, Darnen's not there. And as I climb out of my car, sling my bag over my shoulder, and head for class, I give myself a pep talk and prepare for the worst.
But the moment I reach the classroom, I'm completely immobile. Staring stupidly at the green painted door, unable to open it.
Since my psychic abilities evaporate wherever Damen's concerned, the only thing I can actually see is the nightmare I craft in my head. The one where Damen's perched on the edge of Stacia's desk, laughing and flirting, retrieving rosebuds from all manner of places, as I slump by and head for my seat, the warm sweet flicker of his gaze skimming right over me as he turns his back so he can focus on her.
And I just can't go through with it. I seriously can't bear it. Because even though Stacia's cruel, mean, horrible, and sadistic, she happens to be cruel, mean, horrible, and sadistic in a straightforward way Holding no secrets, cloaking no mysteries, her unkindness is out there, clearly displayed. While I'm just the opposite: paranoid, secretive, lurking behind sunglasses and a hoodie, and hoarding a burden so heavy there's nothing simple about me.
I reach for the handle again, scolding myself.This is ridiculous. What are you gonna do—drop out of school?
You've got another year and a half to deal with this, so just suck it up and go inside already!
But my hand starts to shake, refusing to obey, and just as I'm about to make a run for it, this kid comes up from behind, clears his throat, and says, "Uh—you gonna open that?" Completing the question in his head with an unspoken—You fuckin' freak!
So I take a deep breath, open the door, and slink right inside. Feeling worse than I ever could've imagined, when I see Darnen's not there.
The second I enter the lunch area, I scan all the tables, searching for Damen, but when I don't see him, I head for my usual spot, arriving at the same time as Haven.
"Day six and no word on Evangeline," she says, dropping her cupcake box on the table before her and sitting across from me.
"Have you asked around the anonymous group?" Miles slides in beside me and twists the cap off his Vitamin Water.
Haven rolls her eyes. "They're anonymous, Miles." Miles rolls his eyes.
"I was referring to her mentor."
"They're called sponsors. And yeah, she's no help, hasn't heard a thing.
Drina thinks I'm overreacting though, says I'm making way too big a deal"
"She still here?" Miles peers at her.
My eyes dart between them, alerted by the edge in his voice and waiting for more. Since most everything to do with Damen and Drina is psychically off limits, I'm as curious to hear the answer as he is.
"Um, yeah, Miles, she lives here now. Why? Is that a problem?" She narrows her eyes.
Miles shrugs and sips his drink. "No problem." Though his thoughts say otherwise and his yellow aura turns dark and opaque as he struggles with saying what he wants, versus not saying anything at all. "There's just..." he starts.
"Just what?" She stares at him, eyes narrowed, lips pinched.
"Well..."
I stare at him, thinking: Do it, Miles, say it! Drina's arrogant, awful, a bad influence, pure trouble. You're not the only one who sees it, I see it too, so go ahead and say it—she's the worst!
He hesitates, the words forming on his tongue as I suck in my breath, anticipating their release. Then he exhales loudly, shakes his head, and says, "Never mind."
I glance at Haven, seeing her enraged face, her aura flaring, the edges sparking and flaming all around, forecasting a major meltdown scheduled to start in just three-two-one, "Excuse me, Miles, but I'm so not buying that. So if you have something to say, then just say it." She glares at him, cupcake forgotten as she drums her
fingers against the fiberglass table. And when he doesn't respond, she continues. "Whatever, Miles. You too, Ever. Just because you're not saying anything doesn't make you any less guilty."
Miles peers at me, eyes wide, brow raised, and I know I should say something, do something, make a show of asking just what exactly it is that I'm guilty of. But the truth is, I already know. I'm guilty of not liking Drina.
Of not trusting her. Of sensing something suspicious, sinister even. And not doing nearly enough to hide those suspicions.
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, and she's so upset she practically spits out the words, "You guys don't even know her! And you have no right to judge her! For your information, I happen to like Drina. And in the short time I've known her she's been a way better friend to me than either of you!"
"That's so not true!" Miles shouts, eyes blazing. "That's such total bullsh —"
"Sorry Miles, but it is true. You guys tolerate me, you go along with me, but you don't really get me like she does. Drina and I like the same things, we share the same interests. She doesn't secretly want me to change like you do.
She likes me just as I am."
"Oh, is that why you changed your entire look, because she accepts you for who you really are?"
I watch as Haven closes her eyes and takes a slow breath, then she looks at Miles and rises from her seat, gathering her things as she says, 'Whatever, Miles. Whatever, both of you."
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, behold the big dramatic exit!" Miles scowls. "I mean, are you kidding? All I did was ask if she was still here!
That's it! And you turn it into this major ordeal. Jeez, sit down, find your happy place, and chillax already, would you"
She shakes her head and grips the table, the smal elaborate tattoo on her wrist now finished, but still red and inflamed.
"What do you call that?" I ask, gazing at the ink rendering of the snake eating its own tail, knowing there's a name for it, that it's some sort of mythical creature, but forgetting which one.
"Ouroboros." And when she rubs it with her finger I swear I saw its
tongue flicker and move.
"What does it mean?"
"It's an ancient alchemy symbol for eternal life, creation out of
destruction, life out of death, immortality, something like that," Miles says.
Haven and I gaze at him, but he just shrugs. "What? So I'm well read."
Then I look at her and say, "It looks infected. Maybe you should have it looked at."
But as soon as it's out I know it was the wrong thing to say, and I watch as she yanks down her sleeve, as her aura sparks and flames. "My tattoo is fine. I'm fine. And excuse me for saying so, but I can't help but notice how neither one of you is freaking out over Damen, who, by the way, never comes to school anymore. I mean, what's up with that?"
Miles gazes down at his Sidekick, and I just shrug. It's not like she doesn't have a point. And we watch as she shakes her head, snatches her cupcake box, and storms away.
"Can you tell me what just happened?" Miles says, watching her slalom through the maze of lunch tables, in a big hurry to nowhere. But I just shrug, unable to shake the imageof the snake on her wrist, how it turned its head, focused its beady eyes, and looked right at me.
The moment I pull into my drive, I see Damen, leaning against his car, smiling.
"How was school?" he asks, coming around to open my door. I shrug and reach for my books.
"Ah, so you're still angry," he says, following me to the front door. And even though he's not touching me, I can feel his emanating heat.
"I'm not angry," I mutter, opening the door and tossing my backpack onto the floor.
"Well that's a relief Because I've made reservations for two, and if you're not angry, then I assume you'll be joining me."
I look at him, my eyes grazing over his dark jeans, boots, and soft black sweater that can only be cashmere, wondering what he could possibly be up to now: He removes my sunglasses and earbuds and sets them on the entryway table. "Trust me, you really don't need all those defenses," he says, lowering my hood, tucking his arm through mine, and leading me out the front door and over to his car.
"Where are we going?" I ask, settling onto the passenger seat, complacent, spineless, always so eager to go along with whatever he says. "I mean, what about my homework?
I have a ton of catching up to do."
But he just shakes his head and climbs in beside me. "Relax, you can do it later, I promise."
"How much later?" I peer at him, wondering if I'll ever get used to his amazing dark beauty, the warmth of his gaze, and his ability to talk me into just about anything.
He smiles, starting the car without even turning the key.
"Before the stroke of midnight, I promise. Now buckle in, we're going for a ride."
Damen drives fast. Really fast. So when he pulls into the parking lot and leaves his car with the valet, it seems as though only a few minutes have passed.
"Where are we?" I ask, gazing at the green buildings and the I sign marked EAST ENTRANCE. "East entrance to what?"
"Well, this should explain it." He laughs, pulling me toward him as four shiny sweaty thoroughbreds trot by with their grooms, followed by a jockey in a pink-and-green jacket, thin white pants, and muddy black boots.
"The race track?" I gape. Like Disneyland, it's pretty much the last place I expected.
"Not just any race track, it's Santa Anita," he nods. "One of the nicer ones. Now come on, we've got a three-fifteen reservation at the Front
Runner."
"The what?" I ask, standing my ground.
"Relax, it's just a restaurant." He laughs. "Now; come on, I don't want to miss post."
"Um, isn't this illegal?" I say; knowing I sound like the worst kind of goody-good, but still, he's just so—lawless and reckless and—random.
"Eating is illegal?" He smiles, but I can tell his patience is running thin.
I shake my head. "Betting, gambling, whatever, you know." But he just laughs and shakes his head. "It's horse racing, Ever, not cockfighting. Now come on." He squeezes my hand and leads me to the elevator bank.
"But don't you have to be twenty-one?"
"Eighteen," he mumbles, going inside and pressing five.
"Exactly. I'm sixteen and a half."
He shakes his head and leans in to kiss me. "Rules should always be bent, if not broken. It's the only way to have any fun. Now come," he says,
leading me down a hall and into a large room decorated in varying shades of green, stopping before the front podium and greeting the maitre d' like a long lost friend.
"Ah, Mr. Auguste, so wonderful to see you! Your table is ready, follow me."
Damen nods and takes my hand, leading me through a room full of couples, retirees, single men, groups of women, a father and his young son— not an empty seat in the house. Eventually stopping at a table just across from the finish line, with a beautiful view of the track and the green hills beyond.
"Tony will be right over to take your orders. Should I bring you champagne?"
Damen glances at me then shakes his head. His face flushing slightly when he says, "Not today."
"Very well then, five minutes 'til post."
"Champagne?" I whisper, raising my brows, but he just shrugs and unfolds his racing program.
"What do you think about Spanish Fly?" He looks at me smiling when he says, "The horse, not the aphrodisiac."
But I'm too busy gazing around to answer, struggling to take it all in.
Because this room is not only huge, but it's also completely full—in the middle of the week—the middle of the day even. All these people playing hooky and betting. It's like a whole other world I never knew existed. And I can't help but wonder if this is where he spends all his free time.
"So what do you say? You wanna bet?" He glances at me briefly, before making a series of notes with his pen.
I shake my head. "I wouldn't even know where to begin."
"Well, I could give you the whole lowdown on odds, percentages, stats, and who sired who. But since we're short on time, why don't you just look this over, and tell me what you feel, which names you're drawn to. It's always worked for me." He smiles.
He tosses me the racing form and I look it over, surprised to find three distinct names jump out at me, in a one-two-three order. "How about Spanish Fly to win, Acapulco Lucy second, and Son of Buddha third?" I say, having no idea how I got there, but feeling pretty confident in my picks.
"Lucy to place, Buddha to show" he mumbles, scribbling it down. "And how much would you like to wager on that? Minimum bets two, but you can
certainly go higher"
"Twos good." I say suddenly losing confidence and unwilling to empty my wallet on a whim.
"You sure?" he asks looking disappointed.
I nod "Well I think you got some sound picks, so I am betting five. No! Make that ten."
"Don't bet ten," I say pressing my lips "I mean I just picked them, I don't even know why."
"Looks like we're about to find out." he says standing as I reach for my wallet.
But he just waves it away, "You can reimburse me when you collect your winnings. I'm going to post. If the waiter comes by order whatever you want."
"What should I order for you?" I call, but he moves so fast he doesn't even hear me.
By the time he returns the horses are all in the gate and when the shot goes off, they bolt from their stalls. At first appearing like shiny dark blurs, as they take the corner and race for the finish. I spring from my seat, watching as my three favorite picks jockey for position then jumping and shouting and screaming with glee, when they all cross the finish line in my perfect one, two, three.
"Omigod we won! We won!" I say, smiling as Damen leans in to kiss me. "Is it always this exciting?" I gaze down at the track, watching as Spanish Fly trots into the winners circle and gets draped with flowers, preparing for his photo op.
"Pretty much," Damen nods "Though there is nothing like that first big win, that's always the best."
"Well I'm not sure how big it will be," I say wishing I had a little more faith in my abilities, at least enough to broaden the stakes.
He frowns "Well since you only bet two, I'm afraid you won somewhere around eight."
"Eight dollars?" I squint, more than a little disappointed.
"Eight hundred" he laughs "Or Eight hundred and eighty dollars and sixty cents to be exact. You won a Trifecta, meaning win, place, and show in that exact order."
"All that on just two dollars?" I say suddenly knowing why he has a regular table. He nods. "What about you, what did you win?" I ask. "Did you bet the same as me?"
He smiles "As it just so happens I lost. I lost big. I got a little greedy and went for the Superfecta, which means I added a pony which didn't quite make it, but don't worry I plan to make up for it on the next race."
And did he ever! Because when we went to the window (after the eighth and final race) I collected a total of One Thousand Six Hundred and Forty- five dollars and Eighty cents while Damen pocketed significantly more, having won the" Super High Five", meaning he picked all five horses in the exact order they finished. And since he was the only one to have done so for the last several days, he won Five Hundred and Thirty-six Thousand dollars and Forty-one cents all on a ten dollar bet.
"So what do you think of the races?" he asks, his arm tucked around mine as he leads me outside.
"Well, now I get why you're not all that into school. I guess it can't really compete, can it?" I laugh, still feeling high from my winnings, thinking I've finally found a profitable outlet for my psychic gift.
"Come on, I want to buy you something to celebrate my big win," he
says, leading me into the gift shop.
"No, you don't have to—" I start.
But he squeezes my hand, his lips on my ear as he says, "I insist.
Besides, I think I can afford it. But there's one condition." I look at him.
"Absolutely no sweatshirts or hoodies." He laughs. "But anything else, just say the word."
After joking around and insisting on a jockey cap, a model horse, and a huge bronze horseshoe to hang on my bedroom wall, we settle On a silver horse-bit bracelet instead. But only after I made sure that the crystal bits were really just crystal, not diamonds, because that would be too much, no matter how much money he won.
"This way, no matter what happens, you'll never forget this day," he says, closing the clasp on my wrist as we wait for the valet to bring us the car.
"How could I possibly forget?" I ask, gazing at my wrist, then at him.
But he just shrugs as he climbs in beside me and there's something so sad, so bereft in his eyes, I hope that's the one thing I do forget.
Unfortunately, the ride home seems even quicker than the one to the
track and when he pulls into my driveway, I realize how reluctant I am for the day to end.
"Would you look at that?" he says, motioning to the clock on his dash.
"Well before midnight, just like I promised." And when he leans in to kiss me, I kiss him back with so much enthusiasm I practically drill him onto my seat.
"Can I come in?" he whispers, tempting me with his lips as they make their way down my ear, my neck, and all along my collarbone.
And I surprise myself by pushing him away and shaking my head. Not just because Sabine's inside and I have homework to do, but because I need to get a backbone already, stop giving in to him so dang easily.
"I'll see you at school," I say, climbing out of his car, before he can change my mind. "You remember, Bay View? That high school you used to
attend?"
He averts his gaze and sighs.
"Don't tell me you're ditching—again?"
"School is so dreadfully boring. I don't know how you do it."
"You don't know how I do it?" I shake my head and glance toward the house, seeing Sabine peek through the blinds and then pulling away.
Then I turn back to Damen and say, "Well, I guess I do it the same way you used to do it. You know; you get up, get dressed, and just go. And sometimes, if you pay attention, you actually learn a thing or two while you're there." But the second it's out of my mouth, I know it's a lie. Because the truth is, I haven't learned a damn thing all year. I mean, it's hard to actually learn anything when you just sort of know everything instead.
Though it's not like I share that with him.
"There's got to be a better way," he groans, his eyes wide, pleading with mine.
"Well, just for the record, truancy and dropping out? Not a better way.
Not if you want to go to college, and make something of your life." More lies. Because with a few more days like that at the track, one could live very well. Better than well.
But he just laughs. "Fine. We'll play it your way. For now, see you tomorrow, Ever."
And I've barely made it through the front door when he's already driven away.
