Illusions
Page 65
No one seemed convinced.
Laurel spent the next fifteen minutes completely mortified on behalf of her classmates and dreading her turn at the front of the classroom. Mostly it was a lot of pretend puppy eyes and exaggerated poses as people read Mr. Petersen’s hokey personals. Laurel wondered if adults really wrote things about themselves like I’m a sweet Romeo without a Juliet or I’m sassy, sultry, and super-fun, and how serious they could possibly be if they did.
“Tam Collins.”
Several of the girls sitting near Laurel began whispering excitedly. Clearly, they hadn’t lost hope. Laurel wanted to sink into her chair and die.
Tamani took the small piece of paper from Mr. Petersen and stood at the front of the classroom, studying it for his sixty seconds.
“And begin . . . now,” Mr. Petersen said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.
Tamani looked up from his paper and, instead of starting to speak, he took a few seconds to lock eyes with several of the girls in the class.
“Single Scottish male,” he said, his voice low, his accent more pronounced, “seeks beautiful woman.”
Every human girl in the classroom sighed as one. Laurel wondered how many other liberties Tamani would take with the assigned speech.
“I’m looking for that special person, the one who can complete me. I need someone to share my life and my heart. More than just a fun time, I’m looking for commitment and . . . intimacy.” At that point, if anyone else had been speaking, there would have been whistles and catcalls. Coming from Tamani’s lips, the phrase actually sounded inviting, sexy.
“I am a twentysomething who likes loud music, fine food, and”—he paused dramatically—“physical activity. I’m looking for someone creative, artistic”—his eyes flitted to Laurel’s, for just a second—“musical, to share my love of beautiful things. Are you looking for something real in this world of illusions? Call me. Casual flings need not apply. I am looking for love.”
Without another word, Tamani crumpled his ad in his hand, shoved it in his pocket, and took his seat.
Every girl in the room burst into applause and a few shrill whistles.
Laurel cringed and dropped her head to her desk. There was no digging out of this hole.
After school, Laurel practically ran to her car. She knew she’d done poorly on her own personal ad speech, but seriously, who could expect anything else today?
She had managed to go the whole day without speaking to David, but she couldn’t put it off forever. She had no idea what to say. That she still loved him, she just didn’t know if she loved him like that? Or that she wasn’t sure she could live the rest of her life without getting a chance to be with Tamani—really be with him—with a clear conscience, to see if it was as good as she dreamed? That she had made a snap decision, it had been a mistake, and she wanted him back? That she needed space—from both of them, maybe—to decide what she wanted?
It hadn’t felt like a mistake, back at the land. But this morning, seeing David’s face—it made her ache for him. She wanted to make everything better. Was that because she loved him as a friend, or because she wanted him back?
Did he want her back?
That was something she couldn’t consider as she locked her car and walked into the very empty house where, she had been reminded by her mom that morning, she was to stay. Easy enough—she had plenty of homework to do. And she could work on figuring out what kind of faerie Yuki was. Laurel could hardly believe it had been two weeks since the troll attack. It felt like ages. Time was like that, though—racing forward when she wanted it to slow down, then crawling to a stop when she could least bear it.
But rather than heading straight for her room, Laurel flipped idly through a stack of mail on the counter. She was still frustrated by not finding out anything conclusive from the phosphorescent tests. Tamani’s sap had glowed for just under forty minutes—a little longer than Laurel’s. She had hoped to find a substantial difference between the kinds of fae, but apparently sap wasn’t going to do it—at least not without samples from a lot more faeries. She wished she could just assume Yuki was a Spring based on probability, but assumptions were a luxury she couldn’t afford.
Beneath a Publishers Clearing House postcard Laurel encountered a large envelope with her name on it. Her SAT scores! She’d all but forgotten about them; she’d taken the test so long ago. When she and David were together. When they’d studied every day to improve her scores. They had both planned on checking online, to get their scores early, but Laurel was clearly not the only one who had forgotten. She grabbed the letter opener from the mail rack and sliced open the top of the envelope, then stood clutching it in both hands for a long moment before she reached in and pulled out the small stack of papers.
When she finally managed to locate her scores, Laurel squealed.
Mid six-hundreds and a 580. A huge improvement. Laurel ran to the phone and dialed half of David’s number before she realized what she was doing. This was never what she intended. No matter what happened, she at least wanted them to be friends. It wasn’t until that very moment that she realized it simply might not be possible.
No.
She would never know if she didn’t try. She finished dialing his number.
“Hello?”
“David?”
“Hello?”
It was David’s voice mail. He thought it was clever to pretend he was really answering the phone. Laurel found it irritating, but she hadn’t left him a voice mail in months.
Laurel spent the next fifteen minutes completely mortified on behalf of her classmates and dreading her turn at the front of the classroom. Mostly it was a lot of pretend puppy eyes and exaggerated poses as people read Mr. Petersen’s hokey personals. Laurel wondered if adults really wrote things about themselves like I’m a sweet Romeo without a Juliet or I’m sassy, sultry, and super-fun, and how serious they could possibly be if they did.
“Tam Collins.”
Several of the girls sitting near Laurel began whispering excitedly. Clearly, they hadn’t lost hope. Laurel wanted to sink into her chair and die.
Tamani took the small piece of paper from Mr. Petersen and stood at the front of the classroom, studying it for his sixty seconds.
“And begin . . . now,” Mr. Petersen said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.
Tamani looked up from his paper and, instead of starting to speak, he took a few seconds to lock eyes with several of the girls in the class.
“Single Scottish male,” he said, his voice low, his accent more pronounced, “seeks beautiful woman.”
Every human girl in the classroom sighed as one. Laurel wondered how many other liberties Tamani would take with the assigned speech.
“I’m looking for that special person, the one who can complete me. I need someone to share my life and my heart. More than just a fun time, I’m looking for commitment and . . . intimacy.” At that point, if anyone else had been speaking, there would have been whistles and catcalls. Coming from Tamani’s lips, the phrase actually sounded inviting, sexy.
“I am a twentysomething who likes loud music, fine food, and”—he paused dramatically—“physical activity. I’m looking for someone creative, artistic”—his eyes flitted to Laurel’s, for just a second—“musical, to share my love of beautiful things. Are you looking for something real in this world of illusions? Call me. Casual flings need not apply. I am looking for love.”
Without another word, Tamani crumpled his ad in his hand, shoved it in his pocket, and took his seat.
Every girl in the room burst into applause and a few shrill whistles.
Laurel cringed and dropped her head to her desk. There was no digging out of this hole.
After school, Laurel practically ran to her car. She knew she’d done poorly on her own personal ad speech, but seriously, who could expect anything else today?
She had managed to go the whole day without speaking to David, but she couldn’t put it off forever. She had no idea what to say. That she still loved him, she just didn’t know if she loved him like that? Or that she wasn’t sure she could live the rest of her life without getting a chance to be with Tamani—really be with him—with a clear conscience, to see if it was as good as she dreamed? That she had made a snap decision, it had been a mistake, and she wanted him back? That she needed space—from both of them, maybe—to decide what she wanted?
It hadn’t felt like a mistake, back at the land. But this morning, seeing David’s face—it made her ache for him. She wanted to make everything better. Was that because she loved him as a friend, or because she wanted him back?
Did he want her back?
That was something she couldn’t consider as she locked her car and walked into the very empty house where, she had been reminded by her mom that morning, she was to stay. Easy enough—she had plenty of homework to do. And she could work on figuring out what kind of faerie Yuki was. Laurel could hardly believe it had been two weeks since the troll attack. It felt like ages. Time was like that, though—racing forward when she wanted it to slow down, then crawling to a stop when she could least bear it.
But rather than heading straight for her room, Laurel flipped idly through a stack of mail on the counter. She was still frustrated by not finding out anything conclusive from the phosphorescent tests. Tamani’s sap had glowed for just under forty minutes—a little longer than Laurel’s. She had hoped to find a substantial difference between the kinds of fae, but apparently sap wasn’t going to do it—at least not without samples from a lot more faeries. She wished she could just assume Yuki was a Spring based on probability, but assumptions were a luxury she couldn’t afford.
Beneath a Publishers Clearing House postcard Laurel encountered a large envelope with her name on it. Her SAT scores! She’d all but forgotten about them; she’d taken the test so long ago. When she and David were together. When they’d studied every day to improve her scores. They had both planned on checking online, to get their scores early, but Laurel was clearly not the only one who had forgotten. She grabbed the letter opener from the mail rack and sliced open the top of the envelope, then stood clutching it in both hands for a long moment before she reached in and pulled out the small stack of papers.
When she finally managed to locate her scores, Laurel squealed.
Mid six-hundreds and a 580. A huge improvement. Laurel ran to the phone and dialed half of David’s number before she realized what she was doing. This was never what she intended. No matter what happened, she at least wanted them to be friends. It wasn’t until that very moment that she realized it simply might not be possible.
No.
She would never know if she didn’t try. She finished dialing his number.
“Hello?”
“David?”
“Hello?”
It was David’s voice mail. He thought it was clever to pretend he was really answering the phone. Laurel found it irritating, but she hadn’t left him a voice mail in months.
