The Other Me Part 17

Treasa

JORDAN PINCHES PINCHES my arm, and I snap out of my daydream. An illicit one involving Resa and Tristan, except that in my fantasy it's Gabriel and Tristan who end up in the janitor's closet with their pants around their ankles. my arm, and I snap out of my daydream. An illicit one involving Resa and Tristan, except that in my fantasy it's Gabriel and Tristan who end up in the janitor's closet with their pants around their ankles.

"What?"

"You've been in a dwaal dwaal the entire week," Jordan says. the entire week," Jordan says.

"Sorry."

"Girl's in love." Lethi fans herself with her dog-eared copy of Julius Caesar Julius Caesar and bats her eyelashes. and bats her eyelashes.

"And it's annoying." Jordan sounds genuinely peeved.

"I think it's sweet. Tell us again about the almost kiss," Sibo teases me.

"And all the SMSs." Lethi grins.

I've already told them the kiss story at least a dozen times, recalling that night in blow-by-blow detail-except the part about me being an alien. Only Jordan got to hear that bit. I didn't tell any of them what Dirk said about Hannah either, since news like that spreads like a veld fire and can be even more destructive.

"I'd really rather you didn't." Jordan slams her book shut as the bell rings. One more lesson, a whole fifty-five minutes to get through until the end of the day, then another wait before choir, then choir.... What should I say to him? That I'm in love with him and that I'll happily lose my virginity to him? I'm not sure it's not the truth, and that's terrifying.

"You got PMS or something?" Sibo asks.

"No, I'm just tired of little miss infatuated here." Jordan leaves, not waiting for me to catch up.

"What's her problem?" I ask.

"Something to do with Bryce, I think." Lethi packs up and heads toward home economics as I follow in the wake of Jordan's turbulent exit to science.

She ignores me when I join her at our usual desk. "What's wrong, Jords?"

"Nothing." She stares straight ahead.

"You're obviously upset."

She gives me a withering gaze. "Thanks for finally noticing."

That stings, because it's true. I've been so wrapped up in thoughts about Gabriel, I haven't paid any attention to anything else. I even s.p.a.ced out during English yesterday and got an embarra.s.sing B on a test that should've been a piece of cake in the one subject I'm actually d.a.m.n good at.

"I'm sorry. But I'm here now."

Our physics teacher walks in and switches on the overhead projector. There's a collective moan as we start copying notes from the screen. While annoying, it's also the perfect opportunity for a scribbled margin conversation.

Please tell me, I start.

Bryce! He gives me fake roses and then tries to go to third base with me.

What's third again?

Below the belt.

And you said no.

Which apparently came as a shock because b.i.t.c.hface Hannah has told the WHOLE of Cosmas that I'm a guaranteed screw.

What!?!? I don't understand girls. I don't understand girls.

Yeah so now that that's a no, he's lost interest.

Is this what'll happen with Gabriel? Is he only interested in me because of rumors like this one? But why pick me?

Typical. What a d.i.c.k. You're better off without him. Words of comfort, I hope. Words of comfort, I hope.

I liked him. :( I'm sorry.

I just need a hug.

I put down my pen and wrap my arms around her. Her shoulders shudder, and I think she might be crying, but Jordan's tougher than that. She won't cry at school, especially not over something like this. Candyce and Hannah are sitting two rows in front of us, having a whispered conversation. Hannah glances over her shoulder, skiffing us.

"Urgh, lesbo s.k.a.n.ks," she sneers.

Jordan tries to pull away, and I hold onto her a moment longer.

"Thanks," she says and returns to her notes. I tear a piece of paper out of my exam pad and contemplate what I'm about to do. Hannah deserves it. She's been a b.i.t.c.h to Jordan for no reason and picks on me relentlessly. I'm sick of it. The words run and smear across the page as fury clouds my vision.

Dirk Joubert wants to know if you still have huge nipples. Who's the s.l.u.t now?

I fold the piece of paper and write "Hannah" on the front before handing it to Tina behind me and telling her to pa.s.s it along. The note traverses the cla.s.sroom, and more than one girl stops to read it, snickering and "oh my gos.h.i.+ng" as they do. Eventually, the note gets handed to Hannah. Her face turns red, then purple. She whips around in her chair, searching for the culprit. I meet her gaze, and she scrunches up the note, probably wis.h.i.+ng it was my head. Mission accomplished. Maybe now she'll leave Jordan alone and concentrate her vitriolic attacks on just me instead.

LETHI, SIBO, and I head to choir without Jordan, who's decided to work out her angst in the art room. Her Stigmata Martyr project is almost complete and scheduled to be unveiled in the library next Tuesday as part of culture week. Apparently, she's putting the Minora blades to good use. and I head to choir without Jordan, who's decided to work out her angst in the art room. Her Stigmata Martyr project is almost complete and scheduled to be unveiled in the library next Tuesday as part of culture week. Apparently, she's putting the Minora blades to good use.

Gabriel arrives late and fl.u.s.tered. There's a bruise on his left cheek, which, combined with his messy hair, makes him look more rugged and bada.s.s-s.e.xy than ever before. He catches my eye and gives me a tiny smile before Mrs. McArthur ruffles her tie-dyed skirts and rehearsal starts in earnest. Since we almost kissed, it hasn't exactly been a Romeo and Juliet whirlwind romance. He did SMS that night, only to say he enjoyed the evening and that we'd talk soon. I managed to control myself and not SMS him all week, even though I desperately wanted to. He finally SMSed around midnight last night saying he'd see me today-that was all.

An hour later, I follow Gabriel to the last practice room in the block, offering us a smidgen more privacy than the others. I really don't want anyone gawking in at us through the window, or standing outside laughing at my pathetic attempt to play "Chopsticks."

"How are you?" He drops a music file onto the piano.

"I'm so sick of teenage girls." I settle on the creaking stool.

"Why?"

"Because they're mean and b.i.t.c.hy. Sometimes I wish I was a boy."

"So you could just punch each other and move on?" He raises an eyebrow at me.

"Is that how it works?"

"Sometimes." He's still standing by the door.

"Is that what happened to your face?"

"Karate." Gabriel doesn't elaborate, and there's a guarded look in his eyes that makes me think maybe it didn't happen at the dojo.

"Aren't you meant to be on holiday now?"

"Ja, but Mrs. McArthur insisted I wear uniform to the practices."

Probably because she's afraid he'll arrive in a vest or something equally s.e.xy and create a hormone storm in the choir room.

"Don't you have better things to do in the holidays?"

"Not really."

Awkward.

"So where do we begin?" The black-and-white keys feel cool beneath my sweaty fingertips.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about this." He rakes his fingers through his hair. "I'm not sure this is such a good idea."

"If you want, I can pay you."

Gabriel s.h.i.+fts under my glare and jams his hands into his pockets. "That's not what I mean."

Oh, I get it. "Would you teach me if I slept with you?" I trace my fingers across the piano keys without looking at him. After an excruciating minute of silence, Gabriel perches at the edge of the piano stool.

"Christ, Treasa. No." His voice is low and rich as treacle. "Not even at all."

Great, so I disgust him. "Good to know."

"Sorry, I didn't mean it...." He closes his eyes for a moment and shakes his head. "Treasa, my life is complicated enough without a girlfriend. I just don't think I should lead you on."

"Oh." My world starts disintegrating, as if some giant hand holding sandpaper starts scrubbing out everything good and beautiful, beginning with Gabriel.

"Could we be friends?" he asks and plays a trill as if it's nothing.

Friends. Yay. Nothing better than just being friends with the boy of your dreams. But if I say no, then that's good-bye Gabriel, and not having him at all would be worse than having him only as a friend.

"Sure," I say without conviction. "Friends." I give him a wan smile, and he shuffles closer, giving me a good whiff of his deodorant. This is torture.

"Can you still read music?" he asks, apparently relieved the conversation is over.

"A bit." I avoid meeting his gaze. "The treble clef, the time signature, key signature. Not sure where these notes are on the piano, though."

He opens the music file and taps a note. I squint at a black squiggle that could be an E or a G.

"Big Dogs Fight All Cats," he says.

They're just five notes, not even music, and yet, I can't stop staring at his fingers as he plays each note according to the rhyme. I can't stop thinking about what he said. So whose life isn't complicated? It doesn't mean you shouldn't even give being with someone a chance, does it?

"Treasa?"

"Yeah?" I try to focus on the piano. "I remember a different one, about cows eating gra.s.s."

"That's for the left hand." Gabriel gestures for me to put my hands on the keyboard. He nudges my right hand up a few notes, his touch igniting every nerve ending in my body.

"This is G position. G, A, B, C, D." He plays the notes with my fingers. "Now the left hand."

He reaches around the back of me and presses the keys down with his fingers on top of mine. His chest is pressed against my back, his body heat soaking through my clothes and skin. I want to concentrate on the musical alphabet, but it's impossible with his face so close to mine. Screw it. Life is too short not to kiss a beautiful boy when he's practically on top of you anyway. I turn toward him, our lips almost touching. I angle my kiss higher, brus.h.i.+ng my lips across the bruise on his cheek.

I thought he'd pull away, run for the door, but he doesn't.

"Why?" There's a war raging behind his eyes. He fixes me with his emerald gaze, and I almost cower from the intensity of his stare.

"Why what?"

"Why me?"

Has he looked in a mirror lately? Is he that oblivious to his own awesomeness?

"Because you're perfect." I grab his tie, tugging him closer, and then my lips are on his. I remember Jordan's instruction: brief touch, pull back, share a look, then go in for the real deal. I pull back and meet Gabriel's gaze. His eyes aren't just green; they have these little flecks of brown in them and a black ring around the edges. His fingers leave a lava trail up my arm as he reaches behind my head and slips his fingers into my hair. He pulls me forward, and we kiss again as heat spools through my veins.

This time our lips meet, and his mouth opens, just like Jordan's did, and I let him kiss me, I even kiss him back, and our tongues do this darting dance like I've seen in movies. As his grip tightens in my hair, I place my own hand on his cheek, fingers hovering above the bruise. Our bodies press together, and I'm pretty sure Gabriel wants to do more than just kiss me. His pants don't do much to conceal that fact. His kiss makes me feel like a quasar, emitting enough energy to incinerate us both.

This is it, my first real kiss. So the lightbulb above us doesn't explode, and I doubt he's seeing a sunrise on Saturn. It's still a great kiss. Even so, I don't want to be me right now. I want to be a boy in the janitor's closet with him. Without thinking, I splay my fingers on his chest, running my palm across his well-defined pecs. What I want is a body like his and hair and eyes.... I want to unzip his skin and crawl inside of him.

He pulls away first and runs a hand through his hair, his forehead creased with concern.

I gulp down a lungful of air, my face ablaze. We share a long look, and I'm sure he's about to tell me how we're still just friends. The tension between us is palpable.

"n.o.body's perfect," he says.

I shrug and lick my lips, still tasting his kiss.

Gabriel surrept.i.tiously rearranges his pants and coughs a little. "You still want to play?"

"Fine. Let's get back to the G-spot."