Chapter 6

After the brain-damaging Tuesday morning classes, I blink at Reign Hayes entering the school gymnasium with her rather famous circle of friends. See, Reign is very well-known for her physical aesthetics, gentle personality, and outstanding wits, but also, she's known to be the current mayor's half-sister. The news shocked the city, but as days have gone by, people have forgotten about the stirred-up scandal. That day was chaotic actually.

I sit on the bench, my eyes not taking off Reign's back, out in the faint sun. I think of Marco. I wonder how he's going to work this out. I hope Reign isn't in a relationship yet because I'm rooting for my cousin's shot. Reign has always been private and silent, even when she's around with her friends. She's elegantly perceptive, and it's one of her traits everybody seems to like, including me.

I've just gone from the cafeteria. I didn't feel like eating, so I ate less than I usually take in. I cross my legs and grab my sketchbook. I bite on the eraser of the pencil in my hand and let the winds of coldness enter my body. I wanted to draw something earlier, but I've forgotten it already. I close my eyes then and breathe in and out deeply, calmly, hoping it helps me remember the idea. After some seconds, it disappoints me because I remember nothing at all, but I just let my pencil's graphite run across the thick cream paper.

I find myself drawing a face of a lady. After doing her temples' contours, I accent his hair with curls — it's the late older sister of Mister Rusco Andreyev. I don't still know her name, but she's a beauty. I wonder why Mister Andreyev came up with his sister being the, somewhat, emblem of Doyarka. Anyway, after finishing her long neck and bony, unclad shoulders, a shadow covered my existence. I then raise my head and find Colton before me standing akimbo.

Colton is a running back for the school's football varsity. Lately, he's been asking for my permission to woo me. We've almost gone on a date once, but I was scared at that time. However, he's never given up on me. At least I reckon he hasn't.

"Good morning, Stella," he says while settling down beside me. He curiously peeks at my sketchbook. I shut it close and smile at him instead. "It's a nice sketch right there, huh," he adds, beaming as wide as the Pacific Ocean.

"Um, thanks," I have to say that.

"Um . . ." he trails off while scratching his nape, "Oh, yeah. Can I somehow take you out to dinner?"

"I'm sorry, Colton," I reply. "I have work."

"No worries," he stands up. "Stay safe, Stella."

"Yeah. You too," I say. Colton smiles at me and then takes off to the field. I have to admit this — he's an attractive man, physically, linguistically, and socially. I hope he doesn't assume that I'm rejecting him. I mean I also am not allowing him to court me because I have priorities set, and I'll focus on them first. Prioritize the things that deserve the right-of-way, as the experienced say.

I then rise to my feet and go in the direction where Colton came from. I pass by class buildings and then access the library. I return the booklets I borrowed last week and get a different one about maths and then log it through the librarian.

After the long sessions of afternoon classes, it's already recession. As I go through the school gates, I see Reign standing in front of Marco. In front of Marco? O God. Is he confessing personally? I was like half-joking actually at the wedding anniversary. How brave of him. I stand still behind the wall, putting my phone out and browsing the Internet. I just wait for some minutes until I see Reign get back into the campus grounds.

I then flounce to chase Marco, but he's already on the other side of the road. I get across the street and successfully make him turn to me by stomping loudly. I smile at his deep brown eyes. He just responds with a smirk. What does that mean?

"I know you saw it, Stella," he says and then continues taking small steps.

I walk at his pace. "What did she say?"

"She didn't reject my courtship, that's what I know," he blandly utters. Why does he appear spiritless? Did it go perhaps . . . bad? He speaks again, "But she also didn't give me any signs that she's into me. She just walked away in silence in goodbye."

"Marco, don't think like that," I try to beat his negativity, again. "Maybe she was just surprised. A guy like you is a prize."

"Huh?"

"It may be like this, Marco." I'm now speaking my mind, the facts. "Maybe she was just overwhelmed by the thought that an almost picture-perfect alumnus is crazy for her."

"You're so exaggerating, Stella."

"Just letting out reality."

He puts his right arm over my shoulder and pulls me to his side. "O Stella, you're so . . . Anyway, Mom and Dad aren't home. You can stay for a while so I can help you with the Chemistry stuff you're working on."

"Really?" I say while putting my arm around his waist. "I thought you weren't going to help me with that. You were like so hard to get along with all week long."

"No, I wasn't. What the hell," he sneers, and then we chuckle in unison.

We get into their block and enter their house. As always, the tiled floor is glistening and the walls are cream-colored as chalk. I sit in the living room while Marco is in the kitchen busy making snacks. I put off my backpack and start wandering around the room. I see framed pictures sitting on a cabinet — Aunt Hilda's family of four. Marco's older brother, the same age as Sean, has also been married. They moved to the United States four years ago. I also see a picture of Marco and I together with our cousins when we were still grade schoolers. I laugh under my breath while looking at my teeth gap caused by a missing upper incisor.

"Missing those days, huh?" Marco appears with a tray of sandwiches and orange juice. He lays it on the table and sits comfortably, his legs straightened out to the other side of the couch.

I sit on the adjacent upholstered chair and take a sip of the tangy juice. "Yes, I guess. I want to go back to the time when I didn't have to worry about my future."

"Well, that's sad because—"

"I know."

"Anyway, what's up with Chemistry?" he takes the booklet I'm handing him. He flips some pages until he reaches the bookmarked one. "Well, shit. I barely remember anything about this."

"It's fine," I respond. "Just remember anything."

He rolls his eyes. "What are you taking in college?"

"Arts? Journalism? I don't actually know," I partly lie. "What do you picture me getting?"

"Um, culinary arts?"

"Marco."

"What?" he chuckles. "You work in an Italian restaurant so."

"I've been thinking of taking the SAT when one opens," I say. "Anyway, how have you been doing in your sophomore year in college?"

"Same shits. Although the allowance I make suffices my weekly life, the academic competition is real," he explains while munching a mouthful of my sandwich. He's going to a prestigious university on the other side of the city. The university doesn't offer any scholarships. If you're admitted there, it means you're as financially hardworking as Marco, or as financially fortunate as Kent. Why would I say his name?

"Well, All I can say is 'Good luck' so." I swallow the last bite of my sandwich.

Marco continues to figure out the homework I gave him while I lean on the backrest of the chair. He speaks again, "How's Aunt Mace?"

I close my eyes and circle my thumbs on my thighs. "Good, I guess."

"You two can move here."

"No, cousin. We can survive this."

"As you said," he says. "Kent has been asking me about you though." He and Kent are batch mates, which I find disturbing.

I roll my eyes, my eyelids still shut. "Ignore him when he talks about me."

"He hasn't moved on yet. Have you?"

"I peacefully have."

"He loves you."

"You think so?" I stare at my cousin with disinterested eyes. "Because I don't."

Marco sighs as he scratches out stuff. "Well, be ready because the academic year is nearing an end, meaning he's going to be back in this area anytime soon."

"I know that, and I know how to deal with his nuisance." I put on my earbuds and play a playlist of ragtimes. The rhythms and accompaniment of the piano seem to drift me away from reality.

When Marco finishes my homework, I thank him for it and the snack. He says it's nothing. That's why he's my favorite cousin ever, even though he's a jerk of negativity sometimes. I tell him not to worry about Reign since I can feel that she's just overwhelmed. My intuition talks to me about it so. I bid him goodbye and then I ride on my bike to our apartment.

As I enter our place, I happen to see Mom sitting on a small stool. He's looking at the orange-tinted horizon through the clouded-up windowpane. I embrace her from the back and kiss her cheek. She just gives me a smile saying 'Take care in your work later.' I reheat the macaroni and cheese and spaghetti for her, but she says she doesn't want to eat yet, so I just put a lid on the dishes and tell her to tuck them away when her stomach grumbles. She nods an 'Okay' and so I take a warm shower and slide into my uniform. I kiss Mom goodbye and then hail a taxi to the workplace.

I turn up at the restaurant just right before the guests start flooding it. Taking orders here, serving meals there. Cleaning tables here, rushing through the crowd there. I don't know, but I get excited when it's a hectic day. It somehow challenges me to be patient and relaxed amid good chaos. I've dealt with the guests until the clock ticks nine-thirty. The restaurant closes early due to some technical malfunction in the freezer room. The shift manager and a couple of repairers are the only ones left in the building to mend the problem.

I dry my hands with a towel and then open the taxi-hailing application — there's no available service at the moment. I sigh in annoyance because I badly am needing to finish my homework and sleep. I'm grateful because Marco already did Chemistry. That task would've slain my sanity. I wait for another couple of minutes, but no, there really isn't a taxi available. Is my phone good? Is the application on maintenance? Or am I just unlikely to find luck tonight? Because yes, he's here again — Ryle Andreyev.

He screeches his motorcycle to a halt in front of me. I roll my eyes as he takes his helmet off, turning to my side so I can't see his face. His presence has already brought me to a silent abyss. I cross my arms over my chest and calm my core. Honestly, my nervousness when being around him has kind of subsided. I know he's a moron, but as I learned about his father, I've felt less . . . endangered, I guess.

He gets off his cycle and stands akimbo before me. He's in his typical outfit — body clad in leather garments. He holds onto the shoulder strap of my bag. I just look at him furiously while getting his hand off my stuff. He clenches his jaws and lets out a sough. "Let me take you to your home," he says at a slow pace.

"What?" I take a step back.

"I said I'll take you to your apartment," he says again as if I didn't understand the sentence he uttered.

"I heard you loud and clear," I spit out. "I just don't like being offered a lift by some moronic stranger."

He shakes his head and lowers his head. He moves to my side and just pockets his hands. I can hear his foot tapping the ground. I really dislike his drumming sessions. He stands there for a few damn minutes and I can't take the awkwardness anymore.

I'm about to cross the road when he grabs my wrist, the touch of his cold fingers giving me bodily chills. "Where are you going?" he asks.

"I'm going to wait for a taxi to be available on the other side of the road since you don't know what 'privacy' means." I cockily smile.

He eases off his grip on my wrist. "It's freezing out here. You have to let me give you a ride."

"So go home and get warmth—" I cut in my own words because I was about to connect 'in your palace.' I avert my eyes from his deep grays and stand still. "How much?"

"How much what?"

"The fare."

"The hell does that mean?" He takes off his leather jacket, revealing his broad shoulders and well-toned arms.

My heart starts to pump swiftly. 'What the hell, Stella? Don't feel that way,' I say mentally. I turn away from Ryle and shut my eyes close.

"Let me have your bag," he then utters.

"What?"

"I said take your bag off," he says with a hint of annoyance.

Because I'm being consciously stupid again, I obey his word. I bring my bag down on the rear seat of his cycle. He put his arms around me and I just throw him an expression of confusion. He then looks down at my hands, and then to the sleeves of his jacket, and then he does it again. Oh, I get it. I slide my arms into the sleeves and, O boy, does it bring warmth to my icy skin. I can also smell his strong, sweet perfume while he zips the jacket shut. I hate myself for liking the fragrance on him.

He wears his helmet, sits astride on his motorcycle, and then turns the engine on. He looks back at me and I quickly get on the vehicle, putting my bag between us so I don't touch him along the trip.

"Put it on, the bag," he commands.

"Why?" I ask.

"Its contact with my back is so uneasy," he explains.

I say an "Oh" while wearing my bag.

"Hold on," he again instructs.

I hold the back of the rear seat.

"Hold on," he says in a more aggressive tone.

I then hold onto the hem of his thin undershirt. He turns back at me with furious eyes and then grabs my hands. He wraps my arms tight around his waist and then he brings out, "Don't let your grip on me loosen up, or I'll—" he pauses. "Just don't let go of me. Can you do that?"

Because I've gotten no other choice, I nod in forced agreement. I don't feel like picking up a fight with him tonight because I'm too tired to do so, so I tighten my embrace on him and lean forward until my torso wholly touches his back. I put my chin on his upper back and indulge in his somewhat addictive smell. My skin feeling his warmth is so pleasant to the senses. I hate it.

"Just hold on tight," he softly says before revving up through the street.