True Intentions Page 4

  What a unique color.

  I turn away slowly—unwillingly. Euphoric emotions take over when I look at his too-perfect face. I'm in such awe; I'd consider jumping off a cliff if he asked. I close my eyes and exhale as I sit down to face the front. I fight the urge to turn around and catch another glimpse of this amazing boy who is causing my heart to skip beats. My stomach knots up so tightly, I feel a wave of nausea wash over me. I've felt euphoric emotions before, but never over some boy. I sit motionless in my seat, mentally unable to process anything Mr. Whitmore lectures about.

  I hear his easy breathing from behind my chair, and I remind myself to fight the overwhelming desire to look back for another quick peek. Just knowing he is so close becomes a constant distraction. I'm unable to concentrate on anything other than him.

  Have I ever seen another boy's face as attractive as his?

  Doubtful.

  I feel like a drug addict looking for one quick hit; I am willing to do almost anything to get that one hit.

  What the hell is wrong with me? Am I going mad?

  I wait anxiously in my seat as I anticipate the end of class. I hope he'll walk past me and acknowledge my existence. Maybe say hi or something.

  The bell rings loudly, jerking me back into reality. My drug gracefully exits his seat and heads straight out the classroom door, never once looking back. I'm fascinated by his unique effect on me. How can a boy be so completely captivating? I bite my lip hard and swallow the strange, nauseating lump in my throat. It could be saliva. After all, I'm drooling over him. Despite my strong desire to regain control, I stare at him as he walks, my mind spinning with confusion.

  I think I need to throw up.

  I sit for a moment, making a useless attempt to compose myself. I grab my backpack and walk aimlessly down the hall, still in awe. This is too surreal. My heart has never pounded so hard, not even when running, which I enjoyed doing some mornings back in Chicago.

  I know, without any doubt, I'm boundary challenged with this boy. If I hadn't been so darn slow getting out of my chair, I might have followed him to his next class.

  "Ava . . . Ava!" someone yells behind me, breaking through my obsessive train of thought.

  I turn around and see Sara hastily running up.

  "You're going the wrong way," she gasps, trying to catch her breath as she makes her way to me.

  My face goes blank. I totally forgot telling Sara I would meet her after English class. Actually, I forgot everything after I saw that boy's angelic face. I can't explain that to her. What would I say?

  "Oh, gosh . . . . Sorry, Sara. I'm so directionally uncoordinated. I'm lucky I found my way to school to begin with," I say. I can't tell her the truth. That I'm so infatuated with a boy whom I've never even spoken to.

  How can anyone be so mesmerizing?

  "That's okay," Sara says, soft giggles echoing from her throat. "I guess I'll need to get you a GPS to use around the school."

  I laugh with her. "If you can find one with these hallways listed in it, I'll take it, for sure!"

  "So what class do you have next?" she asks. "Hopefully it is not Geography."

  * * * * *

  I'm starting to get a slight grasp of where my classes are in comparison to this excuse for a map. Hopefully, I don't look out of place.

  Now all I need is an expensive car and blond highlights.

  At lunch, I sit with Sara and a couple of her girlfriends. Their names are Michelle and Angie. Both girls are pleasant, but I sense they're slightly uncomfortable to have

  "the new girl" around. During lunch, they ask me questions yet don't give me any personal information in return.

  I really should have worn the one-dollar-per-question T-shirt.

  Surprisingly, Jack stops by our table to say hi. Sara doesn't take her eyes off him the entire time he talks.

  Interesting . . . .

  I want to ask Sara about the mysterious classmate who took my breath away today. But, because we're hanging out with Michelle and Angie, I hold back. We finish our lunch break, and then I head toward the first of my three remaining classes of the day. I'm hoping Mr. Mysterious may be in one of them. I remain disappointed each time I enter another classroom.

  There's always the hope of seeing him in the parking lot after classes are dismissed.

  Another disappointment.

  The trip home gives me an opportunity to dream about my day, or mostly about the few moments I laid my eyes on him.

  I arrive to the house and run up to my bedroom. The butterflies in my stomach are still making me queasy. Luckily, my grandparents are out "house shopping" with my mom, so at least I have some privacy. I sit on my bed, feeling surprisingly more comfortable with my bedroom than when I first came here. My room is broken down into two parts. The first is a loft where I have my own couch and entertainment center with a small flat-screen TV. There's a door to the right leading to my rustic-looking bathroom. It's fully equipped with a claw foot tub—perfect for soaking. The biggest disadvantage of living here: there's no shower upstairs. I have to shower downstairs in my mom's bathroom. Suddenly, I remember the time change from here to Chicago.

  I have to email Mallory.

  I pull out the laptop and log on to my account.

  Mallory,

  Miss you!

  Hope all is well.

  Is Scott Johnson still "obsessively shadowing" you in attempts to get you to agree to go to prom with him? LOL!

  Things here have been going ok. We are still looking for a permanent place, but living with my grandparents for now. Grandpa gave me his old Jeep. It is actually kind of cool. I am looking forward to the weather here warming up a bit so I can take the top down. I have never seen as many BMWs, Lexus, and Mercedes in my life . . . . It is unreal!!!

  The best part to report happened today. The school here is soooo different than home.

  People look like they are so fake and way too good for everyone else on the planet. I did meet a couple of average Joes, but you would not believe this kid in my English class.

  Mal, I swear he is the hottest guy our age that I have ever seen. He is so beautiful!!!!!! I don't know how to describe him. I was so dumbstruck, that I never said hi and don't even know his name. Since I'm a loser—I nicknamed him Mr. Mysterious. I will have to secretly snap a picture with my camera phone for you. 

  Ok, enough about me . . . . What else is happening there?

  Talk to you soon.

  Luv ya!

  Ava

  I hit send and decide to shop online for a bit until she writes me back. After all, it's 4:00 p.m. in California, which means it's 7:00 p.m. in Chicago. Mallory has to be done with dinner and working on homework, or maybe playing on the computer.

  "You've Got Mail" pops up.

  I click to the email section, anxious to see her reply.

  Ava—

  OMG

  Are you serious? What does he look like? Tell me EVERYTHING!!!!

  I can't believe you choked! That is too funny . . . . You definitely need to get me a picture.

  I am dying to see him.

  Does your new school post their yearbook on their website? I read something about some schools doing that nowadays.

  Keep me posted.

  Oh, by the way, Scott is still driving me nuts begging me to go to prom, of course! Some things don't change. I now have a new admirer, Timothy Blueton. Do you remember him? He was the editor of the school newspaper. I think he's either planning to write a huge article on me (doubt it. . . .) or considering asking me out. What a total dork~

  See ya and luv you too . . . .

  Mal

  What a genius! Mallory is always one step ahead of everyone when it comes to problem solving. Maybe I can find out his name by looking online.

  I search "Rim of the World High School in Lake Arrowhead California" and easily access the website. I look all around the webpage for a yearbook link—nothing . .

  . . Darn! Then I come across the tab "Sports," and a
light bulb flashes in my head.

  Maybe, just maybe, the team pictures with names will be posted on the website. He looks like he might play sports. I click on the sports tab, hoping— or maybe praying— I'm right.

  The sports section only shows different sporting opportunities at the school like football, baseball, soccer, basketball, etc. No pictures or team members listed. So much for my great light bulb idea; it was more like a small, lighted match that quickly went out.

  Sitting here criticizing myself, I start to feel ashamed for my obsessive behavior today.

  This ideal boy, whom I never even spoke to, has so much power over my emotions. I've been thinking about him constantly.

  I forcefully flip my head from left to right to whip him out of my mind. I'm livid at myself. Not for being attracted to this boy, but for being unable or unwilling to stop his overwhelming, constant presence in all my thoughts. I need to pull myself together.

  I need to stop thinking about his startling, teal eyes, his perfect, light hair, and the way it lays on his face. Oh my God . . . I'm doing it again!

  That's it. I'm bound and determined not to lose all my self-control over some guy.

  Especially not this guy who I don't even know!

  In the last two years, I've wished I would find someone I could possibly date and maybe even eventually have as a boyfriend. At York, with a two thousand plus student population, I never got even close to finding someone I felt chemistry toward, especially like this. How can I come to some tiny school in the mountains and my very first day act like a moron drooling over some boy like a dog drools over a bone?

  My thoughts are unexpectedly interrupted by the sound of gravel crunching under tires. A car creeps slowly up the driveway. It's probably my mom and grandparents coming home from their house hunt. I hope that I'll stop obsessing about my unusual, first day at Rim of the World now. Mr. Mysterious is becoming the "rim of my world," and I don't even know his name.

  Chapter Five - Running

  I toss and turn in bed, not dreaming of my mysterious classmate, but rather unable to stop dreaming about Aiden. In my dream, we're heading to school, riding together in my new Jeep. I'm in the driver's seat. We laugh and talk about our weekend plans. Then the paved road abruptly stops. Instead of the typical, winding roads of Lake Arrowhead, this road goes straight into the mountain. We both look around, unsure of how to get home. The thick, forest engulfs us on both sides of the road. We're stuck. The only option is to turn around.

  I put the Jeep into reverse, when large boulders suddenly fall from the mountain and land all around us. One smashes on top of the Jeep's hood. We're trapped. I look over to the passenger side, but Aiden is missing. I scream in terror, and then abruptly awake from my nightmare, unsure of what happened, or what my horrific dream meant.

  Do I feel trapped?

  Do I feel like Aiden dying is my fault?

  Do I wish I had died with him, or is that my true fear?

  I calm myself down, but I can't get comfortable enough to fall asleep. I wait for my thoughts to cease, for the darkness of the bedroom to overcome my sorrows, yet nothing happens.

  My attempt to fall back asleep is not working. I look over at the alarm clock. It's 5:50 a.m. I yawn, stretch, and then decide to go for a quick run. Back in Chicago, a morning jog used to be my way to escape from reality. It was a time when I could roam freely and let my body take charge. Today, I feel the overwhelming need to experience that type of escape. I want to feel a sense of freedom, even if it is only briefly. I grab my grey sweatpants, black tank top, and my favorite, black, North Face parka . My running shoes are still packed, so I rummage around frantically through two large totes in my closet. After I dump the totes out on the floor, I find my sneakers. I quickly slip them on without untying the laces. Once I'm downstairs in the kitchen, I reach for a small water bottle in the fridge and tuck it inside my jacket pocket. I write a quick note for my mom, so she won't freak if she wakes up and discovers I'm missing. Then I head out the door looking forward to exercising.

  The sun is rising, and a warm glow fills the sky directly over the horizon. Light dew from the night before covers the grass and landscape. The air smells pure and natural without the smell of pollution like I distinctly remember from Chicago. As I stretch, there is wildlife all around me. Squirrels munch on birdseed; different species of birds peck on the forest ground. A sense of peace washes over me. I understand why my grandparents love this place. I can't deny this mountain's unbelievable and breathtaking views.

  I trot down the dirt drive, taking in the forest. The gravel feels strange under my feet. Back in Chicago, I ran on pavement. Gravel feels completely different, as different as walking on a treadmill versus walking outdoors. As I finish my warm up, a sudden realization hits me. I forgot to grab my iPod. I never go running without it. No worries.

  My surroundings have enough going on to keep me entertained. Layers of mature trees clumped together along the entire driveway. I stroll along, picking up my pace to a steady, comfortable level. The driveway curves slightly to the right until it hits the road.

  I turn east to maximize the light coming from the sunrise.

  I jog for about half a mile or so, then approach another jogger heading my direction. From this distance I can tell the jogger is male, wearing black basketball shorts and a dark gray or black, hooded sweatshirt with the hood up. The sweatshirt covers most of his face. He is on the opposite side of the road and moving at a significantly greater speed than I am. As the distance between us grows shorter, I start to feel uncomfortable, although I'm not quite sure why.

  Maybe it's the Unabomber-look this stranger has going on?

  Chills go down my spine as I get a weird feeling he's been watching me.

  When did he take notice of me?

  I'm apprehensive contemplating these thoughts, and then my uneasiness grows.

  He abruptly switches over to running on my side of the road. We're almost at the point of reaching each other; maybe six yards remain between us. Even more bizarre, he stops directly in front of me, obstructing my way. My eyes grow wide in horror, and my lips tremble uncontrollably. A small drop of sweat rolls down the back of my neck. I'm getting awfully close to crapping my pants.

  I wish I had taken the self-defense classes offered back in Chicago. They may come in handy right about now.

  "What are you doing here?" he asks. His voice is cold. He stands motionless, demanding an answer.

  I look up at his covered face and feel weak in the knees when I see teal eyes!

  It's him, my mysterious classmate from yesterday . . . . Is this some sick dream?

  "Excuse me?" My mind spins.

  He's actually talking to me!

  "I said . . . . What are you doing here?" he repeats more slowly, like he was speaking to someone learning disabled. His impatience leaks out in his tone.

  What right does he have to be angry at me for jogging? Does he own this road or something?

  "I heard you," I bark back, confused why his attitude is getting me worked up. I purse my lips tightly together as my face flushes to a beet red.

  "Listen . . . ." His voice still sounds angry, but then he turns to look over his shoulder. His voice drops a few octaves as he continues. "You need to head back home.

  It's not safe for you to be out here . . . . Alone, I mean."

  "How do you know what's safe for me?" I question, not taking his advice seriously. After all, this place has to be safer than running in Chicago for Pete's sake.

  Okay, now I'm sounding like my grandfather.

  "Can you just trust me?" he pleads. "Just give me the benefit of the doubt."

  He glances over his shoulder as if he's hurrying. There's a seriousness in his narrowed eyes that makes me gulp the lump sitting in my throat. He takes a step back from me, his jaw suddenly clenching.

  I want to press the issue—ask more questions. But I stop before any words leave my mouth. I nod grudgingly and back away from him.

&n
bsp; He turns slowly, but maintains eye contact with me for another moment, and then takes off running east. As his silhouette disappears, I turn the rest of the way around and sprint back to my grandparent's log cabin. The terror is excruciating. My heart is beating like it will rip out of my chest.

  Why was he so avid to keep me from continuing on my path?

  Why was he dressed so conspicuously?

  What is going on?

  Did I interrupt something?

  I feel nauseated like I did when I first saw him yesterday. Maybe it's from hyperventilating. He didn't even seem to notice my existence yesterday in English class, but today he's yelling at me to go home like we're old buddies.

  It doesn't make sense.

  I make it to the house in record speed. Sweat rolls down my backside. I run inside, slamming the door behind me. My shoes, extremely wet from the morning dew, are cold and irritating. I struggle to get them off, unsure if it's the cold shoes or my nerves causing me to quiver uncontrollably. I kick them along the side of the door, then I rip off the parka with the full, unopened water bottle in the zipped pocket, and toss it on the hardwood floor. I walk briskly upstairs to grab some clean clothes, and then dart back downstairs to jump in the shower.

  Even before the water has a chance to warm up, I'm inside and closing the shower curtain. I stare blankly at the tile, trying to make sense of what happened. The water feels cool, yet refreshing. Typically, I hate cold water. I turn the hot water as high as I can tolerate, hot enough it feels as though my skin is falling off. I lather up, wishing I had pried more instead of just shutting up. I should have demanded he explain his reason for all this. But once again, I just headed home, never questioning his intentions.

  I'm such a wimp. Just like yesterday when I couldn't muster up the courage to ask him his stupid name.

  Maybe he isn't so out of line to talk to me like I'm mentally disabled.