While getting ready for school the next morning, I make the mistake of asking Riley to help me pick out a sweatshirt. I show him a blue and a green.
What do you think ?
Perched on the dresser, she tilts her head, weighs the pros and cons.
Can I see pink again?
I glare at her. I would like her to be a little
serious for once, let her stop making a mockery of everything.
I don’t have a rose! Come on, be nice, help me, I’m not early.
She rubs her chin and narrows her eyelids.
What would you say: that it’s a cerulean blue or a forget-me-not blue?
Okay, forget it.
I throw the blue sweatshirt on my bed and put on the green one.
Put on the blue one, finally. It enhances the radiance of your eyes! I interrupt myself, my nose, mouth and chin hidden under the cotton, only my eyes are visible.
I follow his advice, then search in a drawer to find my lip gloss, which I am about to apply.
Could you explain to me what this circus is all about? she continues. I want to talk about the hesitation about the sweatshirt, the sweaty palms, the makeup… What’s happening to you?
I don’t wear makeup as far as I know, I told him defensively.
Okay, I’m not going to quibble with details, Ever, but gloss, technically speaking, is still makeup. And you, my darling sister, were about to wear it.
I put the tube in the drawer and grab my cocoa butter, which I generously coat my lips with.
Ever? I’m waiting for a response, I’ll let you know!
I leave my room and go down the stairs without answering, my sister close behind me.
Okay, fine, do what you want. But if you think I’m not going to guess, you’re wrong.
That’s it, guess!
She slips through the locked door and sits on the passenger side.
Let’s see, it’s not Miles, that’s for sure, you’re not
really his type. It can’t be Haven, since she’s not exactly your type either. So it can only be… Well, I think I’ve looked around your friends. I give my tongue to the cat.
Come on, tell me who it is.
I open the garage door, get in the car and step on the gas.
I’m sure there’s something fishy going on, she shouts to cover the noise of the engine. Because, excuse me for reminding you, but it was exactly the same when you were trying to get hold of Brandon. You were freaking out, and you were completely paranoid, you remember. You kept wondering if he liked you too, and blah blah blah. Come on, give birth. Who is the unfortunate chosen one? Your next victim?
The image of Damen appeared before my eyes. He is so
beautiful and sexy with its devastating charm, it’s so realistic that you just have to reach out to touch it. I managed to control myself,
clears my throat and shifts into reverse.
There’s no one there, I assure you. But this is the last time I’ll ask for your help, that’s for sure.
When I arrive at literature class, I have a knot in my stomach, dizziness, sweaty palms, in short, I border on hysteria. But in
noticing Damen deep in conversation Stacia I add paranoia to the list, like Riley.
Damen’s long muscular legs block my
passage, where Stacia usually puts her bag to make me fall.
Um… excuse me, I said.
But he acts as if he didn’t hear me and stays perched
on the edge of Stacia’s desk. From where I observe who reaches behind his ear and pulls out a rose.
A white rose.
Fresh, pure, sparkling with dew.
When he presents her with the flower, Stacia lets out a cry of joy, as if he thought he had given her a diamond. And she begins to squeal while showing it off in front of everyone.
Oh, my God! It’s incredible ! How did you do that? Lips pursed, eyes stubbornly lowered, I turn up the volume on my iPod so I can no longer hear the sound of his voice.
I can pass ? I said through my teeth.
I meet Damen’s gaze, which sends me a brief wave of heat before becoming cold again. He ends up moving away.
I rush towards my table. My feet carry me like good little ones
soldiers, one behind the other, or like a zombie, a robot, a big stupid thing, stupidly knowing how to perform the movements for which it was programmed, but incapable of thinking for itself. I sit down and continue the perfectly practiced ritual: take out notebook, books and pen, and pretend not to notice how
Bad grace Damen gets up and walks backwards to his place, just as Mr. Robins arrives.
Goblin, what is this madness?
Haven brushes back her bangs and looks straight ahead. No longer saying bad words is the only good resolution she has made, only because she finds it funny to say “Lutin”.
Miles watches Damen charm the whole high school clique, with his angelic face, his magic pens and his stupid roses.
I knew it couldn’t last. It was too good to be true. Besides, I told you that from the first day. Do you remember ?
No, not at all, Haven stammers without taking his eyes off Damen.
Miles takes a sip of vitamin water.
I said it, though. You didn’t hear, that’s all.
I stare at my sandwich, having no desire to intervene in the debate over who said what and when, much less leer in the direction of Damen, Stacia and the others. I do not have
still suffered the blow he gave me in class this morning, when he leaned towards me during the call and slipped me a little note. So I can pass it on to Stacia.
I refused. How could a small piece of paper, folded into a triangle, hurt so much?
You just have to fend for yourself.
With a flick, Damen landed it in front of my hand.
Come on ! I promise you Robins will see nothing but fire. I glared at him.
The problem is not there.
He looked into mine with his dark eyes.
So where is he?
The problem is that I don’t want to touch that word! I do not
I don’t want to know what he says! Because, as soon as I do, I will see the words in my head – all these sweet, tender, cuddly little words,
adorable… It won’t be funny to hear them in the
Stacia head! But at least I can tell myself that she adds more,
which she misunderstood, with her obtuse little brain. But if I
touch this piece of paper, I will know the real words – and I can’t stand that.
I dropped it with the tip of my pen and, with a pounding heart, I watched Damen bend down to retrieve it. And I was ashamed of my immense relief when he stuffed it in his
pocket instead of giving it to the other idiot. I jump when Miles calls me.
Hello ? Earth calls Ever, Earth calls Ever! I have you
asked what happened. Because I don’t want to accuse you or anything, but you’re the last one to see him today…
I look at Miles without seeing him. If only I knew! I
Think back to the painting class yesterday, Damen’s eyes never leaving mine, his fingers brushing the scar on my forehead… We had shared something very personal, even magical, I’m sure. Suddenly, I remembered the other girl, before Stacia. The sublime haughty redhead from the St Régis hotel, whom I had managed to forget. How stupid and naive I could have been to have thought I would please him! Because, in reality, the real Damen is a player. It’s like that.
I’m as baffled as Miles and Haven by Damen’s attitude, but I refuse to admit it.
I didn’t do anything at all, I assure you.
I hear Miles turning my words over in his head, wondering if he should believe me or not.
Do you feel depressed, abandoned and betrayed, too? he sighs.
I want to confide in myself, to tell him everything, this jumble of
feelings I struggle with. To think that, just yesterday, I was convinced that something important had happened between Damen and me, and today I find myself face to face with it! But no, I can’t. I pick up my things and return to class, while there is still quite a bit of time before the bell rings. During French class, I look in vain for an excuse to skip drawing. While participating in the usual exercises, moving my lips to form foreign words, etc., I
racks your brain without finding how to make people believe in stomach aches , nausea, fever, dizziness, the flu, anything.
It’s not just because of Damen. No, I wonder
why I chose this course. I have no artistic talent, my work doesn’t look like anything, and I’m not likely to become an artist. I add Damen to this explosive cocktail, without forgetting a mediocre report card and, on top of that, fifty-seven minutes of great discomfort.
Finally, I went there. Because I had nothing better to do. After getting my supplies from the closet and putting on my blouse, I realize he’s not there. Minutes pass, and still no sign of Damen. I resign myself to grabbing my tubes and my brushes, and going to my easel.
Where I find that damn little note folded into a triangle.
I stare at him so intently that the rest of the world becomes blurry and dark. The class boils down to a single bright spot. My entire world is limited to this little triangle of paper sitting on the edge of an easel, with Stacia’s name scrawled on it. I do not want
I don’t know how it got there, and even if Damen isn’t there – I just made sure of that with a quick glance around – I don’t want anything to do with this message. I refuse to enter into this perverse game.
I grab a paintbrush and use it to send the end of the
paper, which flutters for a moment before falling back to the ground. I know it’s immature and ridiculous, especially when Ms. Machado
picks it up and hands it to me with a big smile.
Looks like you lost something! she remarks in a playful tone, far from suspecting that I deliberately threw it on the ground.
I put my tubes away to give myself space. She just has to give it to Stacia or, better yet, throw it in the trash.
It’s not mine.
Ah good ? Is there another Ever in the class? What ?
I take the paper that she brandishes under my nose, and notice
that she is telling the truth. “Ever” actually has it written on it, in Damen’s very recognizable handwriting. I don’t understand anything, I have no
logical explanation. But I know what I saw.
With trembling hands, I unfold one corner after the other,
taking care to smooth out the creases. And there, with my breath taken away, I discover a small drawing – an extremely precise sketch of a magnificent
red tulip.
