A Matter of Fate Page 6

  There is a stifled laugh from the back of the room. I turn to find, much to my utter dismay and chagrin, the twins sitting on the wooden bench against the wall near the door.

  How long have they been in here?

  Kellan mock-whispers, “I’ve got my money on you.” Jonah, though, looks beyond shocked. Eyes wide and concerned. Angry, even. For the briefest of moments, I wonder if he’s going to stand up and say something. Defend me. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he appears just as upset as I am. Our eyes meet, and he actually does stand up, but, appalled at how he and Kellan have just witnessed me melt down and lash out at a clerk, I whip my head back towards Applebaum. My insides are churning, my hands trembling. Why do I let my mother get to me like this?

  Much to my utter shock, the clerk is scratching out a tardy slip for me. And all I want to do is run, because Jonah just saw me do that. They both did. Gods. What must they think? That I’m a lunatic with rage issues?

  She holds the slip out and I snatch it out of her hand. Unable to help myself, I choke out, “Go ahead and call her. I don’t care. What’s the worst you can do to me? Suspend me? It doesn’t matter. None of this matters.”

  And then, because my confidence finally fails me, I flee the room.

  Chapter 10

  During passing period, I shove my head into my locker, wishing for a way to cram my entire body in. Then I could shut the door behind me, leaving all of the events of the morning to fade into the darkness.

  “Tough day?”

  I yank my head out and find Kellan standing next to my locker. My breath catches in the back of my throat, because he’s so unbearably sexy. And I’m not alone, because every girl walking by drools unabashedly. I can’t believe he’s here. Next to my locker. Talking to me after watching me yell at the attendance clerk! I blush, ruining any effort at playing it cool. “Sort of.”

  He raises a hand and scratches his forehead—there’s a wide black leather cuff on his left wrist in place of a watch. I like it. It seems so him. “That was some show you put on in the office.”

  I’m about to say something witty, like, “Ugh, don’t remind me,” but then I decide to tell him the truth. “Everybody has their breaking point. I guess I reached mine today.”

  Stupidly, I’d expected (hoped for?) a phone call or a text from my mother expressing her disappointment in my actions, but true to form, nothing appeared. Because to call me would have required that little bit of effort a loving mom would put out for her daughter.

  “Yeah?”

  I chew on my bottom lip and study him. He seems genuinely interested in my answer. “I don’t like being compared to someone else, you know?”

  “No one does, C.”

  “I guess you’d know that pretty well, huh?” He gives me a questioning look, so I lamely add, “What with you being a twin and all.”

  I can almost read his mind: Ah, let the twin jokes commence.

  I try for damage control. “Does that happen to you a lot? Comparisons, I mean?”

  He gives a small laugh. “Every day.”

  “Huh. You seem so different from one another. You even look totally different.”

  Surprise softens his features. “You think? Most people have a very difficult time telling us apart.”

  I blush again, realizing my slip. “It’s just, uh, from what I could tell so far, you seem different from one another.”

  Kellan studies me intently for a moment. I try not to squirm. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the tardy sort.”

  “And you are?”

  He chuckles. “Occasionally.”

  I laugh, and all of the crummy feelings plaguing me since waking up this morning evaporate.

  He grins at me mischievously. “So. Here we are. At school.”

  “Yes, but not in class,” I offer, remembering my foolish words from Friday night.

  “Hmm . . . .” He crosses his arms across his chest, tilting his head to the side. “You’re right.”

  Out of the blue, I become aware of a very strong, distinctive pull toward him, almost as if there’s a cord connected between the two of us. It tugs at me in strong, mouth-watering ways. Okay, Chloe. Breathe. “So, what class do you have next?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

  His lips curve upwards. “What would you say if I told you I don’t have any more classes today?”

  “Surely you’re not planning on ditching!” And then I want to groan, because HELLO. Do I sound like the ultimate goody-goody or what?

  “Why not?” And then, after a short pause, much more seriously—”Come with me.”

  Positive I misheard him, I offer a sophisticated, “Huh?”

  He doesn’t repeat anything. Instead, he holds out a hand.

  And I take it.

  When his fingers curve over mine, it strikes me how right his hand in mine feels. Like our fingers are meant to fit together.

  Rather than discussing destinations or the insanity of our actions, I lean back into the warm leather seat of his car and ask, “This yours?”

  With a completely straight face, he says, “It’s stolen.”

  “Just this morning, or late last night?”

  An eyebrow quirks up. “Yesterday afternoon.”

  I laugh as he fiddles with the stereo. “So. Why yellow?”

  “Why not?”

  “They say that a car’s color says a lot about its owner.”

  “Is that so?” He glances over at me, amused as he shifts gears. “What do you think yellow says about me?”

  “Hmm. I would say that yellow indicates a need for . . . being recognized.”

  He laughs out loud at that. “Is that what I’m doing?”

  “Maybe,” I smile, although it’s obvious he doesn’t have to seek attention. The last few days have shown me that attention follows him whether he wants it or not.

  He surprises me when he asks, “Your car is blue, right?”

  “How did you know that?”

  He ignores the question and asks instead, “What does blue say about you?”

  “Maybe it means I’m looking for peace.”

  “Really.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Well, since you think we’re so different, what do you think my brother’s car’s color means? His is white.”

  I picture the SUV I’ve seen several times already. Grappling for something that won’t shriek, I love your brother, I offer, “White means . . . a need to blend in.”

  Kellan glances at me, somewhat surprised for a second, before snorting. “He’d find that interesting.”

  “Is it accurate?”

  “I guess you’d have to ask him, wouldn’t you?”

  I wish I could. Yet, here I am instead with Jonah’s twin, heading to parts unknown, and my tightly leashed life suddenly feels less restrained than it has in a long time. And I know it has a lot to do with the guy sitting in the seat next to me. Which is crazy, crazy, CRAZY, because it ought to be Jonah, yet it’s not.

  A quick glance at the speedometer tells me Kellan’s driving fast for rain. But rather than being alarmed, I’m not bothered in the least because, for some bizarre reason, I completely trust his instincts. I don’t know when it appeared, but it’s here all the same—a very distinct feeling of safety with him. An inherent knowledge that this guy would do everything and anything to make sure I stay safe.

  So I lean my head back and savor the scenes whipping by us, green-and-brown watercolors of blurred trees mixing with the rain streaking on the windshield.

  Kellan leans against a guardrail overlooking the ocean and tells me, “I like this place.”

  It’s still raining, so I allow myself the opportunity to move close enough to feel the lovely warmth radiating from him. “Why?”

  “I feel connected to the ocean, like I’m part of a larger picture. Part of a whole. But at the same time, very singular.”

  “How very poetic.”

  He laughs, cheeks pink. On him, it’s amazingly disarming and tempting at the same time.

 
“Is that why you enjoy surfing so much?”

  “Yeah,” he admits. “It helps me think.”

  “Deep thoughts?”

  He pretends to consider about this. “Occasionally shallow.”

  “I watched you surfing on Saturday,” I confess with a sheepish smile. “You’re very good. It seems to suit your personality.”

  “More than the yellow car?”

  I laugh. “More than the car.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, it sort of goes back to what I was talking about earlier. Everyone was talking about you. You were impossible not to notice out there.”

  He puts a hand against his chest, pretending to be wounded. “So what you’re saying is that I’m some sort of attention whore?”

  “No! I mean . . . that came out wrong.” I fumble for the right words. “I don’t think you do it on purpose. I think you’re the sort of person who is impossible to ignore.”

  He taps a finger against his chin. “Impossible?”

  “You know what I mean.” A flush creeps up my neck.

  “Let’s say you’re right about this attention thing,” he says, generously pretending to ignore my foot in my mouth. “How does this explain my brother? He’s just as good as me at surfing. If he wants to . . . how’d you put it? Blend in? What does it say about him?”

  Now I’m completely flustered. “Oh. Um . . . he likes to hide out in the waves?”

  “You can do better than that, or I’ll start to think you’re just grasping at straws,” he teases. And then he tucks a strand of misty hair behind my ear and my knees weaken. I am excruciatingly aware of every inch of him, of how fabulous he smells, and of how each accidental graze against me makes my heart feels like it’s going to smash out of my chest. “Do you surf?”

  I struggle to find a level voice. “No, but I wish I did. My parents never would let me. They told me such activities don’t suit my personality.”

  “But cheering does?”

  I roll my eyes. “According to my mother, who I should point out barely knows me, it does.” And then—”I want to quit.”

  “What?” he gasps, pretending to be shocked. “You aren’t a perky cheerleader?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “I thought not,” he says rather smugly. “You don’t have the temperament for it.”

  I stare at him, perplexed.

  He clarifies, “You hide your true feelings a lot from people.”

  I blink a few times, surprised by this assessment. “And you know this . . . how?”

  He shrugs. “I have a knack for this sort of stuff.”

  “This sort of stuff,” I repeat.

  He doesn’t say anything further, just smiles knowingly. I’m flustered again and rather breathless at the same time. “So,” I say, still wanting to hear his voice, “how long have you been surfing?”

  He thinks about this. “Since we were six. We had an uncle who surfed, and he’d take us out to help us deal with things.”

  Deal with things? I shift through my memories for anything Jonah might’ve told me over the years that Kellan might be referencing. Maybe . . . their mom’s death, since it occurred around the same time?

  Kellan’s quiet for a moment. “You know, if you really want to try surfing, I’d be more than happy to show you how. We’ve got some extra boards at the house.”

  I let him change the conversation. “Really?”

  “Sure.” A wicked smile forms. “We won’t tell your mom, though.”

  Imagining him teaching me to surf makes the goose bumps come back. “I would love that.”

  “Then it’s a date.”

  I literally have to will myself not to swoon. As I pick at peeling paint off the railing, I ask, “Why the extra boards? I was under the impression surfers get attached to a specific board and tend to use it religiously. At least, that’s what Graham tells me.”

  “Well, if Graham says it, then it must be so.” I give him a mock-stern finger, and he laughs. “Sorry. He’s right, though. I do have a favorite board.”

  “What makes it special?”

  “My uncle took us to a surfboard maker in Hawaii several years ago for boards made to our exact specifications. We got to hang around the shop and watch the process, even help. It was pretty amazing.”

  “It must mean a lot to you, then.”

  “Yeah,” he admits, smiling a little. “To answer your other question, the extras were my uncle’s; he passed away recently, and we inherited them.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I place a hand on his arm. The tingling that comes with our touches is becoming addictive.

  Kellan stares at my hand, confusion flashing across his face. I begin to pull my hand back, worried I’d misread things, but then he places his over mine. And then, while we’re both staring at our hands, they slide and link together.

  All I can stupidly think about is how much I want this guy to kiss me, which is WRONG, because I love his brother. At least, if his brother and the guy from my dreams are the same, which I think is the case, no—know so— I have got to get a handle on myself. Ask non-kissing kinds of questions. “How do you like California so far?”

  His cocky smile returns. “I’d say it’s growing on me.”

  Okay, so I’m back to the whole kissing thing again. Must. Focus. On other. Things. “Why did you move here?”

  “The Old Man decreed it so.”

  “Who?”

  He smirks. “My dad.”

  “Why would he do that, at the beginning of your senior year?”

  “I have to admit, I questioned the logic behind suddenly moving three thousand miles away myself.”

  I think about this. “You’re from the East Coast.”

  He nods. “Maine.”

  “When I think of Maine, I think of blueberries and lobsters, not surfing.”

  “Well, it’s not like living in Hawaii full time,” he says. “But it was tolerable for our local needs when we weren’t able to travel to better breaks.”

  “On the East Coast?”

  “Anywhere,” he shrugs.

  “Let me get this right,” I say, trying to ignore how good his thumb running up and down my hand feels, but it’s a losing battle. “You go places just to surf?”

  His head tilts to the side, puzzled. “Yes?”

  “You’re lucky,” I say quietly. “I’ve hardly ever had the chance to travel. I’ve been trapped here my whole life.”

  “That’s too bad,” he murmurs, and then I hold my breath as his other hand carefully pushes wet strands away from my eyes. “There are a lot of places that help expand one’s horizons out there.”

  The butterflies in my stomach take off, making me dizzy. Or maybe they’re not butterflies—because butterflies are so delicate. These are strong feelings. Maybe they’re more like dragonflies with incandescent wings.

  We’re staring at each other now, eyes locked together, and all of those butterflies or dragonflies are insane with need. I’m tingling and nervous and giddy and terrified all at the same time.

  Is he feeling the same things I am? He’s so calm and collected, so outwardly opposite of what’s going on in me. My hands are itching, desperate to touch him, bring him closer. My heart’s racing, chanting words I’m terrified of: kissmekissmekissme As if he can hear this, Kellan gently takes my face in his hands. Then he leans forward and his lips touch mine, so softly, really, but at the massive jolt it sends into my system, the dragonflies explode into a full-fledged frenzy.

  And then we’re really kissing, and he’s like a drug or fine wine or any of those things that people say make them lightheaded and delirious. My body moves with a mind of its own, close as possible to his, because I want him, need him so much that it’s almost painful. Thunder cracks overhead and the rain falls harder. But I don’t care, because the only thing that matters is this connection between the two of us and the way it makes me feel.

  Eventually, when the rain gets to be too distracting, we climb into the backse
at of his car. And there, he kisses me senseless. After we come up for air, he murmurs, “You were not in the plans.”

  I think of the unbending and stressful path before me. “What sort of plans do you have?”

  He looks out of the fogged up window and says quietly, “The sort that are difficult to go into detail over.”

  I reach over to hold his hand. “Believe it or not, I can relate.”

  His beautiful blue eyes stay fixed on the window. And then, hesitantly, “I like spontaneity—prefer it, even—but my life is pretty much a mapped-out thing. Not a lot of room for variation.”

  Those two sentences pretty much sum up my future, too.

  Then he turns back toward me and presses his forehead against mine. “I know this is going to sound completely crazy, but the very first time I saw you last week, it was almost like I already knew you.”

  Words to keep forever.

  He laughs, embarrassed. “The truth is I’ve never been so instantly attracted to someone in my entire life as I’ve been to you. It was a crazy weekend, because you were all I really could think about.”

  Thank goodness I’m already sitting down, because I just might swoon.

  “Too much, too soon?” he asks me.

  “No,” I whisper, unable in the slightest to explain or understand all of the wonderful and confusing feelings streaking through me. And while I can’t say it’s the first time I’ve ever been so attracted to someone, it’s been the only other time.

  I should be thinking about Jonah, I know I should—I even want to—but it’s almost impossible to in Kellan’s presence. I’m utterly overwhelmed, like I’ve jumped off a cliff, exhilarated and terrified at the same time. There isn’t room to think about anything else except for the fall.

  I’d fallen for his brother the very first night I’d seen him. I’d been a little girl and loved him instantaneously. And here I am, one-hundred-percent sure I’m falling for Kellan, too. Here, in his car, damp and hot and barely able to breathe, I know it. But because I can’t say it, can’t formulate those words or any others I probably ought to be saying, I finish answering by kissing him again.