Enchant Me (2 page)

of excitement that ran through me, I let
irritation take control. Besides sneaking up on me, he could’ve
ruined my pictures.

“Lucky for you, I was done.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” he said
enigmatically with the barest trace of a

French accent. Even in the dark, with
that accent I knew him now, my only real competition in photography
class, Nicolas Devereux. He was aggressive, intense and
competitive. A real nightmare if you tried to go against him. I had
seen him get in some explosive arguments with teachers when he had
gotten a bad grade, especially if it was in art. Confused I
stared up at him. How had he gotten into the room without me seeing
or hearing him? I took a nice, safe, step away and then started to
walk around him to the door. He wrapped an arm around me and pulled
me back in front of him.

He leaned in close and whispered in my ear,
“you don’t know it yet but I’m going to be your next
boyfriend.”

I pulled away and looked up at him. Hoping
that in the dimness of the darkroom he could see on my face how
crazy I thought that idea was. I started to tell him that would
only happen in his dreams when he snatched up my chin and planted
the darkest kiss of my life on my lips. Mentally shuddering I
pushed the memory away. The way things were now I couldn’t even
remember the good times without panic threatening. The feeling of
complete peace disappeared. Why did Nicolas have to make things so
complicated and horrible? I grabbed a couple of pebbles and tossed
them at the ocean. Things started so well and then he changed.
Possessive and jealous to the point of being frightening, he quit
his job and followed me to my dance class and anywhere else I would
choose to go. He didn’t stop even after I broke up with him. I had
to eventually involve my mom, who loved playing the part of
enraged, protective mother. She went straight to his parents and
threatened a restraining order on Nicolas if he didn’t stop, which
he did. Unfortunately we couldn’t put an order on his mouth. He
dropped out of school after that, thank god, and no-one had seen
him since. Refusing to dwell anymore on the past I sighed, got
up and brushed myself off.

Since I might get home late tonight, I needed
to knock out all my homework before I left. I also needed to
squeeze in yoga practice, shower, and get ready for the art show. I
looked at my watch. I really needed to work on my time management
skills.

Once I got home, I ran to my room and threw
open the velvet curtains that hid my closet. Frantically I searched
for my most professional yet artistic outfit, tossing the rejects
on the floor. After finally finding the clothes that screamed ‘wear
me‘, I turned to jewelry, choosing one of my smaller pairs of
chandelier earrings, a couple of moonstone rings, and a tiny
diamond stud for my nose. Then there was my hair, my one
undisputable vanity. A lot of care went into it, to keep it soft,
silky and yet so un-naturally colored. A red so dark in some lights
it looked black with a couple of lighter red highlights around my
hairline. 

My mom hated it; she had begged then demanded
for me to color it, but I refused to cave. Some kids did drugs and
alcohol; I played with my looks. I think that was a pretty fair
trade. I did a small basket weave pattern on each side of my head
to keep my hair out of the pictures and pinned it in, pulling a
couple strands down around my face. Last but not least, I got some
of my black skin safe ink for my airbrush and picked a Celtic knot
stencil and did a quick temporary tattoo on my right wrist. Now I
was ready. Or I thought I was…

Abruptly I felt dizzy, my thoughts like
glitter in some gypsy’s crystal ball swirling around and not
settling. My temples started to throb and I collapsed on my bed. I
found myself reaching for my cell phone and was flipping it open
before it even rang and put it to my ear. “Hi, Grandma
Ann.”

“How did you know it was me?” she asked.

There was a weird note in her voice I
couldn’t understand. That’s when I realized what I had done. I
became frighteningly still, lifting the phone away from my ear and
staring at it like the phone could explain how I knew it was about
to ring or who it was without looking at the screen. The dizziness
and headache faded away. 

“Oh, you have that caller I.D. of
course.” She sounded almost disappointed which struck me as
even odder, but I grasped the excuse like a lifeline. Grandma and I
were close; a lot of people had crazy connections like that, twins,
mothers with their children. As far as the headache and dizziness;
I probably just hadn’t had enough water today. “I was just
about to go to an event for yearbook, what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to come over
on Saturday. Have lunch and talk a little.” She made the last sound
so pitiful I would’ve canceled a visit to Europe. “O.K. How
about around one?”

“See you then, sweetie. Love you.” 

“Love you too.” I closed my phone and stared
at it again. Hmph… Shaking off the strange feeling, I grabbed my
wallet, camera and keys and headed out the door. 

Feeling guilty for not arriving at the
suggested time, I snuck across the parking lot, like Michelle was
going to leap out at me from behind a bush, catch me being late and
ground me and my camera from any further events. It was almost
seven pm as I entered the college and headed for the auditorium. I
could hear the hum of many voices as I approached. It really wasn’t
a hardship to be here, I craved all things creative and loved being
around people who felt the same way, but before I got down to any
major socializing I needed to do my job first.

I quickly slipped into the room, pulled out
my digital camera and searched for the Crescent Point High School
honorees. All the artists seemed to be separated by media. The
first student I came across I didn’t recognize from school but his
card listed him as a senior, Miguel White. From the examples he had
on his table, he did the most amazing pottery. I could tell he had
used unusual materials to create unique designs and the detail was
just ridiculously good. I waited until the small crowd around him
thinned out.

“You’re Miguel?” I asked. He nodded his head
while looking me over.

“I am Alexis Maher--”

“I know who you are,” he interrupted.

My stomach soured at this. I turned to his
work. “Your pottery is amazing.”

“Thanks, my grandmother taught me all I
know,” he replied too warmly, all his Latino charm present and
accounted for.

 I didn’t like the way he sidled up to
me and seemed to use his height to look down my shirt. So I changed
my angle and motioned imperiously for him to stand in front of his
work.

“I need to take your picture for yearbook and
possibly it could be put in the school paper too.” 

“Really? How about this?” 

The diversion worked. Like most artists, and
I did include myself in this, we had decent sized egos-- you had
too. He leaned against the table almost toppling it over and
crossed his arms over his chest while trying to discretely flex his
muscles. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes I quickly took the
picture.

“Thanks, bye.” Bordering on rudeness I didn’t
wait for a response and quickly moved on to the next exhibit. Here
the artists specialized in water colors. I recognized a fellow
Junior, Marie Summers, a quiet but nice, pale haired girl that kept
to herself. It didn’t surprise me that her preference was for soft
landscape pictures reminiscent of Monet.

“Hi Marie, your paintings are really lovely.
Have you ever painted the Olympics from Pioneer Park?”

“No, I mainly stick to the big public gardens
in the area,” she replied, her voice a mere whisper. “What if
I paid you for it?” “Seriously?” She asked.

“I’m serious, I love that view.” Ripping a
piece of paper off the small note pad I had, I wrote down my phone
number and gave it to her. “Call me and we’ll get together.”

“Thanks I will,” she said with more
confidence than when I first came up.

“Can I take your picture for Yearbook and the
school paper?” This made her start to chew on her lip like she was
nervous again. “I can take a profile shot of you with your work
instead of head on if you like?” A happy smile crossed her
face at this and I quickly snapped the picture. She looked a little
surprised but I quickly showed her the picture on the screen. “If
you don’t like it I can take the profile shot, but I think this is
a really great picture.”

She looked at me with a smile. “I can see why
you are a photographer.”

“Thanks and don’t forget to call me about the
painting.” I moved away happy that I seemed to have made a new
friend. I passed by the glass artists and we didn’t seem to have
anyone represented there, so I moved on to the oil painters,
looking over the cards listing names and schools first. Finally I
came across a Christian Marino, a senior of course. His name wasn’t
familiar but he could’ve transferred from another school.

When I finally looked up at him--I felt my
whole body still. I didn’t know how to begin to catalogue all the
ways in which he was perfect. Thick dark brown hair that could
almost be black seemed to be growing out naturally from a short
cut, falling around his face, the bangs almost in the way of his
dark golden brown eyes. I fought the urge to move it out of my way
so it didn’t interrupt my view of his eyes. He was slender but
muscular with perfect symmetry, which as an artist I deeply
appreciated. He also had the cutest nose; I don’t know why I
thought so but I did. I hadn’t even gotten to his lips, they were a
perfect shape and nicely full, like every kiss he gave you would be
more than a kiss but a full enveloping caress. As I met his eyes
again I realized I wasn’t alone in my fascination. He was staring
at me just as intently. 

For the first time, I suddenly understood
what writers meant about the whole world coming to a standstill and
not being aware of anything but the person in front of you. I had
stopped hearing the other people around me; I didn’t see the
exhibits or the auditorium anymore. Even my always active brain
stopped thinking and just took in the wild emotions running through
me. If I had a thousand years, I still don’t think I could do
justice to explaining the depth of my feelings at that
moment. 

I felt a hand joggle my arm to get my
attention, jarring me out of my stupor, and I looked around to find
Stephanie, an acquaintance from school looking at me quizzically. I
watched her glance at Christian then back at me. 

“What are you doing here Alexis?” she asked,
looking at me in a sort of predatory way I couldn’t remember ever
experiencing before, at least from a girl.

There was something about her tone I didn’t
like. I looked down at her which wasn’t hard since she was even
shorter than my five foot five inches.

I lifted my camera into her view. “Yearbook
and school paper.” 

“Oh.” Satisfied by my response she took one
last look at Christian and then moved on.

 I wouldn’t consider her a friend but we
talked once in awhile; as she walked away, it hit me. A couple
weeks ago she had mentioned liking a senior and finally getting the
courage to ask him out; he turned her down flat but she was still
carrying a torch for him. Great… I remembered belatedly, she did
say his name was Christian. I could hardly blame her for falling so
hard for him. 

When I finally turned back to him, he was
busily painting, his brows pulled together while he intently mixed
a couple of different red shades on his palette. Unlike the other
artists he had turned his easel away from the crowd and so was
facing us while he worked. I took the moment to glance at his other
paintings displayed on the table. He was beyond talented, no wonder
he was here. His portraits were beautiful, displaying more than the
person or couples physical image but something about them
emotionally too. One in particular caught my eye, a little dark
haired girl with laughing blue eyes. There was definitely a
resemblance there. She must be a young relative. Next I looked at
his landscape pictures. They were exquisite, with the kind of
patient, finite detail even Miguel would have to
appreciate. When I finally dared to look back at him, I found
he was looking at me too.

Suddenly, I didn’t trust myself to speak
intelligently to him. So I pointed at my camera, silently asking
him if I could take his picture. He nodded and moved his stool a
little to the side for me to get a better shot. At this point I
actually noticed his clothes. He dressed older than his years with
a style and taste that usually only came with age. A black button
up shirt with the first two buttons undone, dark jeans and a
leather wrist cuff that didn’t look like it was bought off the rack
but possibly done by an artisan. He had a couple of silver rings on
and these too looked like custom pieces. My respect for him
multiplied even while I accepted that he was totally out of my
league.

 I took as much time as I reasonably
could, framing him in the screen and then taking the picture.
Before he moved from his pose, I quickly zoomed in and got a close
up of his face. When I lowered the camera and met his warm brown
eyes again, I felt a hot blush start to develop. Horrified, I
ducked my head in a quick thank you and made a hasty exit out of
the auditorium. I couldn’t believe--me--Alexis Maher, was
blushing and speechless just because a gorgeous guy was looking at
me. Well, to be fair he wasn’t just any guy, he was insanely
beautiful and creative with seductive eyes that could melt the sun.
But besides that-- I was a creative, motorcycle chick that had
belly danced for crowds in the hundreds at local festivals. How had
he gotten to me? It didn’t feel like just attraction, it was like
pure chemistry. That was it! The pleasure centers in my brain
weren’t giving me a choice. I snickered out loud at this and then
quickly looked around to make sure no one had heard.