First Light (9 page)

I made it all the way to my bathroom before my mind caught up with what I had glimpsed at my bedroom window. I whirled around.

Kalen.

‘What are you doing here?’ I wanted to sound angry, but it would have been a lie.

‘You seemed annoyed with me earlier, I wanted to apologise.’

‘Why are you at my window instead of the front door?’

‘
I thought it would be romantic.’ The sarcasm in his voice made it obvious he was poking fun at me. That was fine, I could hold my own.

‘Romanic or class-five stalker behaviour?’ I countered.

He chuckled silently, but I noticed he didn’t deny it.

‘Nice gloves by the way.’

I tugged them off and threw them on the bed.

‘Can I come in?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Okay.’ He shrugged, though I could see he was a little taken back. ‘Wanna get out instead?’

‘And go where?’

‘Wherever you want.’

Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t stay mad at him. My mood was lifting already, but I did need to know more about who I was hanging out with. ‘Fine, I know what I want to do.’

He lifted one dark eyebrow, waiting.

‘Where do you live?’

‘Ah.’

I glared at him. Eventually, he sighed, leaning back against the window frame. ‘Right now, I live on the other side of town.’

‘Who with?’

‘Some friends.’

‘Some
friends... plural?’

His perpetual frown knitted together even tighter than usual. ‘Yes, as in, there are four of them, plus myself.’

I knew he was cross, but he’d said I could do whatever I wanted, so I chose to ignore his change in mood. ‘Are they all our age?’

‘You don’t know how old I am.’

‘You can’t be much older than me,’ I said smugly.

‘I’m two years older than you.’

‘Oh!’ My spirits lifted at the snippet of information. ‘Well, I’m eighteen in February so that’s only a year.’

‘I am twenty in May, but years don’t often mean much.’

‘Are you saying I’m immature?’

He smirked. He might not have said it, but he definitely meant it. I folded my arms. I knew he was trying to throw me off by making me angry.

‘So,’ I said breezily, ‘are the others all nineteen too?’

‘Thereabouts. Except Ace, he’s only fifteen and Nash is nearing twenty-one.’

‘Well, you don’t sound happy about your friends, don’t you like them or something?’

‘Or something.’

Okay, now I was getting irritated. ‘I’d like to meet your friends.’

‘I don't think so.’

‘Why not?’

‘My friends are a bit... complicated.’

‘Fine, I have things to do, so if you don’t mind. Are you able to see yourself out?’

It worked. He seemed to contemplate for a few moments and then he shook his head with a silent laugh. ‘You win, Miss Rose.’

‘We can go?’

‘Yes, but don’t hold it against me when you’re bored – you chose this.’

Based on my life of late, it was impossible I’d be bored. ‘Give me five minutes, I’ll meet you downstairs!’

With a one-fingered salute he turned and left back down the roof. I gasped and ran to the window, but he’d already disappeared. Shaking away the image of him leaping from the top of my house, I swiped some dark blue jeans and a cream woollen jumper from my cupboard and brushed out my hair. It fell in long waves past my shoulders, a bit flat, but it would have to do. I pinched my cheeks to bring some colour into my face then grabbing my purse, I dashed downstairs.

Outside, he was leaning against a small sky-blue car; a rusty three-door Fiesta that looked as if it might turn to dust at any moment. He held the passenger door open for me and soon we were driving into town. It was the first time I was doing something I wanted to do, instead of what was expected of me. I felt a bolt of excitement.

We turned off the main road and drove up a long winding gravel driveway that left me lost for words. I forced my gaping mouth shut. I’d assumed they’d live in a caravan, or a small bungalow sleeping two to a room, but I knew this house – everyone did. It sat on the highest point of town, on the cliff-edge overlooking the ocean. Far apart from all other houses, the old Taylor mansion was surrounded by high fences that prevented anyone seeing what went on inside. We never saw the infamous Mr Taylor who owned it. Rumour had it he was an international millionaire who was never in town.

‘We rent it from him,’ Kal answered hesitantly when I voiced my surprise.

‘How? Do any of you work?’

‘Sort of,’ he said, cocking his head to one side as if he found something amusing.

‘Is it expensive?’

‘Here we are.’ He pushed at the front door without answering my question, letting it swing open. ‘You ready for this?’

I smiled. It took every ounce of composure I had not to skip on the spot.

Inside, the house was as enormous as it looked on the outside, but eerily empty. In each room we passed, white sheets were draped over furniture and clumps of dust gathered in the corners of the floorboards. It was as if no one had been there for years. Then we reached the kitchen, the only room in the house that was warmly lit and reminiscent of how a home should feel. The smell of pizza wafted from the oven.

The room was remarkably tidy, given that five boys lived there alone. Of that fact there was no traditional sign, bar all five of them being there.

On stools by a marble worktop sat three of the four friends Kal had mentioned, and on a beanbag in the corner of the room what looked like a male model was stretched out with a book. He was the first one to look up and his smile was immediate and telling, forcing me to wonder if perhaps there had been bets on my coming to visit.

‘At long last!’ his deep voice boomed with an American accent I hadn’t been expecting. That’s when all remaining heads turned to face me.

One belonged to a boy who was definitely younger than the others, with a mop of black hair against dark skin and even darker eyes. The second face I recognised from when I’d first met Kalen. He was fair, with long hair that he wore back in a ponytail and he was wearing a sports cap turned backwards. The last boy held my attention, his blond hair almost white and his eyes a cold frosty blue. Though he was lean like the others, his body looked tense – the muscles in his arms, veiny and hard. He glared at me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled and I quickly let my gaze fall back to the other boys. They were all so different, yet the same; something about them was so similar but whatever it was, I couldn’t put my finger on it.

 ‘
Boys,’ Kalen stepped in front of me, ‘this is Ronnie Rose.’

‘Awesome, Ronnie!’ the little one declared, standing and bounding over with a bright smile. ‘So cool to meet you.’

The second American
, I noted with interest as he shook my hand and pulled me in for a hug. I liked him instantly.

‘Ronnie, this is Ace Jones.’ Kalen held the young boy back with an outstretched arm and Ace backed off.

‘That’s Nash Philips,’ he said, pointing to the one with the ponytail, who half got up from his stool and with a silent nod hello, reached a hand out for me to shake.

‘And this is Laith Williams.’

Ah, the scary one. Laith looked at me when his name was mentioned, though he didn’t get up from his seat, and when he spoke his voice was thin and razor-sharp.

‘Ronnie?’ he announced with a degree of disgust. ‘That, is a boy’s name.’ His accent was British – completely normal for where we lived, though maybe a little more well-spoken than I was. He sounded just like Kal.

‘It’s short for Veronica,’ I defended meekly.

‘Dude?’ Kal shook his head at his friend and looked at me apologetically. I smiled at them all nervously in return, but the tension was quickly diffused when the big one got up from his low seat and bowled over. He was at least six-four and had the sort of chiseled features you only saw on a movie star. Brushing his brown hair out of his eyes, which were the brightest of blues, he took my hand and kissed it, with a sideways grin towards Kalen.

‘Good to finally have you hanging with us, gorgeous – I’m Denver. Ignore Laith. We all do.’

Laith eyed Denver briefly before turning away and continuing to watch a television show they were all engrossed in. Four lionesses were mauling a dead Zebra carcass.

‘Let’s go to my room,’ Kal said into my hair.

Kalen’s bedroom was similar to the rest of the house, only he’d removed the dust cover from his bed and replaced it with a small brown blanket. The rest of the room was sparsely furnished with a reading lamp and a small pile of books. I walked towards them, aiming for the only thing I could use as a talking point.

He was leaning casually against the wall, with one foot over the other, his dark eyes fixed on me. My pulse picked up speed. Being so close to him again, and in his bedroom, I was caught in a strange limbo between excitement and confusion.

‘Do you like these books especially?’ I asked, hoping to keep my cool. Unfortunately the pitch of my voice let me down. I coughed to clear my throat.

He shrugged. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Conversation. I was just wondering why these books are on your shelf out of the thousands of books there are in the world. Lord knows, something is lucky to get a place in your room by the looks of it!’

He smiled the sort of smile that normally turns into a laugh, but he kept that part back. ‘You’re in my room, you must be pretty lucky.’

I rolled my eyes.

‘Sorry. Okay, well the first book:
The Count of Monte Cristo
. I like that one a lot. It’s about a man who’s sent to prison for a crime he didn’t commit, only to escape and take vengeance on all of those who put him there.’

‘Wow, that’s the first time you’ve said you like something.’ Picking up the source of his enthusiasm, I scanned the pages. ‘It’s in French!’

All trace of amusement left his eyes. ‘It’s by a French writer,’ he stated flatly.

‘You can read French?’

‘Um, yeah. Want to go eat?’

‘No, thanks, where did you learn?’

‘At school like everyone else.’

I put it back on the pile. When I straightened, he was next to me.

‘The second book:
Veronika Decide Morrer,
I like the Author. He has an interesting way of looking at the world.’

‘What’s
Veronika Decide Morrer?
’ I tried to pronounce the words in the same way he did.

‘Veronika decides to die.’

I swallowed. ‘That’s my name.’

‘Yes, I’d noticed that actually.’

I couldn’t think of an appropriate response so I mumbled that I thought it sounded morbid and walked to the window. ‘And what language is that one? And the others?’ I asked, doing my utmost to seem blasé, though I was slightly uneasy at the coincidence.

‘It’s Portuguese. The others you won’t have heard of or be interested in.’

I stared at him, wondering at the boy who could obviously speak at least three languages.

‘You’re really smart,’ I said, stating what was becoming blatantly obvious. ‘Where did you go to school?’

His eyes flashed towards the door. ‘Ace, what’s up?’

The youngest of his friends peered in and looked at Kal before entering.

‘Hey!’ I smiled

Ace straddled a chair he’d brought in with him, so his arms were rested on the back. ‘So Ronnie, do you live near here?’