The Beginning of Never (The Never Trilogy #1) (5 page)

I understood
that he didn't particularly care about me but for some reason, a nagging sense
of responsibility pushed him to help. But still, it bothered me that all of
this
, whatever it was, would soon end.
There was only so much rescuing that one could need and so far, I suspected
that I'd gone through my spell of incidents for the entire year in one weekend.
The fact saddened me that afterwards – and that was if he actually bothered to
come back to check on me – I might never get to talk to him again. The school
was surely big enough to not bump into people since he'd obviously already been
here for who knew how long, and last Friday had been the first time I’d seen
him.

I knew that I
shouldn't have been concerned about any of this, but that was exactly what kept
me up. I
was
concerned and I didn’t
know how
not
to be.

Lunch came,
and when I realized as I woke up that the pain had dissipated, I felt
incredibly relieved. Then I remembered my previous concern that the boy
wouldn’t stop by again, and since no one had awakened me, I realized that it
had come true. I began to feel a sort of gloom that I definitely wasn't ready
for, so I kept my eyes shut and tried to push it all away before I had to head
back to class.

"Are you
ever planning on waking up?" I suddenly heard him say. My eyes flew open
with shock, but even as a rush of confused excitement filled me, I managed to
remain still. I also didn’t want the emotions to show when I turned, so I took
a deep breath and then gently sat up.

I pushed my
hair away from my face and took him in. He was seated on the chair by my
bedside with a small book open on his lap.

“Hi. You
came,” I said, my voice sounding annoyingly breathy, like I’d actually
wanted
him to. It made me cringe
inwardly, so I cleared my throat and tried to sound like a normal person.
"Um, I mean, I thought, you had like … other stuff to do."

He watched me
for a few seconds. “I do have other stuff to do,” he said, then turned to grab
a brown paper bag from the table. I briefly shut my eyes at the complete fool
that I seemed to be making out of myself, but reopened them just before he
turned and gave the bag to me.

"Thanks,"
I said, suddenly uncomfortable with accepting it. "I'll pay you back but I
don't have my wallet here. How much was it?"

"Don't
worry about it," he dismissed, and returned to his book. I took a peek in
the bag and saw that he'd gotten me what appeared to be a baguette, bottled
water and a huge chocolate chip muffin. I felt the need to insist on a
reimbursement.

"Thanks,
really, I appreciate it, but this is the second time in a row you’re buying me
food. I just can't accept that."

He looked up
from the book with what seemed like amusement in his eyes. “I thought I owed
you the first time?"

"
Well
yeah, you did, that's why I'll pay
you for just this time around."

"Don't
worry about it," he said, and again returned to his book, but I still
insisted.

"I
will
worry, that's why I have to pay you
back."

He raised his
head again. He started to say something but seemed to change his mind at the
last moment. He asked. “And if I don't accept it?"

"You
don't have to. I just have to find a way to get it to you and make you know
that I have." He stared again, and then returned to his book.

I let him be,
and took the muffin out of the bag. Underneath it was a small chocolate bar
that I guessed he’d added on a whim. To have it now would probably be a
terrible idea because it would worsen my cramps, but the consideration was
moving. I couldn’t control my smile, so I waited until it had worn off before I
raised my head to speak to him.

"You’re
actually a pretty decent person, but you seem like a total snob."

“Maybe I
am
a snob," he said, still not
looking up from his book.

"Right,
so what do you call the last few days?"

"Common
courtesy." he said, and that pricked me.

"You call
beating up four boys and repeatedly bringing me here
courtesy
?"

He frowned. "I
didn't beat up four boys."

I rolled my
eyes. "
Still
, if that's your
courtesy, I wonder what your intent looks like." I said. I wanted him to
agree with me so that I wouldn’t feel ashamed for trying to complement him.

Instead, he
said, "Actually, you're a bit of a bother." And it made me frown.

Did he just politely call me a nuisance?
I thought, affronted, and started to think
of what I could say in retort. I eventually decided to just drop it, and he
looked up then to see why I had gone quiet. Just then it occurred to me that I
still didn’t know what his name was. So I asked him, but instead of answering,
he just held my gaze and flat-out stared- again.

It was so
uncomfortable that I had to move my eyes to the window beside his head, and
then back to my muffin, like it had become the most fascinating thing in the
world.

Why did he
do that?
I wondered. His
face however, remained in my mind’s eye, so I started to search through my
memory because he reminded me of someone. There was a certain familiarity in the
olive-toned skin, dark hair and defined jaw that I couldn’t quite shake off.

I returned my
gaze to him, expecting to find him still watching me because of the heat that
still burned on my face, but I was disappointed. He had his face back down to
his book, and had quite possibly forgotten about my existence. Sighing, I
turned to my muffin and gazed at it with all the love I could muster.
At least, you’ll always be here for me,
I
serenaded, and then started to slowly peel off a side of the wrapper.

You’ll be sweet and ever-present when I need
you to be,
I sniffed under
my breath.

You’ll never leave me,
I wailed in my head, just before I raised
it to my lips and took a bite.
At the
taste of the blackberries in it, I almost spat it out. I hated blackberries.

“Is there
something wrong?” he asked, and my eyes shot up to meet his. The distaste on my
face immediately disappeared, and I shook my head before managing a small
smile.

“Nope,” I
lied. “Everything’s fine.”

He returned to
his book while I returned the muffin to the brown bag, shaking my head. Even a
muffin couldn’t come through for me; life was seriously screwed up. But on the
other hand, I reasoned, I
did
have a
gorgeous boy right here and up close, that I’d probably never get the
opportunity to ogle at again. So I took the chance to stare and to completely
memorize his features, just in case I needed to use my imagination for whatever
benefit it would warrant in the future.

He had all the
works, but what I decided fascinated me the most were his eyelashes. Softening
the slight hardness of his face, they made mine seem like the thinning hairs
among the patch on the head of an aging man. But I was probably exaggerating
because I did consider mine acceptable by any standard.

His eyes had
a radiance
to them, and coupled with the striking blue
colour
, they almost seemed liquid. Mine on the other hand,
were just a plain, light grey.

 
“What’s your name?” I found myself asking
again, now seriously needing to know.

"Why do
you want to know?" he asked, and that should have been more than enough to
make me not care anymore, but I pressed on.

"Because you know mine."

“No, I don’t.”

That surprised
me, so I pointed out. “You called me Nora earlier,”

He revised his
statement. “I don’t know your full name.”

 
“It’s Lenora Baker. People call me
Lennie
, sometimes.”

“Any middle
names?” he asked.

“Grace.”

Then to my
utmost discomfort, he again watched me for a few seconds before returning the
favour
. My temper had begun to rise as I waited, and I
couldn’t believe how much it would have upset me if he hadn’t told me.

"My
name’s Alex," he finally said, before I could read anymore into his
silence. "Full name:
Alexandre
Nathan
Roque
."

"Alex,"
I repeated testing the sound of it in my mouth, and to my ears. "Can I
call you Nathan?"

"No."

"But
earlier you called me Nora."

He seemed
amused at my upset.
"And?"

"Well no
one calls me Nora, apart from my mom. So for that I should be able to call you
Nathan."

I expected him
to argue but he just remained silent, watching me again like there was
something on my face that he was trying to decipher. It unsettled me, so to
throw the unnerving feeling off, I went on to cement my stance.

"I'll
call you Nathan," I stated firmly, and when he didn't respond I chose to
ignore his silent stare and took the opportunity to ask more questions.

"Are you
Italian?" I asked. He shook his head.

"I'm
Portuguese," he said. "And you're American I suppose."

"I am.
That obvious huh?"

He answered
plainly, "It is."

I chose not to
read too much into the probable basis for that conclusion.

The bell
signifying the end of lunchtime rang then, and instantly
, he rose to his
feet. I was disappointed. I wanted him to stay a little bit longer.

"Are you okay to attend class now?" he asked,
and I nodded, rising up too. He left to go talk to the nurse, and in no time,
we were out and on our way. He escorted me across the block to my floor, and as
the few people still remaining in the corridors took the trouble to stare at
us, I started to feel uncomfortable.

We stopped at my locker so that I could drop the lunch
bag, and when he stretched his lips into a soft smile as a farewell gesture, my
breath caught at the back of my throat. Shyly, I returned it and he left,
leaving me to wonder when I was going to see him again.

I didn't see him for the rest
of the week, and it bothered me. On Monday in class, I absent mindedly stared
out the window and wondered why my not seeing an almost stranger for a few days
had managed to take over the entirety of my thoughts. Up until the previous
weekend I’d been unaware of his existence, but now, it seemed as if I couldn't
get him out of my head.

A cold breeze that somehow found its way through the
edge of the closed window interrupted my reverie. Looking away from the courtyard
scenery below, I took a brief glance around to re-orientate myself with the
dull class, and then my eyes fell on the initials I had written out on the top
corner of the opened page in my notebook.

N.A.R,
it
read. Picking up my pen, I wrote out his name in full, and in the very best
cursive I could work up. The results were pitiful but as I stared down at the
name, I found myself feeling as distressed as the letters appeared. Each time I
thought of him, something warm would heat up the pit of my stomach and
excitement would flutter in my chest. I didn’t yet know what to make of any of
it but one thing was for sure; I didn’t like it.

Brushing my hair away from my face, I focused my attention
on the chemistry element symbols scribbled across the board, and the flat tone
of Mrs. Zimmerman’s voice. None of her scribbles made much sense to me, so
after a few more moments of trying to understand what she was talking about, my
mind slinked back to a certain pair of blue eyes.

This was a healthy diversion I finally decided, and
gave up trying to fight the thoughts off. On other days, my mind would have
wandered away to times with my mom, and all the ways I'd need her in the future
but would never
be
able to have her with me. Then I'd
think about my dad, and how I hardly ever heard from him. And no, I didn’t
think he was a terrible person, rather, I thought he was just very
self-absorbed.

His selfishness hurt our relationship, and so did my inability
to look past the fact that because of how miserable he made my mom, she had
literally driven herself to her death. Of course there was more than enough
within the story to vindicate him, but so far, I found that resentment worked
well for me. It kept me angry, and an angry me when it came to my father, kept
me un-emotional, and that was the state I needed to be in to be able to
function.

I didn’t have any grandparents. My mom had mentioned to
me that it was one of the things she’d expected would connect her so strongly
to my father; the fact that they were both orphans and could lean solely on
each other. It didn’t quite play out as well as she’d hoped.

Generally, my default thoughts were sooty and
unpleasant so having this, a little excitement at the thought of someone who I
still wasn’t sure what to make of, was
a welcome distraction. So I allowed my thoughts to run
wild, and by lunch time, had incited myself so much that I wanted nothing more
than to get another glimpse of him.

My
safest bet was the cafeteria, so I headed towards it. It was crowded, as usual,
so I didn't take my time at all. After a quick scan, I decided that there was
no sign of him and left. I felt foolish as I wandered through the
hallways,
my eyes alert in case I ran into him, but there
was of course no such luck. So I decided to go up to the seniors’ floor. It was
meant for the seventeen and eighteen-year-olds,
whom
were only a few months away from University and the real world. I envied them
and also avoided them, but this was dire.

I
reached the floor but stopped at the top of the staircase to have a quick look
around. It took only a few curious glares at me for me to snap back to my
senses, and turn away. I was scared that one of them would call me back to ask
what I wanted, so it was only when I walked into my class and exhaled in relief
at a safe arrival, did I allow myself to relax.

However,
my shoulders drooped in disappointment; where was he and why was he so hard to
find?

*

With my backpack slung over my shoulder, the end of the
school day found me heading to the library. As usual, it was almost empty when
I walked in, so I eagerly headed over to
my
corner and settled down on the carpeted floor to continue my read. It was a
historical novel set in the 1800s which told the love story of a barbaric
highlander, and a prim English aristocrat. It usually helped me escape for a
few hours, but after about an hour, I had to literally stop reading or have my
heart explode from want.

I
was so jealous of the protagonist. She was in love and careless, consumed by
the thrill of romance and favored by the throes of adventure. It sounded cheesy
enough to choke me, but I wasn’t even joking. Nothing in my own life came close
to being interesting and as far back as I could remember, my budding feelings
for Nathan were the closest I'd ever come to a crush.

One
time though when I was in the fourth grade, I did pay especial attention to a
really skinny guy just because he told me he liked my hair. But when he also
told me how much he disliked novels because “they weren’t grounded in reality
enough and therefore, a complete waste of time”, my attention to him had
immediately translated to disdain.

Rising
to my feet, I decided to head into other sections so I could browse for books
on more sensible things that would help take my mind off all the silliness I
was surrendering to. I still had my looming biology assignment, so I decided to
finally do something about it and go in search of a book that I could use; the
deadline was sometime this week.

I
found what I wanted in minutes, but as I headed back to my table with the book
and the intention to begin the assignment, I suddenly felt exhausted. So I
gathered my things, and headed to the receptionist’s desk. She greeted me with
a smile, and accepted the book so that she could check it out.

The
sight of a picture in the corner of her desk, showing two small boys – whom I
supposed were hers – hugging a dog between them, occupied me while she worked.
The absolute delight on their sunburned faces pulling a smile from me.

Just
then, I felt someone come up beside me, so I turned and saw a tall boy with
ginger colored curly hair, placing an impossibly high stack of books on the
desk. When his polite smile met my widened gaze, I just had to ask.

“Are
you going to read all that?”

"No,”
he replied, his smile widening in amusement. “It's a list our physics teacher
requested ... I'm just helping him retrieve them."

"Oh,
okay," I said with a nod. He had a clear sharp voice that anyone would
have expected to belong to a bold person, but he seemed to be very
self-conscious. His right arm kept going up to touch his left elbow as if he
couldn’t quite figure out how to place them, and his eyes were shifty as he
spoke, like he couldn't quite focus on me for more than two seconds at a time.

His
smile was also shaky, I realized, when he stole a glimpse and caught me
watching him. I found it amusing, but in a good way, endearing almost, and it
instantly drew me to him. He seemed like an interesting person.

"So,
are you a senior then?" I asked, as I collected my book from the
librarian. He nodded before handing the signed note for the order over to her.

"Yup,"
he answered. "I've seen you around – you're in fourth year I
suppose."

I
smiled, "I’m in the third actually."

"Well,
you could easily have passed for fifth," he said, and I beamed at his ill
attempt at flattery.

“Style”
was what more or less distinguished the years, and I knew that I would have
passed for someone in the second year (in fact, I was almost certain that I
did). My navy blue pinafore still hung loosely from my body, my hair was
constantly a wild mess and my face, ever devoid of even a hint of makeup, would
have easily led anyone to believe and conclude that I had an aversion to it. My
disregard for refinement was glaring, there was no argument there.

"Do
you need help with that?" I asked, not genuinely with the intention to
assist, but with the hopes that I could be acquainted with him enough to ask if
he knew Nathan. It was petty and selfish, I knew, but I had run out of options.

At
first he looked indecisive, but I wasn’t sure I would accept no for an answer
so I saved him the trouble, and took a few of the volumes off the stack before
he could make up his mind. He of course nodded his agreement then, and we
walked away together.

"So
how come you're the one on library duty?" I asked.

"Because
I'm the library prefect," he said.
“And the geek of the
class.
Actually the second geek; my cousin’s the first.”

"Your
cousin's in your class? That sounds nice."

"Yeah,
it is. Well, only sometimes, and I guess the duty just fits me more than anyone
else."

"You
don't really seem like the book type," I teased, and he laughed, a hearty
and genuine sound.

"You
definitely missed the curly hair memo."

“There’re
no glasses," I pointed out as he used his back to push, and hold the door
to his class open, so that I could walk in.

"I’m
just lucky on that count,” he said. “My cousin couldn’t escape it though.”

Walking
over to the teacher’s desk, I placed the books on top of it while he came over
and did the same. We turned to each other.

"So
…" I started. "It was nice meeting you."

"It
was nice meeting you too," he said with his hand held out for a handshake.
I took it awkwardly; his eyes were still shifty. It was adorable.

"I'm
Lenora by the way," I said.

"I'm
James – James DuPont."

Just
then, the door to the classroom opened and as I turned to see who had walked
in, the smile was completely wiped off my face. Immediately, I turned away.

"Alex,"
he called, "did you meet
Mr.Maine
?”

"No,"
I heard his curt reply, but I still couldn't turn around to face him.

"That's
my cousin," James said, still chirpy from our chat. I was just surprised
that I was even able to control my mouth from hanging open. My heart was
pounding furiously and suddenly, I needed desperately to be out of there.

James
called him again, probably to introduce us, and that was all the warning I
needed. Like a flash, I was out and rushing towards the staircase. I didn't
slow down until I was well on my way back to my house.

*

You're such a coward, I thought
to myself as I arrived at my house. I almost felt like laughing.
Almost.

After so long in wishing I'd see him again, I finally
did, and instead of standing my ground I’d scurried away like a rat. I couldn't
even remember the excuse I’d given as I hurried off. I wondered what they'd
think of me now. What he’d think. I hoped he wouldn’t read too much into my
rush, and figure out that it was probably because I was attracted to him. That
would be too embarrassing for me, and he already seemed too cocky a person.

“Hey!”
someone suddenly called, startling me. Frowning, I turned to my right to see a
blonde girl with light brown eyes, standing at the door to the common room.

“What
is wrong with you?” she asked, irritated when she saw my frown. It was
rhetorical anyway because she went on to say what she wanted. Through the door
I could see that a crowd of seniors had gathered by the huge bay window seat at
the extreme end of the room. It seemed like a meeting was going on.

“Run
up to my room,” she said. “It’s B27. Just knock, my roommate is in. Tell her I
sent you and that she should let you have the notebook you’ll find under my
pillow.”

“Beverly!”
someone yelled from the room, and she turned to respond. It was then that it
hit me; this was Olivia’s sister! Right then I felt like walking out, but for
my safety I remained. She turned to me and frowned.

“What’re
you still doing here?”

I
was sure she expected me to scamper off to do her bidding, but when I just
calmly walked away, I heard her snort before she retreated back into the room.
I considered going to get the notebook for her before I returned to my room but
when I reached my floor, my backpack suddenly felt too heavy. So I allowed
myself to go in so that I could drop it. The room was empty when I arrived,
which I was more than grateful for. Hanging my bag on the end of my chair, I
walked over to my bed and sat down to take my shoes off.

Our
room had green curtains to represent the official color of our house. There
used to be a dark green rug in the center of the room, but Olivia had removed
it without my consent, and replaced it with a pink one of her own. I never
complained because I’d learnt in my years here to choose my battles, so I
couldn’t have cared less even if the wooden floor was bare.

What
I
would
have cared about, was if
she’d had the audacity to query me about the dark blue bedding that I’d
exchanged for the green and pink one that we’d been given at the start of the
year.

The
green and pink would have obviously complemented the room but I preferred my
blue duvet, which completely rebelled against the green and pink theme. I’d had
it since my first year at Lancaster and it’d come to feel too familiar to be
replaced. So she kept her opinion to herself, which I was thankful for, despite
the sour looks that I sometimes still caught on her face when she stared at my
bed for too long.