For Ever by C. J. Valles Read Free Book Online Page B

the unkempt honey-colored hair falling to his chin. His
bone structure is not soft or boyish. Actually, he reminds me of
one of the sculptures from Mr. Gideon’s art history books. But
unlike cool Italian marble, his bronzed complexion defies our
location in northern Oregon. I look down at my own pale hands. I blend in here. Whoever this guy is, I doubt he would fade
into the background anywhere.
    Suddenly, like a light bulb just turned on in
my head, I totally understand people’s reactions to him. His
appearance alone really does justify the fascination. I blink when
I realize that I’m staring like a zombie. It takes an embarrassing
amount of effort for me to turn my attention back to Mr. Gideon.
The heat of the classroom feels more oppressive than usual, and
every time I shift in my seat the movement feels exaggerated and
awkward. It bothers me that the source of my sudden anxiety is the
complete stranger to my left, especially since, based on my brief
glimpse of him, it’s likely he’s an egomaniacal jerk like Jeff
Summers. Okay, it’s not nice to assume. But is it even possible to
look like that and not have an ego about it?
    “All right, I’ve talked longer than I wanted
to,” Mr. Gideon says, clapping his hands together. “Get to
work.”
    I had been taking notes, but not actually
paying much attention to what Mr. Gideon was saying. Now, looking
down, I see two pages of my notebook are filled with messy scrawl.
When I reach to grab my backpack from the floor, my bag clips the
box of charcoal on my tray, sending art supplies clattering to the
floor. This is not the first time I’ve done this, but I definitely
feel more self-conscious now.
    After I gather everything and sit down again,
I notice that the person to my left is turned in my direction. Okay, don’t look like a superstitious nutcase , I command my
brain. I glance in his direction, and my throat tightens.
    The emerald-green color of his eyes is
extraordinary, unnerving, and impossibly bright. When he holds out
the pen I dropped, I stare at him. Then, after another second of
idiocy, I reach out and take the pen from him, cursing internally.
Ridiculously beautiful or not, this guy could be an axe murderer,
android, or blood-sucking fiend, for all I know. Wait. Scratch the
vampire theory. I look down at the bronzed hand resting on his
knee. Nope, not a vampire.
    “Th-thanks.”
    He doesn’t nod or smile. He just turns back
to his easel. And that’s when I notice that something’s wrong. With
him—or me. I didn’t get a single image from him. Not a passing
thought. Nothing. All I remember is his vividly green eyes staring
back at me. Beautiful and deep, but empty.
    The girl to my right sighs theatrically. I
turn and see her glaring. If looks could kill, I would be struck
dead. I turn and stare back at her, hoping she’ll lose her
nerve.
    Unbelievable! I should have had a freaking
breakdown! Then maybe he would notice me for once. Lucky—
    I turn back to my canvas and try to pretend
that she doesn’t exist. Yeah, this is going to be a fun semester.
Trapped between a Greek god who thinks I’m a psycho and a psycho
who thinks I stole her imaginary boyfriend.
    Finally, when she—I think her name is Mandy
or Mindy—doesn’t stop staring, I look back, almost mad enough to
say something and expose myself as a mind-reading freak. Would she
be this nasty, I wonder, if she knew I could hear her? Probably.
Abruptly my neighbor’s silent monologue stops short, as though
someone pressed the mute button on a remote.
    Turning back to my easel, I steal a quick
look to the left and flinch at the expression on my newly returned
classmate’s face, which is twisted in distaste. I’m just grateful
it’s not me he’s glaring at. I guess Mandy/Mindy finally got what
she wanted: his attention. His gaze sweeps back toward his own
easel, and I stop breathing when our eyes meet. The stunning green
is gone from his irises. All that’s left is blackness. An