And just when I'm about to ask him why he was sneaking into my room while I slept, he says, "It's not what you think."
"Then what was it?" I ask, wondering if I really want to know:
"I was there to… observe. I was surprised you could see me, I was transmuted, so to speak."
I wrap my arms around my knees and bring them close to my chest. Everything he just said went right over my head, but I get just enough of the gist to be suitably creeped out.
He shrugs. "Ever, I feel responsible for you, and-"
"And you wanted to check out the goods?" I look at him, eyebrows raised.
But he just laughs. "May I remind you of your penchant for flannel pajamas?"
I roll my eyes. "So you feel responsible for me, like-like a dad?" I say, laughing as he cringes.
"No, not like a dad. But Ever, I was only in your room that one time, the night we saw each other at the St. Regis, if there were other times-"
"Drina." I cringe, picturing her creeping a
round my room, spying on me. "Are you sure she can't come here?" I ask, glancing around.
He takes my hand and squeezes, wanting to reassure me when he says, "She doesn't even know it exists. Doesn't know how to get here. As far as she's concerned, you Simply vanished into thin air."
"But how'd you get here? Did you die once, like me?"
He shakes his head. "There are two types of alchemyphysical, which I stumbled upon because of my father, and spiritual, which I stumbled upon when I sensed something more, something bigger, something grander than me. I studied and practiced and worked hard to get here, even learned TM." He stops and looks at me. "Transcendental Meditation from Maharishi Mahesh Yogi." He smiles.
"Um, if you're trying to impress me, it's not really working, I have no idea what any of that means."
He shrugs. "Let's just say it took hundreds of years for me to translate it from the mental to the physical. But you-from the moment you wandered into the field, you were granted a sort of backstage pass, your visions and telepathy are by-products of that."
"God, no wonder you hate high school," I say, wanting to change the subject to something concrete, something I can actually urtderstand. "I mean, you must've finished like, a gazillion, bazillion years ago, right?" And when he winces, I realize his age is a serious sore spot, which is actually pretty funny, considering how he chose to live forever. "I mean, why bother? Why even enroll?"
"That's where you come in." He smiles.
"Oh, so you see some chick in baggy jeans and a hoodie, and you just have to have her so bad, you decide to repeat high school, just to get to her?"
"Sounds about right." He laughs.
"Couldn't you have found another way to ingratiate yourself into my life? It just doesn't make any sense." I shake my head and roll my eyes, getting worked up all over again, until he trails his fingers down the side of cheek and gazes into my eyes.
"Love never does."
I swallow hard, feeling shy, euphoric, and unsure all at once.
Then I clear my throat and say, "I thought you said you suck at love." I narrow my eyes on his, my stomach like a cold bitter marble, wondering why lean' t just be happy when the most gorgeous guy on the planet professes his love. Why do I insist on going all negative?
"I was hoping this time would be different/' he whispers.
I turn away, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps as I say, "I don't know if I'm up for all this. I don't know what to do."
He pulls me tight against his chest, his arms wrapped around me, as he says, "There's no rush to decide." And when I turn, he has this faraway look in his eyes.
"What's the matter?" I ask. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because I suck at good-byes," he says, attempting a smile that never gets past his mouth. "See, now there's two things I suck at-love and good-byes."
"Maybe they're related." I press my lips together, warning myself not to cry. "So where you going?" I fight to keep my voice calm and neutral, even though my heart doesn't want to beat, and my breath doesn't want to come, and I feel like I'm dying inside.