[Imdalind 01.0] Kiss of Fire Read online

“Joclyn! Don’t say that. He thinks he left out of love—”

  “Which only proves that he didn’t love us! That he didn’t care.”

  “But he does,” she pleaded. “Don’t you see? He came to your grandparents; he asked about both of us, I’m sure. It only proves that he does love us; he does care.”

  This time, I kept my anger in check. This time, I slowed my heartbeat. I had to; I couldn’t tell my mother the truth. Her words were so desperate. The truth that she had somehow been waiting for him to return all this time made me sick to my stomach. I glanced toward the garbage can where the ripped-up letter laid, the weight of my lie feeling like lead in my gut. I stood up, the forgotten cell phone tumbling to the ground.

  “I need to take a shower.” I felt numb as I walked away. My small breakthrough had opened up a chasm of forgotten pain and heartache that I didn’t want to revisit. Before I even hit the bathroom, I felt the tears fall. They splashed down my cheeks in warm trails that welcomed more.

  I turned on the hot water, hoping my mother wouldn’t hear my sobs, hoping the tears would take away all the pain. I stepped into the overly-hot water, burning my skin before I could turn it down and then curled up on the floor of the tub, the water from the shower pouring over me. Only then did I open my hand. The tiny purple bead still sat in my palm, glistening as the water ran over it. It shimmered and sparkled as the color danced and changed. I clenched my hand over it, not wanting to see it again. No matter how much I wanted to throw it down the drain to be lost forever, I knew I couldn’t. This stupid thing would always serve as a reminder of what I had lost, and what my mother had so foolishly let slip away.

  I woke around midday on Saturday to the rhythmic knocking that Ryland had used as his signature since he was fourteen. I sighed in frustration. He had been here a few times before, and his visits always made me uncomfortable. Ryland grew up in a two hundred thousand square foot mansion; I grew up in an apartment that was smaller than his bedroom.

  I listened to the incessant knocking for a minute more before grumbling and rolling out of bed. My body didn’t hurt as much now, but it still felt stiff and heavy. I straightened out, cursing beads, Mexican food, and useless fathers for my endless illness.

  I had fallen asleep right after my shower last night, meaning my hair had dried as I slept, resulting in an endless tangle of black hair. I flattened it around my right ear as much as I could, making sure the mark was covered, then threw a hoodie on over my cami and shuffled to the door with Scooby-Doo pajamas dragging on the floor around my ankles. I yanked the door open and walked away, leaving it ajar so he could let himself in.

  “Good morning!” Ryland’s voice was loud and happy, as always. He bounded in, slammed the door and threw his arms around my waist, lifting me up in an attempt to tackle me to the ground.

  “Put me down!” I pounded on his hands, trying not to smile. It was no use; his grip only tightened around my mid-section. “I’m going to hurl!”

  He dropped me and came around in front of me, inspecting the probability. He smiled at me impishly, sending my stomach into a pattern reminiscent of a roller coaster.

  “Doesn’t look like it to me.” His blue eyes sparkled, his smile widening to a grin. He was enjoying this game too much.

  “I’m sick, remember.”

  “Not according to your mother, you little faker.” He smiled wider and tweaked my nose. My stomach did another flip at his touch.

  “Traitor,” I mumbled as I shuffled to the kitchen. Ryland bounded behind me, full of more energy than usual.

  “Well, I had to get my information somewhere, seeing as someone wouldn’t return my calls.” He raised a brow at me as he settled into one of the two kitchen chairs, crossing his legs regally and looking out of place sitting at the tiny table at the end of our galley kitchen.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. Sick or not, I did sleep all day yesterday.” I pulled down a box of Fruit Loops and a bowl, carrying them and the milk over to the table where he sat. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time.

  “People only sleep like that when they’re sick. You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I lied. His eyes widened in disbelief.

  “Do you want some?” I shook the box of cereal at him, trying to break his gaze.

  He shook his head and continued to look at me. “You know, when I was ten, I snuck into the kitchen and had some Fruit Loops from the box your mom used to keep in there for you...”

  “And?”

  “They were disgusting!” He made a face like he still remembered the sugar-sweet taste and it revolted him. I couldn’t help but laugh; the idea of Fruit Loops being disgusting was funny to me. Of course, Ryland had been raised on a whole higher class of food, so it made sense.

  I looked up to find him studying me.

  “I’m worried about you. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I stuck a spoonful of cereal in my mouth, making it clear I didn’t want to elaborate.

  Ryland leaned forward and exhaled. “That’s obviously a lie, Jos.”

  I ignored him, and continued to scarf down my cereal at an inhuman rate.

  “I was worried,” Ryland continued, his voice low, “that after I gave you the necklace, you thought I was looking at you differently, that you thought I wanted to be more than friends… that I scared you…” His voice trailed off and I dropped my spoon into the bowl. We stared at each other.

  I had no idea how to respond. I felt hollow at his words. Somewhere, deep inside, I knew he was right; I did feel that way. It was obvious he was trying to make it clear that we were friends and nothing else. I sighed, realizing that I did, in fact, feel something more for him, but now I felt guilty, too. I should never have let myself feel that way. Ryland was my best friend, and somehow I had let my feelings change without even realizing it. It almost seemed like a betrayal of trust.

  “No, Ryland, it wasn’t that at all!” I tried to force a smile. “I love the necklace, but I know we’re… I mean, I understand…” I looked up to him in a desperate attempt to find the right words and felt my heart sputter again.

  He was looking at me, bright blue depths boring into mine with a look I had never seen before. His face screwed up in a heart-stopping half-smile that revealed a tiny dimple. I could feel my face fall again.

  I grabbed the necklace from underneath my sweater and tried to screw my face back into a smile rather than the shocked disappointment I was sure I displayed. “I can give it back, Ryland. It’s okay.”

  Ryland’s hands shot across the small table to land on mine, hindering my intent to remove it. “No, Jos,” he whispered, “I don’t ever want you to take it off. Can you promise me that? That you will never take it off?”

  I nodded, and his smile widened. He kept his hand on mine, his gaze smoldering me before I broke away and went to staring at my bowl of ever mushier Fruit Loops.

  “So, what is wrong?”

  I chanced a glance at him before returning to stare at my cereal. I didn’t know what to tell him, or even how much. After my mother’s reaction, I worried he would blow me off, too. I sighed and poked at a mushy red ring of cereal in my bowl.

  “Joclyn, you can tell me,” he said, his voice low and comforting.

  I felt that familiar wave of relaxing warmth I always got from Ryland, my resolve returning.

  “My father,” I said.

  “Your father?” His confusion was understandable. We never talked about my father, just as we never talked about his mother. They were both kind of taboo topics.

  “He sent me a letter for my birthday.” I decided that I could be more truthful with Ryland than with my mother. I still had to keep some key details from him; he had no idea about my ugly mark, and I didn’t want him to find out. “But don’t tell my mother,” I added. “I only told her he made contact with my grandparents.”

  “What did the letter say?” Here, again, was something I couldn’t answer with the full truth. I focused on his dark curly hair, not wanting
to look at him again, worried I would lose myself in his eyes for yet another time.

  “He referred me to a cult.” I dropped my head into my hands as the desperation over everything that had happened since Thursday night came crashing down on me. I needed to pull it together.

  “Oh, Jos, I am so sorry.” I heard his chair scrape against the linoleum as he rushed over to me and gathered me in his arms, moving into my chair and sitting me on his lap. His strong arms wrapped around me, pressing me into his chest.

  I buried my face in his shirt, the smell of a million bonfires and a million rugby practices consuming me. I could hear the steady thrumming of his heart as it echoed through my head, the rhythm calm and soothing. It did more than mend my frayed emotions; it told me it was okay to feel them. His arms held me tightly, his rough hands moving over my back. He moved his head down to rest on mine, surrounding me with a blanket of warmth, love and comfort. Only, that blanket was Ryland.

  My heart rate didn’t increase; instead it steadied as my emotions evened out. Ryland’s touch was some sort of perfect drug that took all my pains and worries away. We stayed like that until my Fruit Loops had become a rainbow mush. Even though my frayed emotions had calmed, I didn’t want to move; I felt so comfortable against him. I could tell he didn’t want to move either; his arms held me, his tense muscles making a comfortable pillow. I sighed into him and he rotated his head to kiss the top of mine.

  His lips brushed against my hair, his hot breath sending a warm tickle of joy down my spine, and I shivered. His chest heaved as he laughed, the sound echoing through my ears. My stomach tensed into a tightly wound basket as his lips began trailing across my head toward my temple. He breathed against the skin there, and the basket inside of me snapped. I jumped up out of his arms, leaving him looking lost, sitting alone in the chair. Necklace or no, he had just made it clear that our relationship had to be purely platonic, and I didn’t like the summersault my stomach was now doing.

  “I have to get dressed,” I sputtered as I fled from the room, my head spinning.

  I moved the few steps to my room and shut the door behind me. I stood there, my back to the door as my heart rate steadied. I wasn’t sure what had just happened. Okay, that was a lie; I knew exactly what had happened. Had I not jumped up, Ry would have kissed me. My stomach did a joyful swoop at the thought. Did I want him—Ryland LaRue, my best friend—to kiss me? I pictured myself kissing him, his hands against my face, his soft lips pressed against mine. I slid to the floor as my legs forgot how to support me. Obviously, I did. I really, really did. This was bad.

  “Are you okay in there?” I jumped to my feet at Ryland’s voice right outside my door.

  “Yeah, I’ll be just a minute.”

  “Can I watch Demo TV?” Ryland asked, his reference to my lack of cable making me smile.

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool.”

  I grabbed one of my few pair of jeans, some ballet flats, and a different cami before rushing across the hall to the bathroom. After taming my bed-head, and brushing and scrubbing my teeth and face, I stood still, looking in the mirror. I needed to make sure I didn’t let this get out of control.

  As I looked at myself I was once again caught with that fantasy of us wrapped in an embrace, arms and legs tangled together from head to toe. I shook my head, wiping the image from my mind. He was leaving in a few months; best to keep him as my best friend.

  I dressed and left the bathroom to find Ryland perched at the end of the couch, his legs bouncing up and down.

  “You’re wired,” I pointed out.

  “State Rugby finals tonight. My nerves are displaying themselves in some sort of super-charged state.” I couldn’t help but smile at him, his legs didn’t seem to stop moving, even though he was sitting.

  “Save it for the field, ’kay?”

  “That’s the plan, but it doesn’t seem to be working.”

  I walked over and sat next to him, intending to watch whatever he had engrossed himself in, but his leg spasms were vibrating the whole couch.

  “Knock it off. I feel like I’m in a blender.” I pushed him sideways with all my strength, but he hardly moved. He only started shaking more, making odd buzzing noises in an attempt to mimic a blender.

  I laughed before sliding off the couch to get away from him. His buzzing sounds grew as he followed me onto the floor, his large form toppling me over to smother me in his weird body-blender. I screeched through my hysterical laughter and slammed my elbow into his side in a desperate attempt to get him off me. He stopped shaking as he rolled away to lie beside me. We laid on the floor, side by side, our arms and legs pressed together as our laughter died out.

  “Will you come with me tonight?” he asked, his voice sounding nervous for some reason.

  “To your Rugby game?” I asked, my voice still chuckling as the last of the laughter escaped me.

  “Yeah, you can be my lucky charm. Maybe I’ll score the winning goal. Besides, it’ll be good for you to stop moping around this place.” He turned his head and winked at me. I was hit with the same vision again: his hand against the small of my back, his face pressed against mine. I sighed, nodding my head yes in defeat. I was in big trouble.

  4

  Ryland drove us to the Rugby game a few hours later—after making me endure two hours of infomercials that he found hysterical. To the standard middle class, things like Oxy-Clean and exercise videos were practical; to Ryland, they were hysterical ideas that no one would ever utilize. I just rolled my eyes at him. Sometimes, his innocence of everyone’s normal existence was irritating, not endearing. Watching infomercials, he learned about rotisserie roasters and paint sprayers, and almost bought a leopard print snuggie, insisting that I needed one.

  It wasn’t until we pulled into the parking lot at Whittier Academy that I began to second-guess my decision to come with him.

  Ryland pulled his Lotus into a spot close to the locker rooms where a variety of other expensive cars were clustered. His canary yellow car looked a bit out of place next to all the black—while equally-expensive vehicles—surrounding us. I got out and leaned against the back while Ryland extracted his duffle bag from the small shelf behind the seats.

  The campus of Whittier Academy was acre after acre of tall broadleaf trees with large flagstone buildings tucked among them. From the parking lot, I could see the large stadium, a few tennis courts and a neatly cut field next to a stable. Set away from the sporting arena was the first of what I could only assume were academic buildings or dorms, but nothing was labeled, so I couldn’t be sure.

  The whole campus had been taken care of with absolute perfection. The trees were groomed, each hedge squared. The ivy growing up the side of the building trailed through the stone with eerie precision. Even the long stretch of cobblestone road we traveled seemed to be cared for with extreme diligence. The whole facility screamed wealth and privilege. I felt like a blob of dirt on its sparkling floors.

  I shoved all of my hair into my hoodie, making sure my right ear and the mark were covered, and then smoothed out my dirty jeans as I tried to cover up my flaws. Somehow, growing up with Ryland, being with him every day, I never felt out of place; but, being here at his school, I could feel the gap between us widen.

  He walked toward me with his rugged strut, and I sank against the car, trying for the first time since I was five to disappear from Ryland.

  “What’s up, Jos?” he asked, wrapping his fingers around my elbow. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes... I mean, no... I mean...” He smiled at me and I felt my insides melt. “I don’t belong here, Ry. This isn’t my world.”

  “What do you mean, this isn’t your world? You are part of my world, so you do belong here.” His grin widened as he led me away from his car. My giddy, high-school-crush butterflies came out of nowhere because he had referred to me as belonging.

  “You gonna to sit on the front row and cheer me on?” he asked, although I could tell by his tone he already knew the ans
wer.

  “Ha ha. No. I will, however, give you the loudest feminine yell from somewhere near the middle.”

  “That’s my girl.” He reached over and rumpled my hair like a dog’s, ruining my perfectly placed hood. I gave him a spiteful look as I fixed his handiwork, but he only grinned at me before running off to join his team.

  I watched him before turning around as some of the other boys began asking about me. Although I couldn’t stop their ogling, at least from a distance I could pretend to ignore it.

  I had moved about halfway up the stadium seats when a large, inclined roof caught my attention. Without even thinking about it, I changed directions toward the enclosed announcer’s booth. It was covered in the same smooth flagstone as the other buildings, but it was the roof that called to me. The deeply angled slope extended high above the field.

  I jumped up about three feet and hoisted myself onto the red asphalt tiles. I loved being so high for the same reason I loved that our apartment was on the third floor with a big open window where I could sit for hours. From up here, I could watch over everyone; I could see what was going on and feel a part of it without the worry of someone else thinking something was wrong with me. What I loved the most, though, was the way the wind moved across my face, tickling my sun-starved skin. The powerful energy of the wind pushed against me and moved into me. It was lucky I was sane, because part of my soul wanted to take off into the air and soar away.

  I sat perched on top of the booth; legs dangling on either side of the A-shaped roof, watching both teams run drills on opposite sides of the field. Ryland’s team wore deep blue shorts and matching shirts, each shirt emblazoned with a giant dragon spewing a perfect line of fire. The dragon wasn’t the school mascot, however; it was the logo of Ryland’s father’s company, Imdalind Forging. Being around Ryland so much, I often forgot how large his family’s company was and how much it had a hand in everything Ryland did.

  After about an hour of drills and prep, the crowd began to file in. When the slow trickle became a more steady flow, I decided it was time to leave my roost, so I wouldn’t get in trouble. I moved my way down the steep slant of red asphalt shingles, freezing in place when a hot trickle moved up my spine. I looked up, afraid some bird had decided to humiliate me, but stopped halfway at the sight of Edmund strolling into the stands.