Bluehour: A Water Magic Novel Part 3

"Easy?" I said sarcastically as I rolled my eyes. "It's h.e.l.l and I'm so awful at it."

"You'll do fine." She couldn't help but giggle a little at what seemed to her to be over dramatics.

"I'm so angry at my mom for forcing me to take it."

"She just wants you to be functional in the world," she expressed as we turned to our locker. Every year we choose to share a locker. It's just easier that way since we spend so much time together.

I was turning the combination when Ashton Benson from the boys swim team came over. "Hey guys." He smiled cheerfully at both of us. "How was your summer?" His question was directed specifically at me.

Before I answered, I jiggled the locker open. "Boring," I finally said with a shrug.

Agatha pushed her way in and stacked her books neatly in the locker.

Ashton ran his fingers through his dark short hair as he looked at me. "What did you do?"

"Mostly I just babysat my sister, Lucy, and hung out." I managed to put my books in the locker below Agatha's. "What did you do?"

He smiled as he rested his hand against the locker beside ours, leaning confidently as he spoke. "I spent the summer at my uncle's beach house in Hawaii surfing and partying."

"Ooooh, that sounds so cool," Agatha said excitedly. "What island were you on?"

"Oahu." Ashton smiled at her, but then turned back to me. "Okay." His voice was sing-songy. He shrugged, "I'll catch you later." With that, he turned on his heel and headed toward the cafeteria.

Agatha's eyes widened and then she giggled. "Oh, my!"

"What?" I asked with a smirk.

"Ashton Benson likes you!" Now she was laughing heartily.

"Oh, come on," I responded, chortling at her laughter. "He's just being friendly. He talks to everyone."

She looked me in the eyes with a sarcastic expression on her round face. "Yes, he's the popular type that's very social, but he likes you."

I shook my head, trying to ignore her. "He just knows me from swim team."

She smiled knowingly again. "Say what you want. Ashton Benson is after you."

I shrugged off what she said and we headed to the cafeteria. We both brought sack lunches because most of the school food had always been horrible. Lunchtime typically was an uncomfortable experience for us because the tables were generally taken up by large cliques. No group of kids wanted two lone stragglers, so we had nowhere to sit. Usually, we just tried to stand off to the side while we ate. I'd grown used to it, so it didn't bother me anymore and I intuited that Agatha felt the same.

I had other opportunities to join some of the moderately popular cliques in the past, but the girls who pursued me had unpleasant qualities that repelled me one way or another. Usually, I was put in a position of having to abandon Agatha or join the clique. There was no way in h.e.l.l I would give up Agatha for some insecure, wannabe sn.o.bs.

In many ways I didn't feel like I fit in at school. The social groups didn't make sense to me. It seemed more rational to make friends with people you liked rather than with people who made you look good to others. I never understood why people cared so much about fitting in. I liked doing my own thing and not worrying about what anybody thought of me. Life was much easier that way.

My mother used to call me a fifty-year-old kid. In some ways she was right, but in other ways, I was really immature, especially when I was behind the wheel or when it came to breaking rules. For some strange reason, I loved the adrenaline rush of danger. And even though I knew intellectually that my inclinations were childish, I couldn't live without those thrills. Life would be too boring.

Agatha and I traded lunches. We did that a lot because we often found that when we made lunch for the other, we got more creative and the food tasted better.

"I made you a submarine sandwich," Agatha commented as we leaned against the wall set off from the tables. She looked inside the lunch bag I handed her. "Oh, you brought me tacos! I love those."

"Yeah, my mom got to-go food last night. They're really good."

While we were chatting and eating, Danny walked up. "How's your first day back at school going?" he asked me.

Agatha looked the slightest bit disappointed that he directed the question at me.

"I felt like a wallflower next to Agatha; guys kept hitting on her because of her new hairstyle. It's annoying."

He turned to Agatha and looked at her. "Oh, yeah. You're hair looks good." He touched his own blond hair that was hair sprayed in place.

"Thanks," she said trying not to laugh at my comment. "How was your first day?"

"Oh, boy," he snorted. "My first day was busy." His mouth turned to an exaggerated frown. He seemed to be looking at Agatha more closely. I saw him looking at her lips.

"Why? What happened?" Agatha looked very curious.

He snorted again. "The princ.i.p.al a.s.signed me to escort the tres beaux to their cla.s.ses. I even have to eat lunch with them."

Agatha's eyes widened. "Wow! Really?" She looked at me.

I was trying to keep a blank expression. Anything in regards to the French students made my mind spin. I hoped if I kept quiet, the conversation would shift to something else.

"Mrs. Peters thought that I would be the best guy to show them around because I know them from work." He shook his head in bewilderment.

"That's right," Agatha whispered. "They eat at the Sea View Chateau." She grasped his arm. "Is that blond Marine girl a real lunatic?"

He smiled when Agatha took his arm. "She's been very polite. I think she likes me." He laughed hysterically at his own fantasy.

"In your dreams." Agatha slapped his shoulder playfully.

"I have to go back to them. Why don't you come and sit with us?" His expression was hopeful as he looked to me first and then to Agatha.

"Oh, no. I couldn't," I said quickly.

"Come on," Agatha pleaded. "It could be exciting." She knew I was a thrill seeker.

"No way," I protested. "Not after that fight with Marine on the beach. It would be too weird." Truthfully, the fight was the least of my concerns. I was terrified of Laurent.

"Please, please, please," Agatha begged. "Aren't you curious about them? They are so different and fascinating. Everybody's talking about them."

I felt bad because I knew how much Agatha was crushing on Danny and I knew this was a good opportunity for her to be around him. If he just got to know her, he might recognize how truly adorable she was. I looked across the room and saw the clan eating and conversing together. My curiosity was in full force, but I just couldn't do it. I hated Laurent for how he made me feel.

"Agatha," I said sternly. "No, I can't." I looked her straight in the eyes. "No."

"Okay." Her tone was dejected. "Maybe another time," she mumbled to Danny.

"No. You go," I encouraged Agatha. "I'll be fine. You can tell me all about them."

Danny looked eager for company, but Agatha wrinkled her face. "Not in a million years am I going to leave you." She giggled playfully now. "You and me together forever."

I didn't deserve a friend like her. Agatha was truly gold.

"Alright, gals," Danny huffed. "I better get back to my job." He rolled his eyes, but I could tell that he loved being the "one" to escort the gorgeous, mysterious clan around.

I just wanted to leave. My mind felt all messed up when I thought about the tres beaux as Danny and his friends called them, and even more so about Laurent.

"I'm feeling kind of sick," I whispered to Agatha. "The French students make me uncomfortable."

"That one from the beach, Laurent, is looking at you."

I froze.

"He keeps glancing in our direction, but his eyes are on you."

She kept chattering on about it, but I kept my gaze to the ground. My mind was spinning with the information. What did he want with me?

"They are all so unusual," Agatha continued. "The one with the long shiny black hair... I think Brigitte is her name. She's so stunning in her pink French style blouse with jewels of many colors around her neck. She must be dating the one with dark brown long hair who Danny called Marcel because she has her hand on his leg. He's wearing a long overcoat. That's a unique choice in clothing-kind of hot for this time of year. Don't you think?"

She tapped me on the shoulder, but I was still looking at the ground. "h.e.l.lo to Grace. Anybody home?"

I looked at her slowly. "Is Laurent still watching me?"

"No. He's eating now. They look like they love their food. I wonder what they're munching on."

I looked over at them. Both Laurent and his friend, Pascal, were utterly gorgeous, clad in slacks and t-shirts. Laurent's long golden brown hair fell loosely down his back while Pascal's black hair was tied over his shoulder.

My throat tightened. I noticed that I was perspiring. My fingernails went right into my mouth and I started chewing on them anxiously.

The bell rang and quickly I rushed off to my next cla.s.s. I couldn't wait for the day to end. I even considered skipping swim team so that I could gather my thoughts at home. Originally, I was disappointed I was on restriction, but now I was glad. Losing myself in household ch.o.r.es and isolation seemed like a great escape from my maddening thoughts. But, I couldn't miss practice. It wouldn't be a good way to start the season. I needed to do well on the team because Berkley expected excellence in extracurricular activities as well as in academics.

Once the school day ended, I was relieved to head for the water. I had to borrow a bathing suit from the barrel they kept in the locker room because I forgot mine. It looked horrible on me. It was all stretched out in the stomach area, almost shredding, and too short in the torso which made it look way too French cut. I didn't care. I was used to looking like a buffoon.

I was sitting with all my teammates on the benches. We were going to do pool exercises with the boy's team. The coach wanted us to pair up with the boys because they were stronger and could challenge us. I thought the idea was idiotic.

Coach Sanchez was really stupid in my opinion. I remember last year she was always coming up with creative activities in the pool. As far as I was concerned, we just needed to do laps and practice racing. All of her crazy exercises were useless.

The boys' coach opened the gate and the boys entered the pool area. He directed them to the benches against the fence across the way from the girls. They were rowdy as guys are.

Ashton Benson was wrestling another guy playfully with his arm around his neck as he smiled at me from across the cement deck. I smiled back surprised by the sudden attention I was receiving from him. He was attractive and I wondered what he wanted with me.

But, then my head involuntarily jolted back in strong reaction to the sight before me. To my utter shock, I saw that Laurent was one of the boys. He had joined the swim team.

My adrenaline started rushing something awful. I wanted to leave desperately. At once, I began looking around, trying to figure out how I could slip away without anyone noticing.

After a couple of minutes of panic, my anger took over. Who was I kidding? I couldn't just quit swim team because of him. And I wasn't going to let him scare me away.

I crossed my arms over my chest and looked around. Some of the girls on the team were looking at Laurent. The way their eyes softened, I got the strong impression that they thought he was attractive. Some of them started whispering amongst themselves excitedly and then looking back at him.

He didn't seem to even notice though. He was just running his fingers across the bars of the metal fence like strings on a harp as he walked toward the benches across from us. I got the feeling from the way he was tilting his ear and looking up just the slightest bit that he was listening to the sounds his fingers made against the metal.

After a short welcome and first day of practice speech, Coach Sanchez started calling off pairs. Dana with Matt, Jennifer with Jayden, Ashley with Tyler... She continued on and on until she said, "Grace with Laurent."

Oh, now, I wanted to quit the team right then and there. Forget Berkley and excelling in an extracurricular activity. Maybe I could join the soccer team even though I was terrible at the sport. I'd never make the tryouts.

Then I saw Laurent moving closer to me. My heart was beating so fast. His blue eyes locked with mine.

I wanted to die.

Gourmet.

I sat frozen on the bench as Laurent walked toward me. My throat tightened. How could I concentrate on swimming with Laurent as my partner?

To my surprise, he hesitated, stopping short in his step. He looked at me. We were several feet apart still, but I could feel the energy between us.

Shivers ran through my body.

There was an edge to his expression, to his gaze that was fixated on me. I wanted to turn away, but I couldn't help but return his stare; something about the way he looked at me drew me in. I was curious.

Mandy Bowers ran over to him. "Hi, Laurent," she said, flipping her blond hair with her hand.

He stood there for a second, ignoring her.

I continued watching him as she chatted on about nothing. His eyes looked a brighter blue, lit, like when a fiery sun blazes on the sea. His shirtless body was gorgeous. He was tall and slim with a well formed chest and shoulders.

"So, the party is Friday night," Mandy blathered on as she followed him in his step toward me.

Once he approached me, he stopped suddenly. His nostrils flared and his teeth clenched. Something about him reminded me of a wild animal.

My breath caught in my throat. He was beautiful, yet frightening.

Looking at Laurent was like when you go to an aquarium and watch the sharks swim behind the gla.s.s. Sometimes they stare at you with their cold eyes like they want to eat you alive. You know if the gla.s.s broke you would be dead in a violent instant.

Then he glanced away. "I'm sorry, Grace," he said not even looking at me now. It seemed as if he was struggling with his thoughts. His body tensed and his fists balled up. He brushed past Mandy and turned to the boys' coach who was directing people into the pool.

"I have to leave, coach," he said adamantly as he grabbed him by the shoulder.

Startled, the coach turned around. "What's going on, Laurent." I could tell the coach was taken aback by his forceful grasp, but he was being extra nice to him because he was an exchange student. Normally he would have yelled at a guy for grabbing him unexpectedly like that.

"I'm sick. I have to go." There was an edge to Laurent's musical voice, an urgency. I sensed that he was pained. It seemed as if he was being tortured by his own thoughts, as if something was overwhelming him.

I couldn't understand it. I simply could not.

"Why don't you do some laps? Maybe you'll feel better." The coach was staring out at the pool with his whistle held up almost to his mouth like he was deciding whether to blow it or not as he watched some rambunctious boys.

Laurent didn't even respond, nor did he look at me. He just rushed out the pool gate in agile step-off and away.