Forbidden. Part 4

Claire sprang to her feet. Her heart skipped a beat as she nodded wordlessly.

A slow smile curved the edges of Neil's handsome mouth, and there was a twinkle in his eyes. "I could hear you all the way from the lobby. You're both awesome."

"Thanks," Alec replied, abruptly packing up his guitar.

Claire's voice was still firmly lodged in her feet.

"What a drag that we don't have a guy's spot left in Concert Singers this year," Neil said, before turning his gaze toward Claire, "but Brennan, guess what? We're short a soprano."

Claire could hardly believe he was talking to her, or that he knew her name. She struggled to unearth some words in response. "I-"

"Do you know how to read music?" he asked.

Claire nodded.

"Great! We need you. I'm sure if you audition for Mr. Lang, he could pet.i.tion to squeeze you in. We meet B track. Do you have a free period at all?"

"Um, yes. But-" d.a.m.n it! She sounded as uncommunicative as Alec.

"You might have to shuffle your schedule a bit, but please say you'll do it?"

Claire paused, dumbfounded. Was this really happening? Was Neil actually insisting that she join Concert Singers? Or was this another hallucination? "When ... could I audition?"

"You're already warmed up. Why wait? Lang's in the music room right now."

"Okay. Well-" Her heart racing, Claire turned back to Alec to make her apologies and say good-bye.

But Alec was gone.

"I'll tell Mr. Lang not to leave yet." With that, Neil raced off.

Claire felt a sudden stab of guilt. Why had Alec left? She hadn't been talking to Neil that long. But in that brief interval, she'd completely forgotten Alec was there. Did he notice how she'd been drooling over Neil? G.o.d, how embarra.s.sing.

But there was no time to think about it now. Mr. Lang-and Neil-were waiting for her.

six.

Spanish III was Alec's first cla.s.s the next morning. As he took his seat, he couldn't shake the image of Claire, sitting across from him on that crate yesterday, singing her heart out. She had been so shy and self-deprecating about it, and then it turned out she had a spectacular voice. For a little while, it was as if a quiet bond had formed between them.

Then Choir Boy had shown up.

Alec glanced at Neil, who was sitting on the far side of the cla.s.sroom. If Neil had sat closer, Alec would have asked him about Claire's Concert Singers audition. For her sake, he hoped they had accepted her.

A twinge gripped Alec's insides as he recalled Claire's reaction to Neil the afternoon before. Alec frowned, cursing himself for falling into a cliche. A few other girls had made overtures in his direction since school started-perfectly nice girls, from what he could tell-but he had no interest in any of them. He hadn't expected the whole dating question to come up so soon, but it was one of the parts of this human experiment that intrigued him the most. He wanted to try it.

So why did he have to fixate on the one girl who clearly had no interest in him?

He heaved a sigh. This situation, which he'd worked so hard to set up, and had looked forward to for so long, might end up being nothing but an exercise in frustration. He'd be forced to see Claire not just in his other cla.s.ses every day, but at his locker as well-their locker.

At that moment, to his complete astonishment, Claire herself darted into the room, out of breath and looking fl.u.s.tered-but still beautiful. Her dark brown hair shimmered with tones of red and gold, even beneath the harsh coolness of the fluorescent lights. He found himself staring at her again, just as he had on the first day they met.

Claire's gaze immediately fell on Neil, and a shy, delighted smile crossed her face. Alec pressed his lips together, the twinge in his insides tightening like a vise. There were lots of empty seats. Presumably, she'd sit next to Neil.

A warmth filled him as Claire sank into the empty chair beside him. "What are you doing in this cla.s.s?" she asked, sounding just as surprised to see him as he was to see her. "I thought all your cla.s.ses were honors."

"The rest of them are," he admitted. "This was the only foreign language cla.s.s that fit into my schedule." Not that it really mattered what language he took. "What about you? I saw your schedule, you were listed in honors Spanish."

"I had to change it. That cla.s.s was the same track as Concert Singers." She darted him a hesitant look. "I tried out yesterday afternoon. And got in! Can you believe it?"

Alec smiled, hoping to convey how genuinely pleased he was for her without betraying his inner turmoil. "Of course I believe it. You deserve it. You have a beautiful voice."

"Thanks. I still can't get over it. I had no idea. And I never would have known about it if not for-"

Claire was interrupted midsentence as their teacher, Senora Guiterez, a plump, dark-haired woman, rapped sharply on her desk for attention. "Hola, clase!" The cla.s.s quieted and focused their attention up front as she continued speaking in Spanish, explaining that everyone was required to do so for the entirety of the period.

To Alec's amus.e.m.e.nt, after a brief introductory lecture, the cla.s.s was subjected to an episode of an old Spanish soap opera. Is this really the way high school students learn languages? he wondered. When the TV clip was done, Senora Guiterez asked the cla.s.s to describe what they'd just seen. After several students gave their impressions, the teacher fixed her gaze on Neil.

"Senor Mitchum," she said in Spanish, "in the scene on the balcony, why was Julio so angry?"

Neil looked baffled, replying in halting Spanish, "Because he wear so ugly a sweater?"

The cla.s.sroom erupted with laughter. Even Senora Guiterez couldn't hold back a chuckle. Alec's stomach burned as he watched Claire gaze at Neil with an admiring smile. What did she see in him? Other than his stunning good looks and charming personality, that is?

As the laughter continued, Claire never took her eyes from Neil's face. A pressure began in Alec's chest that rose through his throat to throb at his temple. Every muscle in his body tensed. The air he was breathing suddenly felt thinner, as if he were on top of Mount Everest. Without further thought, Alec leapt to his feet, crossed the room in the blink of an eye, lifted Neil from his seat, and flung him through the cla.s.sroom window in a hail of splintering gla.s.s. The sound of Neil's helpless scream was intensely satisfying.

Alec blinked as the laughter in the cla.s.sroom brought him back to reality. Neil still sat in his seat, undamaged, not a lock of hair on his head out of place.

Is this what jealousy feels like? Alec wondered. If so, it was an emotion he didn't care for.

"Si, si. It was an ugly sweater," the teacher was saying. "But besides that, senor?"

Neil tried again. "Because... Maria. And Julio. The girlfriend, she. They are. They were-" He trailed off, at a loss for words.

The teacher's eyes swept the room. "Anyone else know the answer?"

Claire looked like she was struggling to formulate a reply. No one responded. Alec shook his head, frowning. It was so easy. Here, he realized, was his opportunity to show Claire the difference between himself and the Choir Boy. His hand shot up like a rocket. The teacher pointed at him.

"Julio was furious," Alec replied promptly in pitch-perfect Spanish, "because his cousin Guillermo had just revealed that Maria is not just his girlfriend. Julio's father, before he went to law school twenty-three years ago, had met Maria's mother in a hotel bar in Tierra del Fuego and spent the night with her, making Maria his half sister."

The teacher's jaw dropped. His cla.s.smates turned to stare at him. Alec darted a look in Claire's direction. Her eyes were wide and she was smiling at him now, as if to say, Wow. That was good. Really good. Alec grinned triumphantly.

"Well said, senor," a.s.serted Senora Guiterez. "Are you sure you need to be taking this cla.s.s?"

Alec paused, his smugness instantly fading. s.h.i.te, he thought. What had possessed him? Showing off wasn't his style. Had he jeopardized his cover? In broken Spanish, he backpedaled, "Si. No. Sorry, senora. I live in Spain two years as child. My grandfather watching this soap opera. I see this episode before."

As the teacher nodded and patiently corrected his grammatical errors, Alec secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, people would forget all about this by tomorrow and go back to laughing at Neil's jokes.

He wasn't sure that Claire bought his explanation, though. For the rest of the cla.s.s, he felt her eyes on him, as if she sensed that there was something strange going on. Alec kept his own eyes fixed on his textbook, and as soon as the bell rang he darted out of the room without looking back.

seven.

That was weird, Claire thought, as she finished washing her hands in the girls' bathroom during break. It was obvious that Alec was practically fluent in Spanish. Why was he trying to cover it up? He'd said it was the only cla.s.s that fit into his schedule, but she doubted that was true. He could have probably taken French I or j.a.panese I instead. She shrugged, taking out her brush and running it through her hair. Maybe Alec just wanted a cla.s.s he could skate by in. If so, she could understand that. This school was hard enough, and all honors and AP cla.s.ses only made it harder.

She wished she'd had a chance to talk to him after cla.s.s, to thank him for encouraging her to sing with him yesterday, and to apologize for unintentionally ignoring him afterward. She still felt guilty about that. But he'd rushed out of cla.s.s so fast just now, she hadn't been able to catch him.

Claire returned her brush to her backpack and was zipping it up when a sudden flush and wave of dizziness came over her. What the h.e.l.l? she thought fearfully. It had been four days since her last "episode." She'd started to think-hope-that the whole thing had just been a fluke. Apparently not. A deep heat, which seemed to be emanating from her core, now coursed up through her body like a raging inferno. She broke out in a sweat, her stomach churned, her knees quivered, and she slammed back against the bathroom wall, crying out in pain. Thank G.o.d no one else is here to see this, Claire thought frantically, as she slowly slid down to the tile floor.

All at once, an image appeared in her mind: A silhouetted figure stood before her, lit from behind by a bright golden light, surrounded by inky blackness.

"Claire!" cried a raspy, whispering voice.

A long series of garbled words followed-an attempt at speech interspersed with static.

Only one part-the final sentence-came through loud and clear: "Don't tell anyone."

Then it was over. Claire gasped, struggled to her feet, and stood there for a long moment, gripping the counter for support.

What the h.e.l.l was that?!

It was totally different from the other psychic episodes she'd experienced. It felt incomplete, like she could hear someone talking to her, instead of seeing through their eyes. Was she going bats.h.i.t crazy? Or was this really happening? Was someone trying to contact her telepathically?

In the staticky section, the only words Claire had been able to understand were "danger," "gift," and "help." Who or what was in danger? What gift? Was she supposed to help someone? Then there was the kicker: Don't tell anyone.

Don't tell anyone what?

Claire sighed. How was she supposed to figure this out on her own?

"I can't wait to hear the voice that bowled Mr. Lang over," Erica said a few minutes later.

"Yeah, why've you been holding out on us all this time, CB?" Brian asked.

"I wasn't holding out," Claire insisted. "I never used to be able to sing. I'm just as surprised as you are."

Claire followed her friends into the music room, past the grand piano toward a semicircular row of chairs, each of which had a music stand in front of it. She'd been so excited about this cla.s.s. But how was she supposed to relax and enjoy herself after that bizarre mental episode in the restroom?

"Ba.s.s section sits on that end," Erica explained, before leading Claire toward their own seats. "Then tenors and altos. Last but not least, sopranos-that's us."

"I told you you'd make it, Brennan," Neil said, striding up with a smile. "Congrats and welcome." He placed his hand on Claire's bare shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

The instant Neil's hand made contact, a dizzy heat began to engulf her. Claire had a fleeting thought: How pathetic are you? The guy barely touches you and you swoon? But as her head began pounding and her knees trembled, that thought was immediately replaced by another: Oh no. Not again! Not now!! I just barely got over the last one! And then- WHAM.

She was in her Spanish cla.s.sroom. The person sitting next to her was ... her.

Senora Guiterez laid a corrected quiz facedown on her desk.

Nervous, Claire flipped over the paper with hands that were not her own-hands that were larger and more masculine. She saw three things. First, the date on the paper. Second, a big red F. Third, the name scrawled at the top of the page: Neil Mitchum.

Claire blinked and found Neil still standing in the flesh before her, eyeing her with concern. "Brennan? You okay?"

"Fine!" Claire manufactured a smile as she quickly wiped sweat from her brow. "Shouldn't have had that latte at break, I guess." She hurried off to the soprano section and sat down next to Erica, heart pounding.

Erica shot Claire an intensely curious look. "You just saw something, didn't you?" Erica whispered urgently. "When Neil touched your shoulder?"

Claire nodded as she lowered her eyes. Thankfully, no one else seemed to have noticed anything.

"See! I told you it was a touch thing. Was it a vision about Neil?"

Claire nodded again and leaned in to Erica's ear. "It was a vision of the future!"

"Really? Are you sure?"

"I saw Neil get an F on a Spanish quiz. It was dated next Wednesday."

"An F? But Neil's a good student."

"Apparently not in Spanish."

Claire's brain was going a mile a minute. Was all this somehow connected to the garbled message she'd gotten just before cla.s.s? Danger ... gift ... help. Suddenly, the whole thing made sense. She was supposed to help Neil-who was in danger of flunking Spanish. For some reason, she was supposed to keep it a secret. But Erica already knew everything that was going on with her. Surely, she could tell Erica about it.

"And guess what?" Claire went on softly. "I had a separate vision a few minutes ago. I think I've just been charged with a mission: to help Neil pa.s.s that Spanish quiz."

Erica raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "Who would send you on a mission?"

"I have no idea. What should I do? Is it okay to meddle with the future?"

"Of course it is!"

"But if I help Neil get an A, it might change the course of history. There's a cause and effect for everything. If Hitler had gotten into art school, there might have been no World War II."

"Did you just liken Neil to Hitler?"

"They're both vegetarians."

Erica rolled her eyes. "Claire, come on. How can you sit back and do nothing? If you'd known about my mom's accident beforehand, I would've totally wanted you to warn me."

Before they could continue, Mr. Lang breezed into the room, sat down at the piano, and began playing scales with a flourish. An elegant man with a neatly trimmed auburn goatee, Mr. Lang's no-nonsense, down-to-business att.i.tude was complemented by an upbeat, positive inner energy. Everyone began to warm up, singing along with the piano. Claire tentatively joined her voice to the chorus of sopranos. She had no clear idea what she was doing, but somehow it all seemed to come naturally to her-and thank G.o.d, since she was finding it impossible to concentrate. Her thoughts were consumed by the task ahead of her.