7. Did Vald just spoke to me! Part 2

Ivory's Pov

"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice.

I looked up, stunned that he was speaking to me. He was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled toward me.

His midnight black hair was dripping wet, disheveled. Even so, he looked like he'd just finished shooting a commercial for hair gel. His dazzling face was friendly, a slight smile on his flawless lips. But his eyes were careful.

"I'm Vald Evans," he continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. "You must be Ivory."

My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? He was perfectly polite now. I had to speak; he was waiting. But I couldn't think of anything conventional to say.

"H-hi..." I stammered.

Thankfully, Mr. Gordon started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing today. We were going to extract DNA from a banana.

"Get started," he commanded.

"Ladies first, partner?" Vald asked, and he was smiling a crooked smile. So beautiful that I could only stare at him like an idiot.

"Or I could start, if you wish." The smile faded; he was obviously wondering if I was mentally competent.

"No," I said, flushing. "I'll go ahead."

I began to mixed the liquid inside the beaker as he wrote it down. I would have written it while he looked, but his clear, elegant script intimidated me. I didn't want to spoil the page with my clumsy scrawl.

After mixing and testing samples we were finished before anyone else was close.

Which left me with nothing to do but try to not look at him.. Unsuccessfully, I glanced up, and he was staring at me. That same inexplicable look of frustration in his eyes.

I looked down, his hands were clenched into a hard fists again.

Mr. Gordon came to our table then, to see why we weren't working. He looked over our shoulders to see that we were already finished.

After he left, I began doodling on my notebook again.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Vald asked, I had the feeling that he was forcing himself to make small talk with me.

"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else.

"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question. "Or the wet."

"Aberdeen must be a difficult place for you to live," he mused.

"You have no idea," I muttered darkly.

He looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn't imagine. His face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.

"Why did you come here, then?"

No one had asked me that — not straight out like he did, demanding.

"It's… complicated."

"I think I can keep up," he pressed.

I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His sliver eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.

"My mom and dad got seperated." I said.

"When did that happened?" He asked sympathetic.

"Last November." My voice sounded sad, even to me.

"Why didn't you stay with your father instead?"

I couldn't fathom his interest, but he continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes. As if my dull life's

story was somehow vitally important.

"Dad, traveled a lot." I half-smiled.

"And your mother moved here." He said it as an assumption again, not a question.

My chin raised a fraction. "She wanted to get away from the city."

"But now you're unhappy," he pointed out.

"And?" I challenged.

"That doesn't seem fair." He shrugged, but his eyes were still intense.

I laughed without humor. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life isn't fair."

"I believe I have heard that somewhere before," he agreed dryly.

"So that's all," I insisted, wondering why he was still staring at me that way.

His gaze became appraising. "You put on a good show," he said slowly. "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

I grimaced at him, resisting the impulse to stick out my tongue like a five-year-old, and looked away.

"Am I wrong?"

I tried to ignore him.

"I didn't think so," he murmured smugly.

"Why does it matter to you?" I asked, irritated. I kept my eyes away, watching the teacher make his rounds.

"That's a very good question," he muttered, so quietly that I wondered if he was talking to himself.

However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get.

I sighed, scowling at the blackboard.

"Am I annoying you?" he asked, he sounded amused.

I glanced at him without thinking… and told the truth again. "Not exactly. I'm more annoyed at myself."

"My face is so easy to read." I frowned.

"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." Despite everything that I'd said and he'd guessed, he sounded like he meant it.

"You must be a good reader then," I replied.

"Usually." He smiled widely, flashing a set of perfect, ultrawhite teeth.

Mr. Gordon called the class to order then, and I turned with relief to listen. I was in disbelief that I'd just explained my dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful boy who may or may not despise me.

He'd seemed engrossed in our conversation. But now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that he was leaning away from me again. His hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.

When the bell finally rang, Vald rushed as swiftly from the room as he had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after him in amazement.

Jayden skipped quickly to my side and picked up my books for me. I imagined him with a wagging tail.

"Vald seemed friendly enough today," he commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. He didn't seem pleased about it.

I tried to sound indifferent. "I wonder what was with him last Monday."

I couldn't concentrate on Jayden's chatter as we walked to Gym, and RE. didn't do much to hold my

attention, either. Jayden was on my team, he covered my position as well as his own. So my woolgathering was only interrupted when it was my turn to serve. My team ducked warily out of the way every time I was up.

The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was happier when I was in mom dry cab.

Mom already had the heater running. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down and fluffed my damp hair out. So the heater could dry it on the way home.

As mom pulled put of the parking lot, that's when I noticed the pale figure. Vald Evans was leaning on the side of his white Honda Civic with his arm draped over Adriana's shoulder.