Max.
I wasn’t certain at what point he’d begun to find his way back into my thoughts, but there was no longer any doubt that he was there. Distracting me.
I found myself thinking about him when I shouldn’t be, wondering where he was and what he was doing.
I hadn’t seen him again, not since that morning at the restaurant, when I’d all but demanded that he leave me alone, but I’d taken the time since our meeting to dissect those moments, to think and rethink his words, his actions. I replayed the sound of his voice in my head, time and time again; it was quite possibly my favorite part of our brief encounter.
I loved voices, I always had. Words held meaning, but voi Cninces held emotion.
I considered other things about him too, those that I could clearly recall. He was handsome and tall and proud, and even when I’d been frightened, I’d been drawn to him. Apparently, attraction knew no class limitations.
Yet I knew enough—even without being told—to know that Max was not of my class. Or rather, I of his. I was certain that he outclassed me.
But it wasn’t his dialect that gave him away, because even though it seemed impossible, I’d never heard his language before.
Not that it mattered; laws were laws. In the real world, the world outside of my childish fantasies, we would be permitted to interact, but only in the most superficial—or subservient—of ways.
Besides, I could still recall the other things about him, the things that were less appealing. He reeked of overconfidence.
That part of him, that kind of pride, reminded me of the Academy kids, and I found it difficult to tolerate arrogance like that.
I pushed aside all thoughts of Max as I faced yet another day of school and work. Daily routine made it easier to forget my country’s troubles and the war waged upon us.
Made it easier, also, to forget the war waging within myself.
Brooklynn and Aron waited for me in the plaza before school, and when I handed my bag to Aron, I smiled to myself. Things were already getting back to normal.
As we walked, Aron nudged me, frowning apprehensively. “Who is that?” he asked, his voice surprisingly low.
I shot him a quizzical look. “Who?”
“Don’t look now,” Brooklynn buzzed, hooking her arm around my elbow. She leaned her head in close, only pretending to lower her voice the way Aron had. “But over there”—she nodded—“you seem to have attracted the attention of a delicious little something who can’t take his eyes off you.”
Aron glowered, his voice slipping into Parshon, presumably to narrow the pool of people who could listen in on our conversation. “It’s not funny, Brook. He’s been following us since we left the plaza, and he’s only been watching Charlie. Do you want me to tell him to piss off?” He said the words, but his feet continued moving toward our school, giving no real weight to his threat.
I glanced across the cobbled road, to where foot traffic was heavy.
Faces blurred together, making it impossible to see who they were talking about. I scanned and searched, trying to find someone who was looking my way, but there was no one. Everyone’s eyes were focused on their own tasks, watching their feet as they walked, talking with their companions, admiring wares in the open booths they passed. But none of them were noticing me.
Just as I was turning away, deciding that Aron’s overactive imagination had gotten the better of him, I caught a fleeting glimpse of the man they’d meant, hidden within the crowd.
It was Xander.
His face appeared so quickly that I’d very nearly missed it. But that brief glimpse was enough. I was almost positive it had been him. I shifted on my feet, trying to get a better view, but he was already gone.
I thought about crossing the street to go after him, to ask him why he’d left so suddenly that night at the club . . . and to ask him what—if anything—he knew about Max. But those were just thoughts, and I knew that I wouldn’t act on them. If he’d wanted to talk to me, he wouldn’t have vanished when I’d spotted him.
Finally I spoke in Englaise, hoping that Brook and Aron couldn’t hear the disappointment in my voice. “Well, whoever it was, he’s gone now.”
Brooklynn tugged on my arm. “Come on, Chuck,” she said, trying out a new nickname for me. “We gotta go, or we’ll be late.”
And despite his tough words, Aron had already gone ahead without us, so we were forced to run to catch up with him.
It couldn’t have been Xander, I finally decided, convincing myself that I’d only seen what I’d wanted to see, that he’d simply been a figment of my imagination. Why would Xander be here? Why now?
He didn’t exactly strike me as a marketplace kind of guy.
“Hey, Brook,” I said when at last we caught up with Aron. “Don’t call me Chuck.”
After the last bell of the day, I stood beneath the huge shade tree in front of the school and waited for Brooklynn and Aron. Its gnarled branches twisted above my head, casting dark shapes over my fair skin and protecting me from the glaring sun overhead.
The voice that interrupted my thoughts was like delicate silk to my ears and coarse sandpaper to my nerves. “I hope you were waiting for me,” Max said.
I jumped, backing into the tree trunk; he was the last person I’d expected to see at my school. “What are you doing here?” I asked as I turned to face him, but I stopped short when I saw him.
“Why do you always ask me that?” The hint of laughter stayed buried deep in his voice, never quite rising to the surface. No one else would have noticed, but I could hear it clearly. After all, voices were my thing. “What? What’s the matter?”