The Watcher

We arrived at Heather and Jesse’s table and he let my hand go. If they saw us holding hands, they didn’t say anything. Michael and I acted like friends but they must have noticed the way I behaved around him, the way my breath would catch whenever our eyes met, or the way my skin would burn if he stood or sat too close.

“May I join you?” It was Farouk. He had a girl with him. Her dark brown eyes were so intense they seemed to look right through me.

“Is this Fatima?” I asked.

“Hello, Mia,” she said. Although Farouk hadn’t mentioned it, she was a junior, the same year as him—which meant they must be twins. Her accent was less pronounced than her brother’s, but she had the same curly black hair—only hers was long and wild, giving her an exotic beauty.

“Your hair is gorgeous,” I said.

“Thanks.” She tugged at one of her curls, examining it. “It needs a trim.”

“I’m glad to have a chance to finally thank you for the necklace,” I said.

“You’re most welcome.” She gri

I recalled having Damiel at my door, the hellhounds around my house, and the way the necklace had vibrated each time, some kind of warning. It must have been letting me know when I was in danger. “Yes, it did.”

“You might not need it so much now.” She glanced knowingly at Michael, who was chatting with Jesse. “But you never know.”

Could she see Michael, too? The way I did? I didn’t know how to ask without giving away his secret, so I kept quiet, almost awkwardly so, and looked out the window at the rain that wasn’t letting up.

Fatima and Farouk finished lunch early because they had to study for a biology exam. They left as the topic changed to our weekend plans.

“Hey, this weekend Kevin Foster’s parents are out of town and he’s throwing a big party,” Jesse said.

“How big?” Heather asked.

“Everyone’s invited. He’s got a huge place,” he said, looking at all of us. “You guys should come.”

I was eating a chicken salad that seemed oilier than usual. It slid down my throat and sat in my stomach like a lump.

“Who’s Kevin Foster?” I asked, not sure I wanted to go to a stranger’s party.

“He’s in his junior year at Sealth,” Jesse answered, then turned to Michael. “You remember his brother Dave? His parties?”

“Yes,” Michael said, gazing out over the cafeteria, absently keeping watch.

“Dude, you should come. It’ll be awesome.”

“Don’t think so.”

“Chloe will be disappointed.” Jesse gave him a suggestive smile.

Michael shot Jesse a look that silenced him. Jesse’s gaze darted quickly in my direction and then fixed on the table in front of him.

Who was Chloe?

Michael shifted in his seat and squeezed a packet of ketchup onto his plate. He had hardly touched his burger. I was going to ask right then and there who Chloe was, since everyone at the table seemed to know something about her. But Fiona and Dean joined us, holding hands, and Heather took the opportunity to break the awkward silence by chatting with them. Michael excused himself quietly and left.

For the rest of lunch, I listened to Heather and Jesse chat about the upcoming party with Fiona and Dean. I felt more out of place than ever. While Heather managed to look mystified—she didn’t know anything about Chloe—Jesse ignored me. It was as though the space I occupied no longer existed. As soon as lunch was over, he took off.

I asked Heather, “Who’s Chloe?”

“I’ve never heard of her, but I can ask Jesse if you want,” she offered.

“No. Let me try Michael first. I think I need to hear it from him.”

In English class, Michael sneaked in a few minutes late. We were still reading Hamlet, and Mr. Bidwell called on me to read Ophelia’s lines in Act III Scene II. In the scene, Ophelia was upset over the way Hamlet had been treating her. I could relate. After all, who was this Chloe, and why did Michael walk away after her name was mentioned? Jesse was reading Hamlet. Ophelia’s lines were short, but I read them right at Michael, hoping for a reaction of some sort. I got none.

After class, Michael caught up with me. “I’m on duty after school today,” he said, “but I can drive you home.”

“Who’s Chloe?”

He sca

“You know what I mean! Why did the conversation— How much older?”

“She’s in her third year of college now, I think.”

Third year of college—that meant she was Bill’s age. Michael had dated older women. I could never compete with that. “Were you seeing her?”

Grabbing my arm, he guided me into the nearest empty room, the chemistry lab. All the tables were clear, and someone had lined beakers and bottles in neat rows along the shelves. He closed the door before he spoke. “I haven’t seen her since before the accident.”

“Were you…?”

“I was drunk. We both were.”

“And?”

He leaned against the desk at the front of the room, his hands gripping the wooden desktop so tightly that the veins popped at his wrists. Tilting his chin, Michael looked up at me, and I knew without a doubt that something had happened between them.

My stomach lurched, and the chemical smell in the air hit the back of my throat like I was going to be sick. I leaned against one of the tables to steady myself.

“I was much different then,” he said. “She was a friend… It was before everything.”

“How could it be before everything?”

“You know what I mean. Mia, please…” He reached for my hand, but stopped. I wished he hadn’t.

“Look. I know we have this ancient history and all, but—”

“Nine thousand years,” he said plainly.

If he pla

“Do you really think that onenight at a party could compare to that? I was very drunk… We both were. I hardly remember it.” He looked maddeningly far away. Was he thinking about her?

Hot, furious tears filled my eyes. I wiped them away with my sleeve, aching to be close to him and knowing my words and actions were pushing him away. I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t help but think about her and how she would know him, be close to him, in a way I never could.

“I wasn’t the same person then.” He leaned closer to me and the presence of his halo, warm and tingly, soothed my skin—even through my clothes.

“No,” I said, shaking the feeling off. “From what you tell me, you were exactly the same person; it was just your spirit that was different.”

“A person is both,” he said firmly. His halo still hovered around me, even though I refused the sensation. I wanted to feel cold. Alone. He sighed. “I told you, Mia. My sin was lust. If you think this is bad—”

“You just said you were a different person then.”

Slouching, he shoved his hands in his pockets and crossed to the side of the room, moving even farther away. “Please, you’re making too much out of it. This, this was nothing compared to—”

“How can you even say that to me?” I cut him off, more loudly than I expected. I was going too far but couldn’t stop myself. “Are you really that unfeeling?”

His halo flickered and dimmed. The effect made the glass bottles on the shelves behind him appear to shake. What I’d said had hurt. He ran his hands down his face and drew in a deep breath.

“I can’t argue with you about this,” he said and walked out of the room.

My insides jumped and stung like I’d swallowed a hornet’s nest. I stood in the classroom and cried. Outside, the rain had stopped but the sky was covered in a blanket of clouds, and though I was indoors, wind rushing through the trees chilled right through my bones. It seemed to take forever for the halls to empty so nobody would see me leave.