Amber Frost (6 page)

The bell rang the moment Sebastian walked out the classroom door; he had perfect timing. It didn’t take me long to gather my things, I hadn’t taken anything out of my bag. I quickly left the art room and made my way through the halls to my locker in the main building. Since the weather had brightened, Clark’s rugby practice would be back on which meant I’d be taking the bus home today and needed to hurry. I was quickly stuffing books into my locker when a sudden heavy hand on my shoulder made me jump in surprise.

“Woah! Chill, babe, it’s just me,” Clarke said, laughing at me as I turned around.

“Oh, hi… sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you. Aren’t you going to be late for practice?” I asked him as I closed my locker and swung my bag over my shoulder. We began walking together down the crowded hall. We didn’t have to squeeze past anyone since everyone made way for us.

“It was cancelled, remember?” Clarke was frowning at me. He didn’t like it when he thought I hadn’t been listening to him.

“I just assumed since it stopped raining-”

“No, it hasn’t,” Clarke interrupted. He was still frowning but was also now eyeing me strangely, as if he were wondering if I were losing my mind. “It’s been pouring down all day. I sat by the window in the library all last period and watched the rain. Look for yourself.” He pushed the heavy door at the end of the hall open for me as he spoke, gesturing to the dark gray sky outside and torrential rains. I froze in the doorway. It took me a second to recover.

“But… I saw it… the rain stopped and the sky was clear,” I protested, my confusion spinning my thoughts about my head. I realized Clarke was still staring at me; I struggled to regain control. “Huh. Um… I guess it was just so bright and warm in the art room, I completely forgot that it was raining outside,” I lied. What was going on? I
knew
it had stopped raining – I’d seen it. The clouds had all been floating away; I’d even seen a
rainbow
.

“You know, you can be kind of strange sometimes, Grace,” Clarke told me disapprovingly. I fought the smile that his words triggered as I sloshed out into the rain towards his parked car. There no longer seemed anything so bad about being strange; the concept was even beginning to appeal to me. But what
had
happened with the weather though? Could I really have imagined it?

Clarke barely spoke to me on the way home. I knew he was irritated by the way I’d been behaving this afternoon but I just couldn’t find it in me to apologize. After all, I hadn’t really done anything wrong, I just wasn’t catering to him the way I usually did.

“Are you still coming tonight?” he asked me as he pulled into my driveway. The gates began sliding apart as soon as we approached but, as always, Clarke came to a stop before them.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought maybe you’d changed your mind or something.”

“No, I’ll be there,” I assured him.

“My parents will be there too, so don’t wear anything too low cut,” he instructed. I stared at him incredulously; I couldn’t believe he was telling me how to dress. Was he always like this? How had I never noticed before? I could think of no appropriate response.

“Goodbye, Clarke,” I said coldly as I got out of his car. There was some real ice in my voice. I didn’t hear his response as I slammed the door behind me and dashed down the driveway towards my house. I didn’t bother to pull the hood of my jacket up, letting the cold raindrops run down my face and soak into my hair. It felt so refreshing, it made me feel free.

I was smiling as I skipped up to the side entrance. I glanced back down the driveway just in time to see Clarke’s expression before he pulled away. He had been watching me caper in the rain and was staring at me like I was a complete weirdo. A giggle bubbled up in my throat, bursting from my lips as I realized just how much
I
now liked weird, too.

I sat in the backseat of my father’s sleek Mercedes anxiously smoothing my hands over the dark blue dress that I wore. We were almost at The Queens Hotel where tonight’s Gala was being held and I was feeling increasingly impatient with each passing mile. I was a little nervous to see Clarke as I had purposely worn a dress with a lower neckline than I would usually wear to this kind of event. I had been annoyed with him still when I was dressing and had felt rebellious. Now that we were almost at the Gala, I was starting to regret my decision. I didn’t really want to antagonize him; it was silly and childish of me but it was too late now.

The other reason why my palms were becoming clammy against the layers of my dress was because I knew Sebastian was going to be there. I had been thinking about him all afternoon. Perhaps that was why I had picked out the navy blue dress, the fabric so dark that it almost appeared black. I wondered what he would be wearing, if he really was going to be there. I couldn’t imagine him in a suit or a tux. I also couldn’t picture Sebastian in the same room as my family and Clarke’s. I couldn’t even guess at how this evening was going to play out and I was starting to feel a little overwhelmed knowing I had no control over the situation.

My father pulled up in front of the beautiful downtown hotel, its entranceway lit up with thousands of tiny, white fairy lights. I suppressed a groan when I saw Clarke was already there, waiting for us just inside the hotel’s entrance. He strode outside and up to our car as we pulled in, all arrogant confidence and swagger. He looked dashing in his formal, black tux, with his dark hair gelled back and his jaw freshly shaven.

“Good evening, Mr. Stevenson, Mrs. Stevenson,” he greeted my parents politely as they got out of the car. They both gave him their standard insincere smiles, their bleached white teeth sparkling under the strings of lights. My father helped my mother out, taking her hand and looping it through his arm. She smiled up at him adoringly; they put on such a flawless act in public that even I, sometimes, felt fooled. I knew them too well though, I had seen too much behind closed doors. I fiddled with my clutch purse, stalling before getting out of the car.

“Good evening, Clarke. How lovely to see you,” I heard my mother coo. “Are your parents already inside?”

“Yes. They’ve been trying to sort out a mix-up with the seating. It looks like you might not be at our table tonight, after all,” Clarke explained, apologetically. My mother’s carefully arranged smile fell for a second, revealing the shrewd, calculating woman beneath.

“I’m sure your father will take care of it,” my father quickly dismissed. “We’ll see you inside in a moment.” My father gave me a quick, tight smile through the darkly tinted glass, dropped the Mercedes’ keys into the hand of the waiting valet, and smoothly escorted my mother inside.

Clarke pulled the back door to my father’s car open and in very gentlemanly fashion, offered me his hand. I reluctantly took it, stepping out from the safety of the backseat.

“Thank you,” I said to Clarke, politely. I dropped my gaze, feeling only slightly ashamed as he looked over my outfit disapprovingly, frowning hard at the dipping neckline of my dress.

“Isn’t that a little gothic for a Gala,” he finally asked in a sour voice. I shrugged.

“Black is the new red,” I murmured, lightly placing my hand on his arm as we walked through the hotel’s grand entrance.

Clarke led me into the immense and crowded banquet room. At one end of the room a small stage with a podium and microphone had been set up. In front of the stage were several long tables with open books upon them for the silent auction. In the center of the room was a large dance floor, surrounded by round tables covered in white linens, fancy floral centerpieces and set with silverware that sparkled beneath the chandelier lighting high above.

There were several hundred people in the banquet room already and others were still slowly trickling in. Everyone was dressed in their very best, all trying to out-do one another in their fine clothes and expensive jewelry. It was a night to show how wealthy you were, to schmooze and small talk with the other elite, then turn around and gossip behind their backs. It would be an evening of dinner, dull conversation and dancing, and I would have to pretend to be enthralled and enjoy every moment of it. I felt tired already.

“Could you show me to my table please?” I asked Clarke. He hesitated, his handsome face sliding into another disapproving frown.

“You should come and say hello to my parents first.” I followed his gaze across the room to where our parents stood talking with one another. My mother was laughing at something my father had said. She touched his arm in feigned affection; it made me feel sick to watch. It wasn’t just her falsity that was bothering me – it was the sudden realization that that was how I must look when I was with Clarke, putting on my best adoring girlfriend impersonation. I was just as fake as my mother, perhaps even worse. Bile rose up in my throat.

“I don’t feel very well. I’d like to sit down.”

“You
are
looking a little pale,” Clarke conceded. He studied my face carefully. “Maybe you should go home,” he suggested, almost hopefully. I knew he wasn’t really concerned for my health, he was concerned over my appearance or more specifically, how
he
would appear if his date were pale, sweaty and nauseous. The acid in my stomach boiled.

“I’ll be fine, I just need to sit down. Do you know which is my table?”

“Over here,” he sighed, guiding me with his hand on my lower back. My mother caught my eye across the room; she radiated smug satisfaction when she saw Clarke touching me. She was much more enthusiastic about my relationship with Clarke than I was.

“You’re sitting here,” Clarke announced, pulling out a chair for me at a table near the side of the dance floor. The gesture was perfectly courteous but his commanding tone irritated me all over again.

“Thank you,” I said stiffly as I sat down in the proffered seat. “Will you please explain to your parents why I’m not coming over just now?”

“Of course,” he agreed. “We’ll be sitting right over there. You can come over after we’ve eaten and speak with them then,” he instructed me. I nodded my agreement, my jaw clenched tight. “I hope you feel well enough to dance later.”

“Perhaps. You should go to your parents,” I reminded him, my voice strained.

“Yes, I should. See you after dinner then.” He quickly kissed my cheek. I forced myself not to pull away from him and to smile sweetly as he walked away.

“That’s the fakest smile I’ve ever seen, even at a place like this,” a teasing, lilting voice said from behind me. I spun around in my seat. “You can do better than that, Gracelynn,” Sebastian told me, his musical accent inviting and a smile tugging at his lips.

“You came,” I said wonderingly.

“Of course,” he answered, grinning. My heart skipped a beat.

I was surprised to see him dressed so formally. He wore a black, well-fitted suit with a crisp white shirt underneath. His tie was a dark shade of blue, very close to the color of my dress. It hung loosely around his neck though, the top button of his shirt left casually undone. It was then that I noticed the little details to his outfit that only someone like him could pull off. Upon closer examination, I noticed that his belt had a small row of metal studs along it and a thin silver chain hung from one of his belt loops to his pocket where I presumed his wallet was. Though they were buffed to a dull shine, it looked as if he might in fact be wearing combat boots under his pressed pants, and the small, black hoop earrings he’d worn to school were also still looped through his ears. His hair looked slightly different – it was no longer gelled into messy spikes but was left soft and tousled, a clean shine to it under the chandelier lights. And though he was dressed completely differently than everyone else in the room, he looked absolutely at ease, like he belonged there even more than the others. His confidence wasn’t arrogant or irritating in the way that Clarke’s was, it was natural and unassuming.

“Grace, these are the Jensons,” he introduced, gesturing to the couple who stood just behind him. I had been so preoccupied by Sebastian’s appearance that I hadn’t even noticed them standing there. I blushed slightly as I hastily stood, offering each of them my hand.

“It’s very nice to meet you.” I politely shook their hands, studying them curiously as I did so. They were both fairly bland-looking with brown hair and eyes, average height, average looks, average style and comparatively inexpensive clothes. There was nothing remarkable about either of them. I instantly found myself liking them though as there was something about them that set me at ease.

“It’s nice to meet you, Grace,” Mr. Jenson greeted me as he gently shook my hand.

“We’re so glad you convinced Sebastian to come,” Mrs. Jenson said with a warm smile. “I’m just glad we were able to get a ticket for him on such short notice. And isn’t it nice that we’ve all been seated at the same table?”

“We have?” I looked at Sebastian questioningly. He smiled, his eyes sparkling back.

“Of course,” he answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He looked about curiously as he sat down beside me, sliding his chair in closer to mine. “Where are your parents?”

I glanced over my shoulder to see them making their way over. Everyone was starting to head to their seats now; apparently the festivities were about to start. Waiters were beginning to weave through the crowd, directing people to their seats and taking drink orders.

“You’ll meet them in about five seconds,” I replied nervously as I turned back around. What would my parents think of Sebastian? What would he think of them? I squirmed uncomfortably, inwardly wincing in apprehension of the sure-to-be awkward encounter.

“Grace, Clarke said you weren’t feeling well,” my mother said somewhat accusingly as she arrived at our table. She fixed me with a sharp stare. “He seemed quite upset. You shouldn’t have concerned him like that,” she scolded.

My father came up silently behind her, frowning as he sat down.

“I’m sorry we’re not sitting with the Simons tonight, dear,” my father apologized, also not acknowledging the Jensons’ presence yet. “I know you must be disappointed. There was some kind of mix up,” he explained. My mother sniffed in disapproval as she sat down by my side. It was then that they seemed to notice the Jensons, who sat silently, patiently waiting to be acknowledged, and Sebastian, who sat on my other side and studied them with his dark, intense eyes. I was relieved to see that he didn’t look amused by my parents’ behavior, in fact, he actually looked a little angry.

“Mother, father, this is Mr. and Mrs. Jenson,” I gestured to the Jensons with one hand, “and their foster son, Sebastian. He goes to Craigflower too,” I explained. Their gazes only flickered over the boy beside me briefly, instantly dismissing him as unimportant once they took in his appearance. My mother gave the Jensons a brief smile, my father eyed them speculatively.

“Don and Shauna Jenson?” he asked, seeming suddenly more alert. Mr. Jenson hesitantly nodded. “My name is Gordon Stevenson, of the firm Taylor, Witt & Stevenson.”

“Ah, a fellow defender of justice,” Mr. Jenson remarked with a wry smile. My father’s deep laugh rumbled in his chest.

“Yes, I’m sure you’ve heard of me. And I’ve heard of you too – you’ve quite the reputation. You do mostly international work, don’t you?” my father inquired. My mother’s eyes had brightened and she looked significantly more interested upon learning that the Jensons were lawyers and had some sort of prestige in the field.

“Yes. Don’s actually working with the UN right now,” Mrs. Jenson admitted somewhat shyly. My mother sat up straighter, a phony smile stretching across her thin, pinched face.

“How interesting. You must tell us about your work,” she insisted. The sick feeling in my stomach was starting to return. I turned to Sebastian to see how he was reacting to all of this. To my surprise, he was now ignoring my parents just as thoroughly as they were him. He sat silently, intently studying my face, a touch of concern to his expression.

“They’re worse than I expected,” he told me in a low, quiet voice. I looked to my parents anxiously but they obviously hadn’t heard. They were quite engaged in their conversation with the Jensons or at least my father was, my mother only listened politely. I turned back to Sebastian, wondering again why I wasn’t offended when I was fairly certain I should be.

“The Jensons seem nice,” I told him, changing the subject. He nodded his agreement.

“They are nice people, very hard-working and committed to their causes. I chose them well.” He smiled at me, his dimple appearing in his cheek. I couldn’t help but smile back.

My mother cleared her throat beside me. Apparently she’d lost interest in the conversation with the Jensons, though my father was now involved in an animated debate with the two over some past case or another. Her eyes flickered disapprovingly between Sebastian and I. The smile slid from my face. I hadn’t realized how close together we’d been sitting. I automatically pushed my chair away from his, sitting up straighter and staring across the table to my father and the Jensons, pretending to listen to their debate. My mother wasn’t fooled.

“You should be on your best behavior tonight, Grace,” she told me sternly, ignoring Sebastian once more. “You could have made more effort to prepare; you didn’t even curl your hair and I can barely tell if you’re wearing makeup! If we hadn’t been in such a rush I would have made you change into something more appropriate too. That dress would be better suited for a funeral! And with your washed-out complexion you look like you could be the corpse yourself,” she hissed. A rosy blush flamed across my cheeks in shame. Not only was I hurt by my mother’s accusation of my lack of effort but I was even more ashamed to be berated this way in front of Sebastian. “Now don’t you
dare
embarrass us tonight,” she continued, fixing me with a hard glare.