A Matter of Fate (8 page)

“Deep thoughts?”

He pretends to consider about this. “Occasionally shallow.”

“I watched you surfing on Saturday,” I confess with a sheepish smile. “You’re very good. It seems to suit your personality.”

“More than the yellow car?”

I laugh. “More than the car.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, it sort of goes back to what I was talking about earlier. Everyone was talking about you. You were impossible not to notice out there.”

He puts a hand against his chest, pretending to be wounded. “So what you’re saying is that I’m some sort of attention whore?”

“No! I mean . . . that came out wrong.” I fumble for the right words. “I don’t think you do it on purpose. I think you’re the sort of person who is impossible to ignore.”

He taps a finger against his chin. “Impossible?”

“You know what I mean.” A flush creeps up my neck.

“Let’s say you’re right about this attention thing,” he says, generously pretending to ignore my foot in my mouth. “How does this explain my brother? He’s just as good as me at surfing. If he wants to . . . how’d you put it? Blend in? What does it say about him?”

Now I’m completely flustered. “Oh. Um . . . he likes to hide out in the waves?”

“You can do better than that, or I’ll start to think you’re just grasping at straws,” he teases. And then he tucks a strand of misty hair behind my ear and my knees weaken. I am excruciatingly aware of every inch of him, of how fabulous he smells, and of how each accidental graze against me makes my heart feels like it’s going to smash out of my chest. “Do you surf?”

I struggle to find a level voice. “No, but I wish I did. My parents never would let me. They told me such activities don’t suit my personality.”

“But cheering does?”

I roll my eyes. “According to my mother, who I should point out barely knows me, it does.” And then—”I want to quit.”

“What?” he gasps, pretending to be shocked. “You aren’t a perky cheerleader?”

“Definitely not.”

“I thought not,” he says rather smugly. “You don’t have the temperament for it.”

I stare at him, perplexed.

He clarifies, “You hide your true feelings a lot from people.”

I blink a few times, surprised by this assessment. “And you know this . . . how?”

He shrugs. “I have a knack for this sort of stuff.”

“This sort of stuff,” I repeat.

He doesn’t say anything further, just smiles knowingly. I’m flustered again and rather breathless at the same time. “So,” I say, still wanting to hear his voice, “how long have you been surfing?”

He thinks about this. “Since we were six. We had an uncle who surfed, and he’d take us out to help us deal with things.”

Deal with things? I shift through my memories for anything Jonah might’ve told me over the years that Kellan might be referencing. Maybe . . . their mom’s death, since it occurred around the same time?

Kellan’s quiet for a moment. “You know, if you really want to try surfing, I’d be more than happy to show you how. We’ve got some extra boards at the house.”

I let him change the conversation. “Really?”

“Sure.” A wicked smile forms. “We won’t tell your mom, though.”

Imagining him teaching me to surf makes the goose bumps come back. “I would love that.”

“Then it’s a date.”

I literally have to will myself not to swoon. As I pick at peeling paint off the railing, I ask, “Why the extra boards? I was under the impression surfers get attached to a specific board and tend to use it religiously. At least, that’s what Graham tells me.”

“Well, if Graham says it, then it must be so.” I give him a mock-stern finger, and he laughs. “Sorry. He’s right, though. I do have a favorite board.”

“What makes it special?”

“My uncle took us to a surfboard maker in Hawaii several years ago for boards made to our exact specifications. We got to hang around the shop and watch the process, even help. It was pretty amazing.”

“It must mean a lot to you, then.”

“Yeah,” he admits, smiling a little. “To answer your other question, the extras were my uncle’s; he passed away recently, and we inherited them.”

“I’m so sorry.” I place a hand on his arm. The tingling that comes with our touches is becoming addictive.

Kellan stares at my hand, confusion flashing across his face. I begin to pull my hand back, worried I’d misread things, but then he places his over mine. And then, while we’re both staring at our hands, they slide and link together.

All I can stupidly think about is how much I want this guy to kiss me, which is WRONG, because I love his brother. At least, if his brother and the guy from my dreams are the same, which I
think
is the case, no
—know
so— I have got to get a handle on myself. Ask non-kissing kinds of questions. “How do you like California so far?”

His cocky smile returns. “I’d say it’s growing on me.”

Okay, so I’m back to the whole kissing thing again. Must. Focus. On other. Things. “Why did you move here?”

“The Old Man decreed it so.”

“Who?”

He smirks. “My dad.”

“Why would he do that, at the beginning of your senior year?”

“I have to admit, I questioned the logic behind suddenly moving three thousand miles away myself.”

I think about this. “You’re from the East Coast.”

He nods. “Maine.”

“When I think of Maine, I think of blueberries and lobsters, not surfing.”

“Well, it’s not like living in Hawaii full time,” he says. “But it was tolerable for our local needs when we weren’t able to travel to better breaks.”

“On the East Coast?”

“Anywhere,” he shrugs.

“Let me get this right,” I say, trying to ignore how good his thumb running up and down my hand feels, but it’s a losing battle. “You go places just to surf?”

His head tilts to the side, puzzled. “Yes?”

“You’re lucky,” I say quietly. “I’ve hardly ever had the chance to travel. I’ve been trapped here my whole life.”

“That’s too bad,” he murmurs, and then I hold my breath as his other hand carefully pushes wet strands away from my eyes. “There are a lot of places that help expand one’s horizons out there.”

The butterflies in my stomach take off, making me dizzy. Or maybe they’re not butterflies—because butterflies are so delicate. These are strong feelings. Maybe they’re more like dragonflies with incandescent wings.

We’re staring at each other now, eyes locked together, and all of those butterflies or dragonflies are insane with need. I’m tingling and nervous and giddy and terrified all at the same time.

Is he feeling the same things I am? He’s so calm and collected, so outwardly opposite of what’s going on in me. My hands are itching, desperate to touch him, bring him closer. My heart’s racing, chanting words I’m terrified of:
kissmekissmekissme
As if he can hear this, Kellan gently takes my face in his hands. Then he leans forward and his lips touch mine, so softly, really, but at the massive jolt it sends into my system, the dragonflies explode into a full-fledged frenzy.

And then we’re really kissing, and he’s like a drug or fine wine or any of those things that people say make them lightheaded and delirious. My body moves with a mind of its own, close as possible to his, because I want him, need him so much that it’s almost painful. Thunder cracks overhead and the rain falls harder. But I don’t care, because the only thing that matters is this connection between the two of us and the way it makes me feel.

Eventually, when the rain gets to be too distracting, we climb into the backseat of his car. And there, he kisses me senseless. After we come up for air, he murmurs, “You were not in the plans.”

I think of the unbending and stressful path before me. “What sort of plans do you have?”

He looks out of the fogged up window and says quietly, “The sort that are difficult to go into detail over.”

I reach over to hold his hand. “Believe it or not, I can relate.”

His beautiful blue eyes stay fixed on the window. And then, hesitantly, “I like spontaneity—prefer it, even—but my life is pretty much a mapped-out thing. Not a lot of room for variation.”

Those two sentences pretty much sum up my future, too.

Then he turns back toward me and presses his forehead against mine. “I know this is going to sound completely crazy, but the very first time I saw you last week, it was almost like I already knew you.”

Words to keep forever.

He laughs, embarrassed. “The truth is I’ve never been so instantly attracted to someone in my entire life as I’ve been to you. It was a crazy weekend, because you were all I really could think about.”

Thank goodness I’m already sitting down, because I just might swoon.

“Too much, too soon?” he asks me.

“No,” I whisper, unable in the slightest to explain or understand all of the wonderful and confusing feelings streaking through me. And while I can’t say it’s the first time I’ve ever been so attracted to someone, it’s been the only other time.

I should be thinking about Jonah, I know I should—I even
want
to—but it’s almost impossible to in Kellan’s presence. I’m utterly overwhelmed, like I’ve jumped off a cliff, exhilarated and terrified at the same time. There isn’t room to think about anything else except for the fall.

I’d fallen for his brother the very first night I’d seen him. I’d been a little girl and loved him instantaneously. And here I am, one-hundred-percent sure I’m falling for Kellan, too. Here, in his car, damp and hot and barely able to breathe, I know it. But because I can’t say it, can’t formulate those words or any others I probably ought to be saying, I finish answering by kissing him again.

Kellan’s phone beeping finally breaks us apart. He groans and kind of laughs as he reads a text. “Unfortunately, it appears I’m late for an appointment.”

I try not to read into the situation, that the text had come from Jonah. But it’s no good— my stomach is doing queasy flip-flops. “Will you get into trouble?”

He gives me a cocky grin. “I’m good at convincing people to not be angry with me.”

I can totally believe this.

On the way home, I motion at the dashboard clock. It’s half past four. “School let out a while ago.” At his confused look, I add, “Didn’t you come to school with your brother?”

“He found a way home,” Kellan tells me. “He’s very resourceful.”

Confusion floods me, of how I can sit here with Kellan, wanting so much more from him while at the same time be so utterly concerned about and aching for his brother. And wondering just how in the hell he got home. And if it was with a girl.

Please, for the love of all that’s good in the worlds, don’t let Jonah have gotten a ride home from a girl, especially a cute one.

Kellan’s eyes flick over at me. “Are you worried
you’ll
get in trouble?”

With Jonah, oh yes. Very worried. I scratch my scalp viciously. “It’ll take a miracle for my parents to notice.”

He murmurs softly, “Don’t I know that feeling.”

Because I’ll die if I don’t know, I ask, “Did your brother know you ditched today?”

“He knew.”

A fifty-ton boulder nearly rips a hole in the bottom of my stomach. “What did he, uh, think of that?”

His eyes slide back over toward me in a silent question. Finally, after an excruciating silence that I refuse to fill, Kellan says carefully, “I don’t think he really had an opinion.”

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? I might as well dig my own grave. “Did he know you were . . . with me?”

Kellan doesn’t look over this time. “Nope.”

Sweet relief. “Do you ditch with girls often?”

He’d laughs. “No.” And then, after thinking about it, “Actually—this is a first.”

The uneasiness of the last minute slips by. “What do you normally do when you ditch?”

“It depends, of course. But I go surfing a lot.” He turns off the radio. “What about you?”

I grin. “I don’t ditch, remember?”

“But if you did, what would you do?”

I look out the window, at the streaking colors, now muted with growing shadows. And then I find myself telling him the truth. “I’d want to go somewhere and be anyone who wasn’t me.”

For a long moment, the only sounds are that of tires on blacktop. Rather than saying something unhelpful like,
Why would you want to do that
? Kellan merely says, “You and me both.”

“What in the hell were you thinking?” Caleb shouts as we huddle under the overhang of my front porch.

Oops. I’d forgotten that Caleb was going to meet me after school. “I’m sorry,” I say for what feels like the fiftieth time.

“Do you know how worried I was?” Caleb snaps, his wings beating so hard they manage to fan my soaking hair. “I waited at your car for hours!”

In an effort to deflect blame, I feebly attempt, “Why is everyone else allowed to ditch, but not me?”

“Because you are a Creator!” Caleb shouts.

Ah, yes. All those lovely expectations that apparently I didn’t get the note on. I practically snarl, “So sorry to disappoint,
Mom.
Or should I call you Dad?”

Caleb winces hard, but he’s unrepentant. “That was really irresponsible of you, Chloe. You could have at least called me.”

And when would I have done that? In between kisses?

YES. Is kissing a boy really more important than your safety?
the little voice barks.

I let the door slam behind us. Upstairs, a note from my mother waits for me on my bed. It instructs me to get to Annar in the next few hours in preparation for my appointment with the Seer. Cora is to come with.

I crumple the paper and throw it away.

Once changed and dry, I call Cora. “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” she explodes right out of the gate.

You’d think I’d murdered someone by the reactions I’m getting, rather than simply ditching class. “I was with Kellan—”

“Kellan?” Cora shouts.
“Kellan!?”

Whoa. Where is this coming from? “Calm down,” I tell her, “or hang up.”

She takes a number of audible deep breaths. “
Talk
.”

I’m so not digging where this is heading so far. “We decided to go hang out at the beach.”