Chapter 55: I Want Him (3)
"Kaye's always been surrounded by those girls," he said. "She's like a celebrity in our class."
He glanced at El.
El didn't respond.
He was looking out the window. His chin rested on his hand. His eyes were fixed on something outside — the trees, the sky, the clouds drifting past.
Demi continued anyway.
"Yeah, it's like that. Kaye's beautiful and smart too."
El finally spoke. His voice was calm. Distant.
"Right."
He didn't turn from the window.
"She's out of reach, I wonder how we befriend someone like her."
This time, El turned. Just slightly.
"It's because of your unstoppable mouth, Demi. That's why she's our friend. I think she's just annoyed by your loudness that she just agreed to be part of our circle."
Demi laughed. Loud. Unapologetic. The sound bounced off the walls.
"Oh really? I think it's because of you that she came over to us. Don't you think?"
His voice was teasing. His eyes were knowing.
El didn't react.
He turned back to the window.
"I don't think so, Demi."
His voice was flat. Honest.
"There's nothing special about me for Kaye to be attracted to me."
He paused. Then he turned to face Demi. His brown eyes were calm. Matter-of-fact.
"I'm a nerd. She's way out of my league. And besides — she's just a friend to me."
Demi opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
He wanted to say something. Something about the way Kaye looked at El. Something about the way she always found a reason to be near him. Something about the way she blushed when he walked past.
But he didn't.
Because El was already looking out the window again.
Like he was waiting for something.
Or someone.
---
The class was settling down. Students shuffled to their seats. Books were opened. Pencils were sharpened.
Mrs. Reyes would be here any minute.
Kaye sat in the first row. Aletheia was on her left. Vesper on her right. They were both hunched over their notebooks, frantically copying the assignment they'd forgotten to do.
Kaye wasn't copying anything.
She was pretending to count the students in the room. Her eyes moved across the rows. One. Two. Three. Four.
But they kept landing on El.
He's still by the window.
He's still looking outside.
What is he looking at?
What is he—
"She's late."
The words were barely a whisper. El's lips barely moved.
But Demi heard him.
Demi leaned forward. His eyes were wide. His grin was knowing.
"Who's late?"
El turned. His face was calm. But there was something underneath. Something almost like concern.
"You still heard that?"
"Of course I did." Demi tapped his ear. "Supernatural hearing. I can hear a pin drop from three rows away. Even if you whisper, I hear it loud and clear."
El's eyebrow twitched. The closest he ever came to acknowledging Demi's nonsense.
Demi pointed his finger to the ceiling. Like he'd just discovered something important.
"Ahhh! Syka! Yes, she's late." He nodded to himself. "She's probably sick or something. You know she's a fragile girl."
He looked at El. Waited for a reaction.
El didn't respond.
He turned back to the window.
Still looking.
Still waiting.
Still—
Demi watched him for a moment. Then he grinned.
"You're worried about her."
"I'm not worried."
"You're staring out the window. You're mumbling to yourself. You're not even pretending to pay attention to the assignment."
El didn't respond.
Demi leaned back. Crossed his arms. Smiled.
"You like her."
"I don't like her."
"You like her."
"She's a friend."
"She's a friend you're worried about."
---
Syka was supposed to be in class ten minutes ago.
But she wasn't.
She was stuck.
The street leading to the school was packed with people. Not the usual morning rush — something else. A crowd had formed near the corner, blocking the path. Syka tried to squeeze through. Tried to find a gap. Tried to get past.
But there were too many people.
She stood on her tiptoes, trying to see what was causing the commotion.
And then she saw it.
An old lady.
She was sitting on a small stool. Her hair was silver. Her face was lined with wrinkles. Her hands were weathered and thin. She wore a simple dress, faded from years of use. A small wooden table sat in front of her. On it, a few objects — a coin, a handkerchief, a small bowl.
Around her, people were cheering.
Syka's feet stopped moving.
The old lady picked up the coin. Showed it to the crowd. Then she closed her hand. Opened it.
The coin was gone.
The crowd gasped. Laughed. Clapped.
The old lady smiled. Then she picked up the handkerchief. Folded it. Unfolded it.
A flower.
A real flower.
The crowd cheered louder.
Syka forgot about being late.
She watched.
The old lady performed trick after trick. Each one more impossible than the last. Each one more beautiful.
And then —
The old lady looked up. Her eyes found Syka.
She smiled.
"You, young lady. Come here."
Syka blinked. Pointed at herself. "Me?"
"Yes, you. Come here."
The crowd parted. Syka walked forward. Her heart pounded. Her hands trembled.
What does she want?
Why me?
What—
The old lady held up a pineapple.
"Do you see this?"
Syka nodded.
"Hold it for me."
Syka took the pineapple. It was heavy. Cold.
The old lady smiled. "Don't be nervous. You'll be safe. I'm just an old lady performing tricks for coin. Nothing more."
Syka swallowed. Nodded.
"Now," the old lady said, "watch closely."
She waved her hand over the pineapple.
Nothing happened.
Then she waved again.
The pineapple vanished.
Syka gasped.
The crowd erupted.
But the old lady wasn't finished.
She pointed at Syka's head.
"Now, young lady. Close your eyes."
Syka closed her eyes.
She felt something light. Something soft. Something brushing against her hair.
What—
"Open your eyes."
Syka opened her eyes.
The crowd was silent.
Then —
A white flower.
It was on her head. Growing from her hair. Glowing faintly in the morning light.
She reached up. Touched it.
It was real.
And then —
More flowers.
They rose from the ground around her. Silver and soft blue. Warm gold and pink. Deep purple, almost black, with edges that faded into nothing.
Memory's bloom.
Heart's ease.
Forget-me-not-but-please-do.
The words appeared in her mind. She didn't know where they came from.
She didn't know why she knew them.
She just did.
The crowd lost it.
"UNBELIEVABLE!"
"IT'S BEAUTIFUL!"
"I'VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT!"
Coins rained into the old lady's bowl. Bills were thrown. People shouted for more.
But Syka wasn't listening.
She was looking at the flowers.
At the white flower.
At the colors.
At the—
The flowers faded.
The crowd started to disperse.
The old lady looked at Syka. Smiled. Winked.
"Go, child. You're going to be late."
Syka blinked.
The flowers were gone.
The pineapple was back in the old lady's hands.
But the white flower —
It was still in her hand.
She looked at it.
It's real.
It's still real.
How—
"Go," the old lady said again. "Your friend is waiting."
Syka looked at her. "My friend?"
The old lady smiled. "He's always waiting."
Syka's cheeks flushed.
She turned and ran.
The flower was still in her hand.
She didn't let go.