Hell's Angel: Section Four

I should have known it would be coming. I had had no intentions of tutoring anyone, especially not within the first few days of entering a new school. Yet to refuse would cause more of a fuss than I was really willing to deal with. And, hardly a plausible excuse, but it was at least a minor comfort that it would be someone I had already…encountered.

And so that was how it was every day after school in the school library. Until she told me that, due to her job, she couldn’t fit the tutoring in after school. Naturally, she showed trepidation when I suggested her apartment…and naturally, she gave in. A little too easily, perhaps, not that I intended to hurt her, of course, though it meant others might take advantage, not that it was relevant…

I couldn’t help but be amused, though, when she suggested going to the library. Did my presence really unnerve her so much that she couldn’t remember that the library closed then? But that was of little importance. Come the end of school and our tutoring session that day, I followed her to her work from a discreet distance.

It turned out that she worked at a dingy little café squashed pathetically between what looked like a bakery and a boarded up store of some kind. Everything within seeing distance badly needed a new coat of paint, and the sign that creaked overhead I was afraid to walk under, in case it fell. Cracked, faded letters from years of rain presented Café Latte to the world. I frowned. Café Latte…how original. I stood there a minute longer, to watch her pour coffee into a chipped mug for a customer, then I left.

The next day as I waited for her in the school library, three or four girls came in, laughing and whispering to each other. The librarian gave them a stern look and the infernal giggling dropped a few decibels. Hastily I flipped open the textbook, pretending to be engrossed in my work. I knew what was coming.

“Hi there!” one of the girls said. All four of them were now standing around my chair. “You’re…Aidyn, right? I’m Alyssa! I’m in your English class. How are you?”

I didn’t even attempt to smile. “Busy,” I ground out. “If you’ll excuse me…”

Another girl had the audacity to put both hands on my shoulders and peer at my work. “Oh! Math!” she said, and leaned closer to my ear. “If you need any help… I got an 88 in math – ”

Utterly repulsed, I didn’t care that my chair hit the girl as I stood and gathered my books. “I would hardly need your help,” I informed her coldly. I didn’t bother to hide the pure disdain in my voice. “My mark tops yours by 6.7 percent. Go do your seducing elsewhere.”

There – Raelyn Turo was just entering the library, looking confused as I stalked towards her. “You are finished at seven-thirty?” I asked shortly.

She nodded wordlessly, taking a step back.

“We’ll meet at eight,” I told her, and left the library. To find someplace quiet, and peaceful, and away from other people. And simpering girls.

Semi-aimless wandering found the only park, I was informed, within a five-mile radius, the informant a little boy about five or six. He stared at me, look slightly accusatory, for a few seconds before his mother called for him from the other side of the “park”.

“James!” she yelled. “What have I told you about talking to strangers?” Her look was hostile, as if to say, what business did I have to have contact with her son, hooligan that I was? I couldn’t fault her for her concern.

James shoved a grubby hand into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a lollipop, which he thrust unceremoniously into my hand, then pointed to my open sketchbook. “Angels are nicer,” he said cryptically, and ran off.

I watched him go with a sense of unease. Then I decided that attempting to decipher the words of a child at this time would only grace me with a headache, so I assigned myself to a half-rotting park bench on which to read Orwell.

By the time seven-thirty rolled around, I held a half-hearted death wish for all of humanity in general. What idiot would put a patch of grass consisting of two hundred yards wide in the middle of the town? Amidst buses, honking cars, screeching taxis…

I got up, rubbing at my temples. I would go find Raelyn Turo, tutor her for an hour, and go home and get some rest. My timely arrival at the café placed me in front of the door, just about to open it, at the same moment when she flew out of the shop and straight into me, dropping books.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she babbled, scooping up her scattered papers before she finally noticed it was me. “Oh! Aidyn! She turned red. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to get you,” I told her, lifting my eyebrow as she brushed leaves off a lime-green binder decorated with monkeys. “To your apartment, then, since you are done?” I didn’t make it much of a request.

Raelyn Turo blinked, then shrugged. “Okay,” she said nonchalantly, and began walking. I saw, though, that the closer we were to our destination, the more nervous she appeared, eyes continually flicking up from the pavement under our feet up to my face, then back down.

This would be an interesting evening.

Hell's Angel: Section Three

I was extremely startled when Aidyn Thiessen sat down beside me in art class in a small flurry of black and faint cologne. I knew he was in my math class, too, but he’d sat in the corner in the back, and I hadn’t dared to even make eye contact then. Now I ducked my head and furtively glanced around the room, searching for the empty seats.

Oh. That explained it – the only other empty seat was beside Brock. Brock the Jock. I nearly opened my mouth to congratulate Aidyn for staying away from him, but I caught myself and went back to drawing.

Done and bored around fifteen minutes later, restless today, I started rearranging my pencil crayons by color, challenging myself to not look over to my right…

Dang it. Mr. Kiper had to come and ruin my record. He came to Aidyn’s desk and looked at his drawing, and gave him the customary “Good work” bit, but I could tell he was impressed by the slight deepening of the wrinkles at his eyes.

Aidyn had the slightest skeptical air about him as Mr. Kiper walked back up front. I giggled and ventured to speak. “Mr. Kiper is like that. A lot of the kids in here just want a slack class.” I paused a bit, then couldn’t resist. “Can I see your picture? Oh! I still have your pen!”

Aidyn frowned at me, and said clearly and lowly, “No. And may I have my pen back now, please, thank you.”

That didn’t stop me. I grinned at him. “Let me see and I’ll give you your pen.”

Aidyn’s frown grew. “Give me my pen, please,” he said with clenched teeth.

I almost changed my mind, but I couldn’t resist one last plea. “Pleeeaasseee?” Then I wondered if I had pushed him too far when his expression darkened, eyes narrowing. I had to make an effort not to flinch.

He finally gave, eyes blank, and I gave him the pen, taking the sketchpad and holding it in two hands.

I could hardly believe my eyes. I had never seen anyone draw so good in my entire life…I almost whimpered. It wasn’t fair. I could never draw like that in a thousand years, even with actual schooling.

The picture was dark; I had to be careful not to touch the paper so I wouldn’t smudge the pencil. There was a boy on his hands and knees, only he looked more like an angel, because he had wings. I was a little puzzled, though…his wings were black, and he was crying, and he was wounded. I unconsciously swallowed a lump in my throat.

Then I took a second, closer look at the boy’s face, and my eyes widened when I realized who I was looking at. The boy looked exactly like Aidyn, only maybe a younger version, and with slightly shorter hair. I stared up at Aidyn, mouth open. “Why were you so sad?” I whispered. “What was happening?”

Aidyn’s eyes locked into mine so suddenly that I jumped. “What?” he said.

I frowned. “This is you, isn’t it? Oh…and the wings…”

The sketchpad was snatched from my hands. “That’s enough,” Aidyn growled, and flipped the page. He didn’t acknowledge me for the rest of that class, and I didn’t have the nerve to try anything again. Nevertheless, my mind kept running questions through, thinking about the picture. Why wings? And why did the little boy look so young and helpless and hurt? And it was Aidyn, too… Maybe he was drawing about something sad, and subconsciously thought of himself with the same emotions, and used his face, or…

Meh. I had had enough thinking for the day. School was out, thank goodness. Uneventful as always, except for Aidyn. I guess I was kind of a loner now, not a depressed one, not really, but a loner, I guess, because my popular friends had ditched me.

Aidyn, on the other hand, really was the loner. He gave everyone the cold shoulder; I wasn’t even sure why I kept trying to get his attention and talk to him. Maybe it was because he was playing hard to get – and I mean strictly in a non-romantic way. I guess I was just curious about him, like everyone else was, though curiosity killed the cat.

Y’know, cats have nine lives, buddy.

I went back to my apartment that night after my job at a small, rundown nondescript café forking over day-old doughnuts and mixing up lattes. Hey, I needed the money. The evening was spent wracking my brains over a piece of stupid algebraic math. And the thing was, I couldn’t get Aidyn out of my mind. I even found myself taking second glances at any blond head with longish hair in the crowds. What was with this obsession? I was scaring myself. All I knew was that I couldn’t wait to see him tomorrow.

Really, Turo. Snap out of it.

Yeah, Turo’s my last name, what of it? Okay, I guess it’s not that common of a name. Raelyn Angela Turo.

Well…not that bad…

I walked to school the next day, because it was nice outside, and the buses were always old and stuffy and bumpy and hot, and exercise never did a girl bad…I hope.

Classes went fine…at least until math rolled along. I hated math, probably because I sucked so badly at it. That was apparent when Mr. Hawthorne handed back quizzes from two days ago. I glanced at the mark and buried my head in my hands. I knew enough math (thank goodness, or I’d be stuck in grade two or something) to know that six out of fifteen marks did not a passing grade make.

Mr. Hawthorne called me up to his desk, and I trudged up there, grimacing. This did not look good.

“Raelyn, your math mark…” he started, shaking his round bald head.

I made a face at his desk. “I know, Mr. Hawthorne. I do try.”

He sighed. “Yes, well, that doesn’t seem to be enough. I was wondering if you would consider having a tutor?”

I blinked owlishly at him. “T-Tutor?”

Mr. Hawthorne nodded – then called Aidyn up. Because he was done his assignment for the day. Which was so not fair. How could he be done when I was barely through the second question?

Okay, little freaking-out session done here.

Second thing…AIDYN WOULD BE TUTORING ME IN MATH?!

Sorry.

Mr. Hawthorne cleared his throat. “If it works out for the two of you – Aidyn – I would like you to be – tutoring, should we say – Raelyn with her math, if only for a while.” He sat back in his chair.

“Tutoring?” Aidyn said slowly, frowning, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Yes, just temporarily, since you seem to be doing so well.”

I thought Aidyn looked a bit disgruntled as he pressed his lips together and nodded. “Yes, sir.” I didn’t blame him for it, and tried to convince myself it had nothing to do with me personally.

After that, we met in the school library after school, while Aidyn attempted to teach me the finer skills of math. Attempted, not because he was a bad teacher, but I was horribly slow at picking up the concepts. And it was hard to concentrate, when Aidyn seemed to make it a point to never look me in the eye. I guess I should’ve been grateful, remembering our first meeting, but…

It took me a while before I could get up the nerve to tell Aidyn that meeting after school didn’t work too well for me. I had an earlier shift at the café every other day, and I was barely making it there on time. I couldn’t afford to be late, and I told him so. “Maybe we could meet after suppertime? At the library or something?”

The look Aidyn sent in my direction was of annoyance, like a parent with a naïve, slow child. “Miss Turo – ” because for some reason he never called me by my first name, however often I asked him to “ – the library happens to be closed at that time of the day.” Condescension tinged his words.

“O-Oh.” Flustered again – too common – I stammered and tried to come up with a better solution. “Uh…how about the café, then? That would work – ”

“No.”

“But – ”

“Your apartment would be fine.”

“Uh…” I scrambled for some semblance of dignity, trying to compose myself. “Well, now, I’m sure the lobby would be fine. I don’t think the landlord would mind too much if – ”

Aidyn sounded firm and definitely annoyed. “Not the lobby.”

I gave in. “Okay,” I squeaked, and gulped. “Whatever you say.”

Hell's Angel: Section Two

I had felt her eyes on me all the way up the stairs. For once, the stare was nothing but bland curiosity, and without thinking, I stopped at the seat directly behind her. I realized my mistake too late – I had already stopped, and paused too long.

Doubtless my move was being pondered by the girl, but I didn’t care what she thought. Most likely the same thoughts most people had in regards to me, students and adults alike. Goth, loner…rebel, because of the black. I didn’t care about the assumptions, the majority of which were true, and the rest that weren’t tended to keep others away.

The lecture, I had discovered, was debating the topic of evolution, or rather, attacking creationism. That much was clear, from the start. I took several notes, but the information presented I had all heard before.

Then the girl in front of me turned around in her seat. “Hi,” she said almost excitedly. I cringed. “Um…Aidyn, right? Uh, hi…”

“What?”

The girl looked taken aback. “Uh, sorry,” she said slowly. “Uh, I…”

I narrowed my eyes slightly, and she froze accordingly, her own eyes widening, locked in my gaze. I smirked mentally and used the time to study the unusual colour of her eyes. Any first glance would have found them pale blue, but I had plenty of time to see the warm violet tinge that radiated from the iris. Maybe if I frightened the girl enough, she would not end up to be one of those who grew enamoured or intrigued and would contrive to follow me everywhere. Those were rare – but exceedingly annoying. I kept my gaze on hers. Her eyes looked dazed, lost – they always did. I’d found out about my ability, if it could be called that, some time ago, when someone tried to steal something from me. It didn’t go so well for them.

Eyes were a…hobby of mine. Not like I spent the days eyeing the people’s eyes…but occasionally. I’d glance around and see if it was really true that the eyes were the windows to the soul. I didn’t believe they were. Mine weren’t…because I had no soul.

Something the lecturer said proved to be amusing enough to set some of the audience laughing, which broke my power over the girl. Bright red instantly stained her cheeks as her eyes darted to the floor.

The tremble in her voice was evident when she spoke. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, dropping her gaze. “I – I didn’t mean to – t-to stare. I was just – I just wanted to know if you had a pen I could borrow…” She trailed off.

I frowned, loathe to lend her anything. What did I care about her plight? And I was fond of my pens. I knew, too often, that borrowed items never made it back to their owner. At the same time, I didn’t want to lie. Wordlessly, I reached into my bag and retrieved a pen, handing it to her without taking my eyes from her face. Still red, the girl muttered a thank you and turned back around.

The lecture held no interest; anyhow, was mankind really so horribly dense? I could not fathom how anyone could believe that the world came about by macroevolution and man from a micro-organism. Fools.

I brought out my latest sketch and was quickly lost to the world around me, a mistake on my part. Some long while later, I heard an intake of breath and looked to see that girl, kneeling on her seat, studying – my – picture.

“What are you doing?!” I snarled, fingers quickly splaying to cover the sketchbook.

She stared at me with terrified eyes. “I – I’m really sorry,” she whispered, pale. “I just wanted to look. I shouldn’t have; sorry.” With that, she turned around, and left me alone for the rest of the lecture.

Sometime later in the day, I found the art room for my last class, and paused in the doorway to assess its contents and occupants, as I usually did. I quickly skimmed the rows of desks, grimacing with distaste when I saw they were in pairs. There were two empty seats left, one beside a boy with a sports jacket, who patted the chair beside him with a condescending smirk on his face. The other empty seat was beside the girl from before. I glanced again at the jock, then opted for the girl. It wasn’t that I couldn’t take him, but I had wanted this class to be relaxing, and it wouldn’t be, not if I sat there.

Reluctantly, I stepped into the room, then made my way to the empty desk beside the girl and sat without looking at here. She had had her head down, close to her paper, and she didn’t see me until I was already sitting.

Thankfully, she said and did nothing, except turn a little pale. Wearily, I set my pencil to a bank page in my sketchbook and let it guide my hand, letting my mind rest.

The disadvantage of being able to function or work on automatic was he loss of the sense of time. When the teacher slid my work out from under my hand to get a better look, it might have been ten minutes; it might have been all of an hour. I couldn’t find a clock in the room.

“Exceptional work,” the teacher said in such a monotone that I doubted he really cared. Having dutifully said his piece, he trudged back to his desk.

The girl giggled softly from behind a curtain of black hair. “Mr. Kiper is like that. A lot of the kids in here just want a slack class.” Then, “Can I see your picture? Oh! I still have your pen.”

I frowned at her hopeful eyes. “No. And may I have my pen back now, please, thank you.” I watched with dismay when her expression went from disappointment to mischief.

“Let me see and I’ll give you your pen,” she beamed.

I clenched my jaw. “Give me my pen, please,” I forced out between gritted teeth.

“Pleeeaasseee?”

People were starting to wake up and look. I swallowed a furious retort and held out the sketchbook, and my other hand. She dropped the pen into my palm and took the book.

She gasped softly a second later, eyes wide as she regarded my sketch almost reverently. I grimaced at my pen and curled my fingers around it to make sure they wouldn’t be seen itching to reach out and snatch the sketchbook back.

Violet eyes turned in my direction; I refused to look up. “Why were you so sad? What was happening?”

My eyes snapped to her face. “What?”

She pointed at the paper. “This is you, isn’t it? Oh…those are wings…”

I scowled and took back the sketchbook. “That’s enough,” I grumbled, and flipped to a new page. I didn’t look at that sketch again until I was sure the girl wasn’t looking; I sat back in my chair uneasily when I did. In the sketch, a young boy on hands and knees peered up out from behind his hair, tears running down his face. Dark wings could just be seen in the shadows behind him, and scars crisscrossed what could be seen of his arms and upper torso through the rags he wore. I suppressed a slight shudder.

That boy in the picture did look like me.

Hell's Angel: Section One

“WHY do I keep doing this to myself?!” I growled, smacking myself on the forehead. The resulting sound seemed loud, and I quickly looked around to make sure no one had seen or heard my little display of frustration. Luckily, the auditorium was quickly filling up with conversing students; no one would have heard it. Unluckily, the filling auditorium meant I had little time left, if any.

Ear-splitting feedback issued from speakers overhead and resounded through the auditorium, and I winced. Nope, no time. Well, maybe, just once, Lady Luck would have pity on me.

Ha…yeah, right.

I sank down onto my seat, rifling through my binder to see if I’d left a pen or pencil somewhere in there between the pages. A few seconds later, someone tapped on the mike, and I looked up obediently.

Miz Harding stood up on the stage in that dark grey business attire she always wore, hard eyes scanning the auditorium. Most students quickly shut up under the force of her gaze like a reverse wave. It was a well-supported rumour that the vice principal held more power than the principal himself – after all, no one ever saw him outside his office – but I was generally a good student and had never been sent to either, so I didn’t care.

“Before I introduce your speaker to you,” Miz Harding said thinly, “I’d also like to introduce to you a new student here at the school.” It was only then that I noticed the tall dark figure standing in the shadows of the right wing, now stalking up to the centre where Miz Harding beckoned with a furious, frozen smile. “Please welcome Aidyn Thiessen.” It wasn’t a request. A slight, feeble smattering of applause rose from the students; I heard a few whistles and catcalls, and grimaced momentarily, disgusted. What a welcome.

Miz Harding seemed to be in as much of a hurry to get Aidyn Thiessen off the stage as he was to get out of the spotlight. I watched as he easily dropped off the edge of the stage and walked in long strides towards one of the aisle stairs. It seemed as if he was trying to go as fast as he could without making it appear as if he was hurrying. I got a better look at him as he came closer, coming up the side where I was sitting.

He had shoulder-length hair tied back in a low ponytail, its colour a light blond, like pale gold, or butter… Ew. Not butter. What was the word?

“Flaxen,” I whispered out loud, and watched, alarmed, to see if he would hear me. He didn’t, or gave no indication of having heard, but then why did he slide into the seat just behind mine when I was surrounded by a sea of empty seats? (My…popularity had taken a plunge back in grade nine after I’d been backstabbed by the queen bees of then, and it had never really resurfaced.) I was mildly surprised – he looked like the type who wanted no contact with anyone at anytime, the stereotypical loner.

The professor I’d forgotten about had been handed the mike and was speaking. I reluctantly turned my attention back to the stage, my thoughts still lingering on the new student in the chair behind me.

Aidyn had been tall. I wasn’t sure how tall, exactly, because I’d always been bad at estimating things, but I knew he was definitely taller than me.

Another thing – everything about him except his hair and face was black. His hair was that flaxen-gold colour, pale but not like it was sun-bleached or anything-bleached pale, and his skin – what I could see of it, that was – was nearly white. Not sickly-white, just…very, very pale. He wore black pants and boots – I could see one boot out of the corner of my eye, partially hidden behind my chair, the laces tied unbelievably impeccably.

What else had he been wearing? I frowned, staring blankly in the direction of the stage, thinking. A black…almost trench coat, left hanging open to reveal a black shirt inside. Even his messenger bag was black, though that in itself was fairly normal. I tuned back in in time to hear the professor chuckle and mention something about teachers wanting us to take notes. Go figure. Maybe I could use my extremely crappy memory to remember all the extremely important details that would most certainly be on the extremely hard tests coming up.

A few seconds into the professor’s lecture, I came up with a positively brilliant idea. I was nearly dying to turn around and study – stalkerish, I know – Aidyn, and here was an excellent excuse. I mean, after all, I needed a writing implement, and…here was the perfect opportunity! I twisted around in my seat and stared over the top of the back.

“Hi,” I chirped, a little too eagerly, and toned down the cheerfulness. No need to permanently scar him for life or something. When I spoke again, it was more like my normal voice. “Um…Aidyn, right? Uh, hi…”

The blond boy didn’t look up. “What?” he snapped.

I reeled back a bit. Did he really need to freak out like that? “Uh, sorry,” I said a little more cautiously. By now I was ready to turn back around and pretend none of this had happened, but that wasn’t an option, so I ventured on. “Uh, I…”

At that moment, he looked up, and my words died before they were ever voiced. I was staring into his eyes…and I couldn’t look away.

My breath caught in my throat. Green. Cold green glittering eyes, like a cat’s, but deeper, burning with a sort of fervour, a fire. I sat lost in the fiery depths of those hazel-tinged green orbs, lost…

Laughter and boos erupted from somewhere down below, startling me enough to forcibly wrench my eyes from his unwavering gaze. There was nothing I could do to keep from blushing.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered, too quickly and too rushed, but I couldn’t help that. “I – I didn’t mean to – t-to stare. I was just – ” I swallowed hard and looked at the floor. “I just wanted to know if you had a pen I could borrow…” I trailed off feebly and darted a quick glance at his face.

Aidyn stared at me with slightly narrowed eyes for a pause that was too long for comfort before he finally reached a hand into the bag at his feet and handed me a pen.

“T-Thanks,” I mumbled, and quickly turned back towards the stage, so fast I almost fell off the seat. My mouth was dry; I could feel the heat in my face, and my heart thudded in my ears, abnormally fast. What was that? And – had I really stared at him for as long as it had felt?

I tried to listen to the lecture. It was creationism versus evolution, and the professor would’ve been interesting on any other day, but this time the words weren’t reaching me. I spent twenty minutes doodling on the margin of my notepaper, moving to the blank space inside the margins when I had run out of room.

Something the professor said brought laughter again, which snapped me out of my dazed state. I became aware of the sound of pencil scraping quickly over paper, and it wasn’t me. I tried to ignore it, since it was really none of my business, but curiosity finally got the better of me. I turned around and rested my chin on the back of my chair.

Aidyn was drawing, his – black – pencil flicking quickly over the paper of a sketchpad. Another notebook with a few lines of notes sat on the chair beside him. I leaned over a little bit, fascinated. Even upside-down, the talent was apparent. A soft gasp slipped from my lips unbidden – that was enough to make Aidyn’s head snap up, glowering at me.

“What are you doing?” he snarled, showing teeth like an animal.

I stared at him, wide-eyed and frightened by his reaction and tone of voice. “I – I’m really sorry,” I whispered tentatively. “I just wanted to look. I shouldn’t have; sorry.” I didn’t wait for him to respond, but turned around again and stayed that way for the rest of the lecture.