After Eden Page 2

  “Excuse me?”

  “You look like you’re burning up. Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Just a little hot.”

  His attention was making it so much worse.

  “Then take off your sweater.”

  “Won’t that mess up your sketch?”

  He shook his head. “I’m still working on your face.”

  Slowly, I pulled my sweater over my head, ensuring my school shirt didn’t rise up with it. I unbuttoned the top of my shirt and loosened my tie, knowing full well that it wouldn’t make the slightest difference to the color of my face.

  “I have high coloring,” I said.

  Ryan skimmed his eyes from my chest to my face, finally resting on my eyes. He smiled and continued drawing. I tried to focus on the music, but it was slow and achingly romantic and, ridiculously, I found myself imagining what it would be like to dance with Ryan, the two of us barefoot, the sun setting over the sea, while this piece of music played in the background. I picked up my sketch pad and waved it in front of my face, trying to cool myself down.

  “Does the school have a science club?” Ryan asked.

  “There’s a review club after school. It’s for people who need to improve their grades.”

  Ryan frowned. “Isn’t there anything else? A club for people who love the subject?”

  “Not really. Unless you count astronomy. I guess that’s science. My friend Connor goes.”

  Ryan put down his pencil and looked at me. “Connor?”

  “You met him at lunch. He’s the blond boy who stopped you and asked about your accent.”

  Ryan nodded. “That sounds perfect. When does it meet?”

  “Fridays. Mr. Chinn runs it. Connor will be able to tell you more.”

  Ryan was looking at me intently. “That’s just what I’m looking for. What’s Connor’s surname? I need to catch up with him.”

  “Penrose. He’s one of my best friends. I’ll introduce you.”

  “Thanks.” He picked up his sketchbook and began to scratch his pencil across the paper. I looked at the palm tree again.

  A whiff of hazelnut coffee alerted me to Mrs. Link’s approach.

  “Very good, Ryan,” she said. “You’ve captured her expression beautifully.”

  After thirty minutes of unbearable self-consciousness, Mrs. Link told us to switch roles. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or mortified.

  “How do you want me?” Ryan asked, his eyes twinkling playfully.

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  I didn’t know where to begin. I looked at his eyes: brown. Not muddy brown or coffee brown or dirty brown. His eyes were all-the-colors-of-autumn-leaves brown. Closest to the pupil they were a rich chestnut, farther out a deep copper. Near the whites of his eyes they were almost gold. They were the most beautiful eyes I’d ever looked at, and they were looking at me with amusement.

  “Actually, maybe it would be better if you looked out the window,” I said.

  “At that tree?”

  “That would be fine.”

  “What sort of tree is that?”

  “Just a palm tree,” I said with a shrug.

  I tried to capture the shape of Ryan’s eyes. But I couldn’t. They were just eye shaped. I could explain in words that they were open, warm, smiling, but I couldn’t transcribe those thoughts onto paper.

  I tried to sketch his hair. It was light brown, with a rich warmth. If I were talented, I would have chosen twelve different shades of brown and blended them together. It was pushed back from his forehead so that it fell in all directions. I used my pencil to try to show the various directions that his hair fell, but the result on my pad just looked chaotic.

  I went for a generic oval face shape, confident that I wouldn’t be able to capture anything resembling his cheekbones and square jaw. The face on the page looked like the efforts of an eight-year-old child and I toyed with the idea of ripping my pad into shreds. Sighing inwardly, I moved on to his body. He was angled slightly away from me, gazing at the lone palm tree outside the art room window. He had taken off his sweater and rolled up his sleeves and I noticed the golden hair on his forearms. His arms were slightly clenched and his hands in fists. The muscles stood out, like taut rope. I followed his body upward. The shape of his chest was clearly defined through his shirt. It looked hard and muscular.

  “Do you work out?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, sounding a little confused. I saw him notice me looking at his chest.

  “You seem pretty muscular.” The words slipped out before my internal censor had a chance to stop them.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Is that good?”

  I blushed. “It doesn’t make a difference. I won’t be able to draw it. Art is my weakest subject.”

  “Can I see what you’ve done?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  All too quickly the minutes passed and it was time for us to peer-assess our portraits. Mrs. Link wanted us to identify what had gone well, and a target for development.

  “Here you go,” Ryan said, pushing his sketch toward me.

  It was good. The girl in the picture was biting her lower lip while gazing into the middle distance. Her long wavy hair was unruly and her eyes were intense. The shading on her cheeks suggested a slight blush of embarrassment. It was me all right. A much more attractive version of me.

  “So what went well?” Ryan asked, smiling crookedly.

  “I like the movement in her hair,” I said. “You’ve captured that really well.”

  He smiled and thanked me. “So what’s my target?”

  “I don’t know. She looks too perfect. She doesn’t look real.”

  “I draw what I see.”

  I bit my lip, unsure how to respond. “I wish I looked that good,” I said eventually, shrugging my shoulders and smiling in what I hoped was a self-deprecating way.

  “Let’s see your sketch then.”

  I pushed my sketch pad in front of him. “I’ll be happy with two targets for improvement. I’m well aware that nothing went well.”

  Ryan smiled and met my eye. “Evidently human. But I must do something with my hair.”

  “Next week,” Mrs. Link told us at the end of class, “we’ll be taking a field trip to the Eden Project to sketch plant life. You will be excused from your morning classes and we’ll be back in time for the buses at three thirty.”

  “What’s the Eden Project?” Ryan asked.

  “These large domes, like greenhouses, built in abandoned clay pits in St. Austell. Each of them houses plants from a different biome. It’s cool.”

  “And it’s called Eden?”

  I nodded. “As in the garden of Eden.”

  “I got the reference.”

  The bell rang and I put my sketch pad in my bag. Ryan slid off his stool quickly and began to walk out. He hesitated at the door and turned to look at me.

  “Thanks, partner,” he said with a smile.

  Chapter Two

  Megan walked me to the bus stop at the edge of town. After school we’d gone to see a film and then grabbed some fries. Now it was horribly dark and cold. “I’ll wait with you.”

  “I’m fine. Go home. I’ll see you at the beach tomorrow.”

  “Text me when you’re home safely,” she called when she was halfway down the street. I waved back, suddenly feeling very alone.

  In summer Perran was always busy with tourists but in winter it was desolate. A ghost town. You could walk in the middle of the seafront road because the shops were closed and cars had no reason to drive along there.

  I didn’t usually hang around after school in the winter, because of the cold and the dark and the fact that there weren’t many buses, but this Friday I didn’t feel like going home to watch Miranda and Travis canoodling in the kitchen while he prepared some gourmet meal for two.

  The seafront was empty. There was no sign of life except for the lights shining through the window of the Fisherman’s Arms. I stamp
ed my feet and clapped my hands to get my circulation moving. The next bus wasn’t due for another twenty-five minutes.

  For a second I thought about calling Miranda and asking her to drive into town to get me, but I knew she wouldn’t be happy if I disturbed her Friday night date. I thought about a taxi, but I didn’t have enough money for the fare. In the end I decided to walk a couple of miles and pick the bus up farther along the route. It would be a lot less cold than standing around in the drafty bus shelter.

  I was only five minutes out of town when a car slowed alongside me. I put my head down and increased my pace. This had been a mistake. I should have stayed at the bus stop. Out here on the coast road, no one would hear me scream. The car pulled up against the curb, then a door opened and slammed behind me. I reached inside my schoolbag for my cell phone.

  “Eden!”

  I turned. It was Ryan.

  “You want a ride home?” he said with a smile.

  “You don’t know where I live.”

  “You go to Perran School. How far can it be?”

  “About five miles. I live in Penpol Cove.”

  “I live there myself.”

  Something occurred to me. “You have to be seventeen to drive in this country.”

  “I know.”

  “And you’re sixteen.”

  He grinned. “I know that too.”

  I hesitated. But the night was cold and the next bus a twenty-minute wait.

  Ryan opened the passenger-side door. “Jump in.”

  Wondering if I would live to regret this, I climbed inside.

  He turned the ignition and pulled onto the road. The car lurched and jerked until it gained speed. He turned the heater up high, and warm air blew over me. What a sudden change in circumstance, I thought. One moment I was cold, on my own, and a little anxious, and now I was warm, with Ryan, and very anxious.

  “So the rumors are true,” I said.

  “Which rumors would they be?”

  “The ones about you driving around town.”

  Ryan frowned. “People have noticed? That’s not good.”

  Of course they’d noticed. Every girl in the school had him on their radar. Perran was a small town.

  “Is that a problem?” I asked.

  “Like you said, I’m not old enough for a license. I don’t really want to attract too much attention.”

  “So how come you drive?”

  He looked away from the road and met my eyes. “I don’t like walking in the dark on cold nights.” He turned back to the road. “What are you doing walking in the dark on your own anyway?”

  “I hung out with my friends in town after school,” I said. “And there’s no bus for ages, so I decided to walk.”

  He smiled but, mercifully, kept his eyes on the road.

  “Did you go to astronomy club?”

  “Yeah. It was fun.”

  “Was Connor there?”

  Ryan nodded. “I had no idea astronomy was so popular over here. The club was packed.”

  “Really? Connor’s always given me the impression that it’s three nerds and Mr. Chinn. No offense.”

  He laughed. “Do you think I’m a nerd?”

  We had reached the turnoff from the main road that led down to Penpol Cove. Ryan shifted quickly down through the gears, making the engine roar.

  “Sorry. I haven’t got the hang of these gears yet,” he said as we passed the small shop at the edge of the village. “Whereabouts exactly do you live?”

  “The other side of the village,” I said, giving him directions.

  “I’m just farther down the lane. In the farmhouse by the cove.”

  “That place has been for sale forever,” I said.

  Ryan shrugged one shoulder. “My dad likes it. It’s quiet.”

  I knew the house in question. It was a large granite building right at the end of Trenoweth Lane with views over the cove. Once it had been part of a working farm, but now it was just a big house with a very large yard. No one had lived there for years.

  Ryan pulled up in front of my house and switched off the engine. My heart began to thud. Why had he switched off the engine? I could feel the redness begin to blossom across my chest. It would only be a minute or so before it crept up my neck and onto my face, like a flower blooming in a time-lapse photo. I wondered if I could say good-bye and escape before that happened.

  “Thank you for driving me home, Ryan,” I said. The words came out all wrong. I sounded like an old-fashioned girl who’d been for a drive with her beau. It must be obvious that I didn’t usually do things like this.

  He shrugged. “You’re welcome. I had to pass you anyway.”

  I opened my door and then paused. “Are you going to the party tomorrow?”

  “I haven’t been invited.” He looked at me. “Unless you’re inviting me now?”

  I nodded. “It’s Amy’s birthday. She’s invited everyone.”

  “What do I need to bring?”

  “I’m taking a load of food. You don’t need to bring anything. She’s holding it on Perran Towans, the beach just outside town. At two o’clock.”

  “Shall I pick you up at a quarter of two?”

  He was offering to pick me up? My heart repeated the squeeze from earlier, and yet I knew I couldn’t accept.

  “You’re too young to drive.”

  “Apparently I’m not.”

  “Miranda—she’s my aunt, I live with her—there’s no way she’ll ever let me get into a car with a sixteen-year-old driver,” I said. “We could take the bus?”

  Ryan shook his head. “You just said you’re taking lots of food. My sister, Cassie, can drive us. She’s seventeen.”

  I shrugged. “Okay. See you tomorrow?”

  I slammed the car door and walked up to the house, trying not to skip. Ryan Westland was going to the beach with me tomorrow. Okay, it wasn’t exactly a date, but still, we would be going together and I wouldn’t have to wait until Monday to see him again.

  Miranda was in the sitting room watching television with Travis. Two large wineglasses were on the coffee table in front of them.

  “Did you have a good evening?” she asked, pressing the mute button on the remote control.

  She had dressed up. She worked as a legal secretary for a small firm of lawyers in Perran, and always wore a neat black suit to work. Before Travis, she used to come home from work and change straight into sweatpants and slippers. Tonight, though, she was wearing a red dress I’d never seen before.

  “Yes, thanks. We went to the movies.”

  “How did you get home?”

  This was a question I knew to expect. Miranda’s approach to parenting consisted mainly of checking up on my transport arrangements and keeping me clear of wild parties.

  “Megan’s dad gave me a lift,” I said, the lie rolling easily off my tongue. If I’d mentioned that a sixteen-year-old boy had driven me home, I would probably have been grounded until Christmas.

  “See if you can finish this,” she said, passing me the newspaper.

  I knew without looking that it was the crossword.

  “Have you eaten?” Travis asked. “I cooked teriyaki duck with quinoa and arugula salad. The salad is all gone but there’s a little duck left if you want some.”

  I glared at Travis. He knew very well that I was vegetarian. “I’m not hungry,” I said, “but thanks for thinking of me.”

  “It’s tasty,” he said. “And fatty. You look like you could use some more meat on your bones.”

  “I’d prefer to be skinny than eat a decomposing corpse.”

  He curled his lip in a half-smile. “I wonder when you’ll outgrow your vegetarian phase and start enjoying some good food.”

  “I wonder when you’ll stop patronizing me,” I said, smiling back.

  “Travis is an amazing cook,” said Miranda. “You really are missing out.”

  Travis was a chef. Originally from California, he had been living in Perran for a few months now, planning to ope
n a fish restaurant on the seafront. He had met Miranda when her firm drew up the lease on the building.

  “I picked up some food for tomorrow,” said Miranda. “Some zucchini, red peppers, and button mushrooms in case you want to make some veggie kebabs.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, Miranda.”

  “And I also picked up some soft drinks.”

  She glanced at the empty wineglasses on the table. Before she started going out with Travis, she had never brought alcohol home. “Eden,” she began, “can you promise me that you’ll be sensible at this beach party?”

  I nodded. “I won’t be drinking, if that’s what you mean.”

  She nodded slowly. “And how will you be getting there?”

  “I’m getting a lift with a friend.”

  She frowned, a severe crease appearing between her eyebrows. “Which friend?”

  “Ryan Westland. He’s new at school. His sister’s driving us.”

  Travis sat forward. “Westland? I’ve heard about them. Father’s a writer.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know about that.”

  “He lives around here somewhere, doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “In the farmhouse down at the end of Trenoweth Lane.”

  “How old is his sister?” asked Miranda.

  “Eighteen,” I said, adding a year for insurance.

  “I suppose that’s okay.” Miranda smiled and turned up the volume on the television. “See if you can finish the crossword,” she said, nuzzling up to Travis.

  Chapter 3

  I pounded down the empty lanes of Penpol Cove, the cold air ripping into my throat and lungs until my chest felt raw. The first mile was always the worst. My limbs felt weak and rubbery, my breathing was labored. Experience told me that if I could survive the first mile, I would soon get into the zone, find my stride, and lose myself in the rhythm of my run.

  My usual route took me through the village and then down the lane to Penpol Cove, past the farmhouse where Ryan Westland now lived. The thought of him seeing me run past his house was just too embarrassing to imagine. I shuddered at the thought and took the other route.

  Images of him kept appearing in my head. His leather jacket slung on top of his school uniform. His messy brown hair. The picture he drew of me in art class. And then I could hear the sound of his voice, his unusual accent. I began to run across the cliff top. I turned up the music on my iPod and picked up the pace. I needed to push myself so hard that all I would be able to think about was breathing. I would not be a lemming. I would not, like almost every other girl in Year Eleven, spend my time daydreaming about Ryan Westland. It was pointless. Ryan Westland was gorgeous. He had about a hundred girls throwing themselves at him. And there was nothing especially interesting about me.