Chapter 17

For the next three days I tirelessly avoid Erik and Raoul.

Erik doesn't make that a particularly hard job as I hardly see him anyway. Only when I have my lesson-which I still do despite our last conversation-do I see him. But besides coldly giving me instructions there is not talking between us. Heck, he hardly even looks at me. We've gone all the way back to square one again. I don't know why I even care when he can be so mean.

As for Raoul, he's a bit harder to avoid. Not only do we have the same circle of friends but he's also still expecting an answer from me. Actually, I'm pretty sure he thinks I've agreed. He keeps mentioning all the fun things we will do, things we did a lifetime ago, like sledding down the huge hill behind their cottage-or as most people would call it, their mansion-in Montana. We'll go skating and skiing and drink hot chocolate in front of the fire while listening to his Dad and Grandfather try to outdo each other with their stories, each one becoming more fanciful than the first.

It's like he's trying to recreate our childhood. Maybe he actually is.

"Christine," huffs Meg as I drag her behind the wall of the gym.

"What?" I peer around the side to see Raoul walking past with a few of his friends.

"Honestly, if you guys hadn't already ended it, I would assumed you're spying on him."

"Me? I'm trying to do the opposite."

She stuffs her hands in her pockets and buries her chin into her scarf as a cold wind brushes by. "Can you just tell him you don't want to go? This hiding stuff is tiring; I just want to be inside where it's warm!"

"But he's so happy about it! How am I supposed to say no?"

"You're running out of time, chica," she says. "You're gonna have to tell him sooner or later."

"I know, I know. And I will." I check to see if he's still there. The coast is clear. "Just not yet."

And so it carries on for a few more days until Raoul finally corners me. Or that's how I see it. Everyone else just continues walking, oblivious to my distress.

"Hey Lotte," he says. He hasn't called me that in forever.

"Hey, Raoul," I say. I try to act casual instead of my probale appearance of a deer caught in headlights.

"I was thinking when we're in Montana-"

"Raoul, I don't know if I can go," I blurt out.

"The cost isn't a problem Christine," he assures me happily. "We can take care of it."

"No, it's not that."

"Then what is it?" His brow is furrowed like he can't understand what reason I could have for turning the offer down.

I think desperately for an excuse. "I-I just...can't, Raoul."

"I don't understand."

"It's hard to explain Raoul," I say. "I just don't know if I can. It's really sudden and this year has been kind of crazy. But I hope you have a good Christmas, I really do."

"If you're sure you don't want to come, Christine. If you decide you want to later just tell me and we can set it up."

"That's kind of you, Raoul."

There was an awkward pause when I considered whether to say anything else or just walk away. In the end, I choose the latter and begin walking towards the dorm. After texting Meg several times and receiving no answer, I change my course of direction towards the practice rooms.

This is not a smart idea, I know. We haven't spoken since I brought up Raoul's invitation. He probably won't want to see me. I shouldn't want to see him! Still, my feet propel me forwards. Maybe it's a sign that we need to talk, or something like that.

Or not. The rooms are deserted except for one cello player. I wait around for a few more minutes before deciding that he isn't coming. And that leaves the question: where does he go?

Obviously he has a room in the Grade 11 boys' dorm. But that also means he has a roommate and lives around the other guys which is strange to think of. He is always secretive and unsocial. More of a ghost or enigma than a person.

I pause when I get to the front door of the dorm. What am I doing? Why am I going back to someone who made me so upset? He probably doesn't even feel sorry. The only thing that keeps niggling at the back of my mind is the way our argument went, as most of them did. It started out about Raoul and when I asked why he hated him, he didn't give me a straight answer. He said Raoul was selfish but he doesn't know him so he can't prove it. Then it turned to how Raoul has everything.

Is Erik jealous of Raoul? But why? He probably isn't as rich as Raoul; most of us aren't. Erik doesn't seem like the kind of person to care about wealth anyway. It doesn't make any sense.

Then he went on about how he is a monster and wears a mask because of his face. Well, I've known there is something wrong about his face since he first told me not to touch his mask. Of course, I've been curious, but his friendship and peace of mind means more to me than his face. And I've never thought of him as a monster. Sometimes needlessly cruel, but only about certain things. He has a temper but most of the time he tries to control it.

Is that why he's jealous of Raoul? Because Raoul is attractive while Erik isn't? Or does it have nothing to do with Raoul at all?

My head starts to hurt and I expect I am getting some weird looks from just standing here staring at the door. I might as well do something than just sit and think about everything. Action is better than inaction, or something like that.

Inside there are a few boys playing video games, paying no attention to the snow that blew in behind me. As I have no idea where Erik's room is, it looks like I'm going to ask. I grimace. With rumours and gossip going around, it isn't going to help that I'm in here looking for him.

But Erik wasn't right about me being ashamed of him. How could I be when I tried to talk to him every chance I get, whether we're in public or not? I just don't want rumours to be spread about me. That's normal. I didn't want them spread about Raoul and I either.

Maybe it's just the fact I notice the rumours now in the first place.

"Can you help me?" I ask the boys. I recognize them from a few of my classes.

"Sure," says a blonde freckled guy.

"Can you tell me where Erik Destler's room is? He's my music teacher and I have some of his music." Good thing I didn't put my vocal binder away. And try to say I'm ashamed of him now!

He exchanged a look with his friends. "Second floor, the hall on your left, last door on the left," says a brunette guy.

"Thanks," I say and follow his directions, ignoring the whispers I hear when they think I'm out of earshot.

I find his door at the end of the hall. Room 17. Nervously, I look down the hall then back at the door. What if someone sees me? What if this isn't even his room and the boys purposely sent me somewhere else to make a fool of myself?

Hold on, Christine. You're beginning to sound paranoid.

I take a deep breath then knock. My heart hammers afterward. What am I doing? If he answers, what do I say? If it's not him, what do I say? What if he shuts the door in my face-

A male voice calls out from behind the door as it opens. "What do you want?" He stops when he sees me. "Christine?"

I exhale deeply. It is him. "Yeah."

Erik's looking at me in a mix of complete shock and confusion. For once I'm one step ahead of him. He looks behind him then back at me. "Come in." It sounds more like a question.

I step past him and into the room. Immidiately I can tell which side is his and which is his roommate's. Erik's side is closest to the door and everything is in place, even the huge piles of music stacked everywhere. On the other side of the room everything is the complete opposite: the covers are on the floor, homework and binders lay in disarray, and posters of skateboarders and snowboarders are taped to the wall on uneven angles.

"Is there something I can help you with?" he asks.

"No," I say. I should have thought about what I was going to say beforehand. Should I bring up our fight? Should I pretend it never happened?

"Are you in trouble? Hurt?" he asks, looking more concerned. "Did something happen?"

"I'm fine," I say with a small smile. How am I supposed to bring up how angry he makes me when he acts so concerned?

"Did someone else do something?" His eyes narrow. "Tell me their name. They will be happy if they can still move their limbs if they have hurt you."

"No, Erik! I'm fine," I say, alarmed.

"Then what do you want?"

Ouch. "Do you want me to leave?"

"Sit," he tells me, pointing to his neatly made bed. Hesitantly, I walk over and take a seat as he sits down on his desk chair. "Christine, you would not seek me out unless you needed something. What is is the you require? My assistance?"

Is that how he sees it? That I'm a spoiled child who wants nothing to do with him unless I profit from it? "I don't want anything," I say earnestly.

He sighs. "Fine. Is there something you wish to tell me?"

I take a deep breath. Where to begin? "About Friday-"

"I will not take back what I said," he says abruptly. "If that is what you wish I cannot give it to you. It would be wiser to leave than to ask me of it."

I frown. "I'm not asking you to take it back. "

He regards me suspiciously. "Than what else would you like to say about it? Do you wish to call me a monster? I have already acknowledged that fact."

"No, Erik," I say becoming frustrated. "I want to talk about it. "

"I do not."

"So you're not sorry?"

There is a pause. "I am not sorry about what I say about the boy."

"I'm not expecting you to be," I say honestly. Whatever vendetta he has against Raoul, it wasn't easily going to be fixed. "Did you mean what you said about yourself?"

"I do not wish to discuss this," he says, leaping up from his chair and walking to the other side of the room. He kicks a skateboard out of his way.

"All the more reason to," I insist.

"No. That is the end of the discussion."

"No it's not," I say fiercly, perhaps surprising us both. "I won't ask you not to hate Raoul. I don't know why you do but you can feel whatever the hell you like towards him, I don't care. I'm more concerned about how you feel about yourself and why everything turns back to it. I mean, you actually accused me of being repulsed by you! Obviously I'm not."

He snorted. "Is this an intervention? Do you wish to me to see a therapist about my self-confidence? I believe my opinions toward myself are completely fair, perhaps not even negative enough." He turns around to look at me. "However, I regret what I said concerning you Christine. You may not be repulsed but I do believe you are only acting from the good in your heart. Or maybe hoping for a fairytale, a la Beauty and the Beast or The Princess and the Frog? I regret to inform you I will not become a handsome Prince if you could even bare the thought of bestowing a kiss or anymore kindness-surely not love!-on this disgusting visage of mine."

I could scream in frustration, I really could. "Erik! You're not repulsive, or monstrous, or any other hateful term to describe yourself! No, I have not seen beneath your mask and I do not expect to as you surely won't let me, but your face has no bearing on who you are. You've let it control you when a face has no more meaning than the figure your name is assigned to!" My chest was heaving with emotion. "If I was scarred in a fire and my face was destroyed-melted off, even-would I still be Christine? Or would I officially become part of the monsters club?"

He glares at me. "Of course, you would still be Christine. Do not be ridiculous."

"See?" I say, waving my hand towards him.

"It is not even parallel to me. You could never be a monster."

I am going to scream. "Erik! Stop it! Do you know how frustrating it is to hear you berating yourself in such a way? It's infuriating!"

"I apologize, I will keep such comments to myself in the future," he says drily.

"That's not what I meant!"

"Christine, I'd advise you not to continue on your journey of positivity. It will not work and it is not worth the effort."

"You mean you're not worth the effort?" No response. "How can you say that? Are you crazy! Does your life mean nothing to you?" I start moving towards him, my breathing increasing rapidly. "Are you suicidal? Are you going to hurt yourself? I swear to God, Erik, if you are, I will not think twice about telling a teacher or someone-"

He turns around and puts his hands on my shoulders, tightly enough to keep me from moving any closer but not to the point of pain. My frantic words die in my throat.

"Although I'm sure my demise would be for the better-" He silences my protestations with a look. "I don't plan on harming myself," he says evenly, every word carefully balanced before slipping past his lips. "And I'm not crazy. Not yet."

"No, you're not," I agree softly.

He delicately pulls away from me and I watch him carefully, his last words ringing in my ears.

For a second, his eyes are wide and unsure before returning to their normal emotionless look.

Another wall down.

I back up and sit on the bed, waiting to see how he'll react.

Eventually he sits back down at his desk. Realizing that he is trying to make sense of the situation and having me staring at him probably isn't helping matters, I reach for my bag and take out my math homework. Settling myself on the bed, I take a crack at the assigned questions.

For about half an hour I work in silence except for the scratching of my pencil. I would have forgotten that he was there except for the fact I was always aware of his presence.

"Christine?"

"Hmm?" I look up from the page where I was halfway through the tenth question.

"I have a...query for you."

"What is this query?" I ask with a smile, hoping it will ease the tension still palpable in the room.

"I have already brought it up to my...guardian about it. You, of course, can turn it down if you so wish. It is up to you. That it, to you spending Christmas in New York. With me."

I'm sure my jaw drops. "Spend Christmas break with you?"

I wince. Way to sound disgusted, Christine.

"You can decline," he says, retreating back to his stone shell.

"No, wait," I say. My thoughts are still a bit fuzzy. Erik wants me to spend Christmas break, two weeks, with him? "That sounds amazing. You wouldn't mind?"

He looks uncomfortable. "It would be...I would...appreciate if you did so. If you do not wish to-"

"Of course I do, Erik! Are you sure your guardian is okay with this?" Beneath my excitement at the prospect of his 'query', I am surprised and saddened by the revelation that Erik is an orphan like I am.

"Not at all, I have already spoken with him. I think he is in too much of a state of shock to question it."

I give him a curious look. "Why?"

He snorts derisively. "I am quite popular, am I not?"

"Erik," I begin.

"No," he says. "It is of no matter. You have homework to finish, don't you Christine? You may leave or you can stay. Whatever you desire."

"I'll stay," I say going back to my work, knowing that when he switches the topic like that it is best to leave him alone.

Well now I can hardly pay attention; I am going to New York City with Erik! I know I can take care of the train fare there-surely his guardian won't drive all the way here. What is it going to be like? What is his home like and his guardian?

Until dinner, we both work, him at his desk and me cross-legged on his bed. Eventually, as I do in my own room, my binders and papers end up all over the covers as I search for references on how to answer the stupid questions. Erik finishes in a quarter of the time it takes me and takes a seat beside me, alternately helping me with my homework and rearranging my notes into an organized fashion.

I feel a mix of excitement and nerves at the thoughts of spending Christmas with Erik. On one hand it is a horrible idea: I hardly know him and I'm going to accompany him to New York City? I'll probably make a fool of myself and he'll decide that I'm not smart enough for him to be around. But then again, it would be the perfect way to learn more about him. And I've made a fool of myself in front of him enough times for him to decide whether I'm a complete idiot or not.

I watch him shuffle some of my notes, peer closer, and rewrite something. He glances at me and I blush. He turns back to my work and I wonder what he is thinking.

"Is there something on my face, mon ange? Besides the obvious, of course."

I grin at his good humour. I should agree to more of his ideas if they put him in such a good mood as this. "Nothing. "You seem happy. It can't possibly be my work."

"Do you ever recheck your work, ma belle?"

I pull a face. "Recheck it? I don't even want to do it in the first place."

He chuckles. "No, but this way you'll be much more likely to get the questions right."

"Can't you do it?" I ask.

"I believe that is called cheating."

"Or group work."

"I will not do your work for you, Christine. I'm already trying to reorganize your notes, only because I do not see how you will pass your exams with them all out of order." He brings a piece of paper closer to his face. "I can't even read what this says."

I lean in to look at it. The squiggles are illegible. I shrug and look back disdainfully at my homework. Setting it aside, I lean back against the wall and close my eyes. I feel strangely comfortable in this new environment.

"Tired?" The amusement is clear in his tone.

"A little," I mumble.

"You may sleep. I will wake you up closer to dinner. This doesn't get you out of rechecking your work."

"Of course it doesn't," I say, smiling. My eyelids feel too heavy to lift. A pillow is placed under my head but I fall asleep too quickly to thank him.

A/N: Sorry this was a shorter chapter than usual but I think it ended at a good point. I hope you enjoyed it :)