Five: A Maor Novel (Maor series) Read Free Page A

money.’
    ‘I just -’
    ‘- want what’s best for me. Yeah, I’ve heard that too.’
    ‘I -’
    ‘Just leave it, okay?’
    I yank my ponytail over my shoulder, slump down further
into my seat and watch the electric gates slide closed behind us in the
rearview mirror. This ‘short’ ride already feels like an eternity. A wave of
despair and anger washes over me. Why must it always come down to this?
    I love dancing with a passion rivaled only by my
creative writing. Mother, however, has denounced both my interests as a
‘passing phase’, and she uses every opportunity to tell me how there ‘is no
financial stability in the arts’, how ‘few artists make it’, or how ‘many of
them turn to drugs and become anorexic’… The excuses are as creative as they
are endless, but they all come down to one thing: she just doesn’t believe in
me.
    My mother is silent for a moment and then she wisely
changes the topic:
    ‘What are you doing today?’
    ‘Oh yeah, can you drop me at the square after practice?
Jenne invited me to movies.’
    ‘Oh,’ mom says, sounding disappointed, ‘You know, it’s
not too late for me to arrange a party.’
    ‘I already said I didn’t want one,’ I say, feeling my
irritation spike again.
    ‘But it’s your last…’ her voice trails off and she
exhales a little, frustrated sigh, pulls the car to a stop in front of the
school hall and turns toward me. ‘I really think you should have one.’
    I frown, puzzled and annoyed at her insistence.
    ‘Well I’m not having one and that’s the end of it.’ I slide
out of the car and slam the door before she can respond. She looks at me
through the window pane with a wounded expression, revs the engine and takes
off from the curb, tires squealing in protest.

 
    Chapter
3

 
    Longing
    Tastes like: Dark chocolate,
melting on your tongue
    Smells like: A warm winter
stew when you’re fasting
    Sounds like: The howl of a
wolf on the night of a full moon
    Feels like: The rasp of
silk against your skin
    Looks like: A child’s nose
pressed against the baker’s window

 
    ‘Hi.’
    I turn away from watching the Merc’s tail lights
disappear around the corner, to see Luke, standing behind me. With his sandy
brown hair curling in moist circles across his forehead and his fine-boned cheeks
framing a pair of hazel green eyes, he looks incredibly young and fragile, even
with the visible strings of muscle cording his arms and legs.
    ‘Was that your mom?’ he asks in his usual laid back
drawl that always seems to melt my bad moods.
    ‘Yip.’
    ‘She seems pissed. Something wrong?’
    ‘Yeah, apparently I’ve sinned because I don’t want to
have a birthday party,’ I say, shaking my head and turning toward the school
hall.
    Luke steps into stride beside me.
    ‘Okayyyy...’ he says, tossing his head unconsciously to
the side to flick an errant lock out of his eye and shooting me a look of
confusion. He waits a beat for me to elaborate and when I don’t, merely shrugs.
It’s one of the things I like most about him – he doesn’t push and prod, he
knows I’ll talk when I’m good and ready.
    ‘Speaking of your birthday,’ he says, ‘I know you wanted
to keep it low key, so I was thinking I could take you out for a bite to eat
after practice?’
    His voice holds a note of uncertain eagerness that
belies the casual tone and sends guilt coursing through me. I worry my bottom
lip with my teeth and purposely look away from him. We’ve been friends since
second grade at St Stithians and dance partners almost as long. Luke is funny,
talented, handsome, caring – everything a girl could want. He’s never verbally admitted
it, but I know that somewhere between seventh grade and present, his feelings
for me have progressed beyond friendship. Trouble is – mine haven’t.
    It would be so easy to love Luke, but no matter how hard
I try – and I have tried – there’s something missing. I can’t name it; it’s the
spark in the air