Ch. 8

In the week following our trip, it seems as though an unspoken truce is formed between Tom and myself. I don't talk to him, and he doesn't talk to me. In all honestly, I avoid looking at him as much as I possibly can. I just feel so awkward, especially since all I can think about is how close we were, how good his naked skin felt against me. I know it was the proper thing to do to prevent hypothermia, but it was the closest I've ever been to anyone before. To be so close to a mostly naked guy I definitely have feelings for is beyond my realm of understanding. Heck, I've never even kissed anyone.

"What the hell is your problem, Tom?" Kyle yelps as Tom kicks the chair Kyle's feet were resting on. We're back in the library again, doing research on stream ecosystems for our environmental science project. In another week we're going on a field trip where we have to take water samples from a bunch of local creeks to determine water quality.

"Who me? I have a lot of problems, right 95?" I guess the truce was in my imagination, but I keep my head down. There's no way I will rise to his taunt.

"Why pester him? He saved your life and hasn't done anything."

"You're right. He saved my life and he hasn't even spoken to me since then. I guess I was worth it, huh?" Tom says angrily. "I'm sure you all would have been happier, hell, I would have been happier if he just let me die. Right, 95? Right?" Tom stands right in front of my desk, trying to force me to look at him.

Tilting my head up, I look right into his piercing icy eyes and am struck dumb. "I don't know," I mumble. I shrink back into my seat, colour rising in my cheeks and heart pounding wildly.

"How can you not know if my life was worth it? You know everything," he sneers, eyes not leaving mine.

I don't understand, I don't get what he wants from me. I'd understand if he wants to punch me, especially if I did something to him, but the way he's taunting me makes no sense to me at all. "Of course your life is worth it, you asshole." I stand face to face with him, then walk away, brushing against him roughly as I pass. Away from the library, away from class, away from people. Too many things swirling in my head.

....................

I wander the halls for a few minutes before I decide to do something, anything, to take my mind off the problem at hand. Being around Tom is torture. I can't not think about wrapping his body in mine, about him spooning me in the morning or about the caress of his hand trailing across my scars, but it makes ache for him, and I know that's not healthy to want someone who hates me.

At the greenhouse I let myself in, sign the worksheet and begin to tend to the seedlings. The smell of the damp soil and humidity in the room helps calm me as I prepare more bedding trays. First I mix the soil with some water then fill the trays and plant some seeds. Once that's done there are flats of trays with little seedings poking through, and I have to make sure that there aren't too many per cup or else they'll crowd each other out. Winnowing out the unwanted ones—seems a little familiar for the people in my class, and I actually feel bad about pulling out the little seedlings so the bigger ones can grow.

"You know, they don't know you're pulling them." A gruff, low voice from behind me startles me, and I turn to see Tom's lanky form leaning against a planting table, the harsh lighting making his cheeks appear gaunt, like he hasn't been sleeping.

"I still don't like killing them," I say with a shake of my head.

He looks me up and down, like he's re-evaluating me. I try to avoid shifting awkwardly under his gaze. "But you're giving the others the best chance for survival," he asserts.

Suddenly there are too many secrets and I need to know, "What did you do to be put in this course?"

"I was invited, like you," he shrugs off my question, flipping back his dark hair, his eyes guarded.

"Yes, but you aren't on probation, there's been no drug charges, what did you do?" I pressure.

He thinks for a moment, then responds, "You know we're like the bedding tray. Our class, we're the survivors. The weaker ones were winnowed out. We've been given this opportunity to show that our lives are worth something. My life is worth something." His answer is cryptic and he steps closer to me, close enough to make me shiver.

"What did you do?" I ask for a third time, my voice a shaky whisper.

"Me?" Tom leans in close, breathing in my ear, sending delicious sparks down my spine. "I didn't do anything. Someone gave me something to cry about." He throws my words back at me, and reacts almost the same way I did in the tent, tearing out of the greenhouse before I can respond.

My heart aches in my chest. He's been hurt the same way I have, only far more recently. It totally explains the scars I saw, his behaviour and why he's always so bitter, so on guard. All I want to do is hold him, take away his pain, make him feel worthy. I turn back to the bedding trays and continue working, realizing that Tom has given me a gift. He's given me something of himself—trust—and I imagine that's really difficult for someone in his position.