they wanted to talk about was the party at the Student Union last night.”
Liam took another long sip of his coffee.
“I
hated
it,” Marisala said flatly.
He couldn’t hide his smile. “Yeah, I…um, kind of got that impression.”
“It’s
not
funny! What am I going to do? If I have to sit there,” she fumed, “
wasting
my time—”
“Maybe you should think about changing your major.”
“To what? I’ve already looked through the course catalog, and I didn’t see any listings for classes in strategic warfare. That’s the only thing I’m good at!” Marisala pushed her way past him up the stairs, the puppy on her heels.
Liam followed too. “Maybe you
should
think about joining the army, getting into some kind of officers’ program—”
She laughed, but it sounded brittle as she pushed open the door to her room. “Oh,
that
would be perfect. All those years I spent fighting, living for the day I could
stop
fighting. And now you think maybe I should spend the rest of my life fighting?”
She sat down on the bed, her shoulders slumped in dejection. “What am I doing here? I should have just married Enrique and gotten it over with.”
Liam stopped in the doorway, knowing it would be a mistake to get too close to her. But he wanted to. God, he wanted to put his arms around her. He held his coffee mug more tightly instead.
“How do you stand it?” she asked quietly. “How do you walk around and still manage to smile?”
She looked up at him, and her eyes were fiercely intense. “During the history lecture, I was sitting next to a girl who just broke her fingernail. She acted as if it were the end of the world. She actually left the lecture to find a nail file. And I was sitting there thinking, is this real? Is this what real people worry about? Broken fingernails. And parking spots? On my way to class, I saw two men nearly come to blows because they both wanted the same parking spot.” She shook her head. “I wanted to slap them and make them see how petty their problems are.” Her voice shook. “I wanted to give them a list of all the children I knew who died in that war I was so good at fighting.”
Liam knew she was close to tears. “Please, just go away,” she told him. “Just close the door and leave me alone.”
He knew he should. He knew that was
exactly
what he should do. Close the door and walk away.
Instead, he stepped into her room. Instead, he set his mug of cooling coffee on her bedside table. Instead, he sat down next to her on the bed and took her hand, gently lacing their fingers together.
“We’ll figure this out,” he said, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded. “I know a guy, he’s a career counselor—he’s got this standardized test that you fill out, and it tells you what kind of job you’re most suited for. I’ll help you, Mara, and together we’ll find some classes that’ll interest you.”
She glanced at him and smiled, but turned away before he got a clear look at the tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye. As she furtively wiped it away he pretended not to notice. God, when was the last time he’d seen Marisala cry?
“You’re going to help me, huh?” Marisala took a deep breath and forced another shaky smile. “You, the king of the maladjusted?”
“Ouch—
that
hurt.”
She laughed, and Liam lost himself for a moment in the bottomless depth of her eyes. As he watched, an awareness dawned in those eyes, an awareness and a haunting vulnerability.
She wanted him to kiss her, her body language couldn’t have been more obvious. She wanted him to kiss her, but she didn’t expect him to.
She looked away, but then glanced back. She had something to ask, and in true Marisala style, she took the bull by the horns. “Do you find that my scar makes me terribly ugly?”
Of all the things Liam had expected her to say,
that
wasn’t one of them. For a moment he was speechless.
Ugly?
“I think Santiago wanted me to go to a plastic
Liam took another long sip of his coffee.
“I
hated
it,” Marisala said flatly.
He couldn’t hide his smile. “Yeah, I…um, kind of got that impression.”
“It’s
not
funny! What am I going to do? If I have to sit there,” she fumed, “
wasting
my time—”
“Maybe you should think about changing your major.”
“To what? I’ve already looked through the course catalog, and I didn’t see any listings for classes in strategic warfare. That’s the only thing I’m good at!” Marisala pushed her way past him up the stairs, the puppy on her heels.
Liam followed too. “Maybe you
should
think about joining the army, getting into some kind of officers’ program—”
She laughed, but it sounded brittle as she pushed open the door to her room. “Oh,
that
would be perfect. All those years I spent fighting, living for the day I could
stop
fighting. And now you think maybe I should spend the rest of my life fighting?”
She sat down on the bed, her shoulders slumped in dejection. “What am I doing here? I should have just married Enrique and gotten it over with.”
Liam stopped in the doorway, knowing it would be a mistake to get too close to her. But he wanted to. God, he wanted to put his arms around her. He held his coffee mug more tightly instead.
“How do you stand it?” she asked quietly. “How do you walk around and still manage to smile?”
She looked up at him, and her eyes were fiercely intense. “During the history lecture, I was sitting next to a girl who just broke her fingernail. She acted as if it were the end of the world. She actually left the lecture to find a nail file. And I was sitting there thinking, is this real? Is this what real people worry about? Broken fingernails. And parking spots? On my way to class, I saw two men nearly come to blows because they both wanted the same parking spot.” She shook her head. “I wanted to slap them and make them see how petty their problems are.” Her voice shook. “I wanted to give them a list of all the children I knew who died in that war I was so good at fighting.”
Liam knew she was close to tears. “Please, just go away,” she told him. “Just close the door and leave me alone.”
He knew he should. He knew that was
exactly
what he should do. Close the door and walk away.
Instead, he stepped into her room. Instead, he set his mug of cooling coffee on her bedside table. Instead, he sat down next to her on the bed and took her hand, gently lacing their fingers together.
“We’ll figure this out,” he said, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded. “I know a guy, he’s a career counselor—he’s got this standardized test that you fill out, and it tells you what kind of job you’re most suited for. I’ll help you, Mara, and together we’ll find some classes that’ll interest you.”
She glanced at him and smiled, but turned away before he got a clear look at the tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye. As she furtively wiped it away he pretended not to notice. God, when was the last time he’d seen Marisala cry?
“You’re going to help me, huh?” Marisala took a deep breath and forced another shaky smile. “You, the king of the maladjusted?”
“Ouch—
that
hurt.”
She laughed, and Liam lost himself for a moment in the bottomless depth of her eyes. As he watched, an awareness dawned in those eyes, an awareness and a haunting vulnerability.
She wanted him to kiss her, her body language couldn’t have been more obvious. She wanted him to kiss her, but she didn’t expect him to.
She looked away, but then glanced back. She had something to ask, and in true Marisala style, she took the bull by the horns. “Do you find that my scar makes me terribly ugly?”
Of all the things Liam had expected her to say,
that
wasn’t one of them. For a moment he was speechless.
Ugly?
“I think Santiago wanted me to go to a plastic
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