Steelhands - Jaida Jones [49]
“If you must know,” I told him, “they’re ugly. And they itch. They get dirty easily and they don’t look at all like what anyone else here is wearing.”
“Oh,” Gaeth said, nodding and shoving his hands into his pockets, though not before he tugged his cap down farther over his head. “Everyone here must have right cold hands, then.”
“I suppose it doesn’t bother them,” I told him. Was he really so thick-skulled, or had he not noticed he was dressed differently from everyone else on the busy streets of Thremedon?
“I don’t know much about city folk,” Gaeth admitted. “Not yet, anyway. But I can’t see as how cold hands wouldn’t bother someone.”
“They must be used to it,” I said, employing a tone of finality that I hoped would end this strange, circular discussion. I cast about for another topic of conversation. I didn’t want to ask him about his hometown because I could already picture it—a vast stretch of muddy country, a barn full of cows, and Gaeth himself in the middle of it, contentedly looking after his repulsive chickens and pigs. It was agonizing—not the least because I’d known dozens of boys exactly like Gaeth back home, and most of them turned out as hardheaded and unimaginative as the cattle they raised. Moreover, the idea that I would carry any sort of fondness for someone so obviously lost when it came to the sophistication of Thremedon was downright mortifying. How could I? I was a different man now!
If only Laure had come along, she would have been able to save me though she would have made me pay for it later on, when it was just the two of us again.
“Well,” Gaeth said, putting a hand on my arm. “Here we are.”
And so we were, back at the dormitories already. I didn’t flinch at his touch, yet he withdrew his hand almost immediately with a little nod of apology. “Sorry,” he added, looking sheepish. “Forgot you didn’t like that.”
“Are you going inside as well?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound too desperate for him to answer in the negative. Any more of his company and I would probably expire. Once I was alone, I could begin castigating myself for allowing him to touch me without even a rebuke. Was I no better than a horse myself, to be wooed by something so simple as a gentle hand and a calm demeanor?
If that was how it was going to be, I’d have no choice but to end it all.
“Nah,” Gaeth said. “I was feeling a bit warm, so I thought I’d walk around some more for a bit. Winter air’s bracing.”
Here was the sort of boy my father would have preferred to have as a son, I thought, with some slim bit of jealousy. But mostly, I felt relief. Laure’s father would have been happy with him, too, and it was a wonder she didn’t hate him for it. No; she rather liked him, and I could hardly pretend I didn’t understand the reasons why; simple as he was, he had an awful kind of charm about him. Yet it was something I would have preferred to forget.
“It’s been …” I began, just a pleasantry, but found myself unable to think of anything to say. Instead, I began to tug the mittens off, but Gaeth held up his hands.
“You keep them for now,” he said. “I’ll come back to pick them up later. Gets cold in your room, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” I replied, surprised he remembered. He waved at me as he turned away from the bottom step, moving off through the straggling students making their way across the cobblestones, in and out of buildings, laughing or gossiping with their friends. Soon enough, he’d disappeared from view.
I watched him for a few moments longer than was necessary but mostly out of confusion, feeling my brow wrinkle unpleasantly. In the wake of my failure with Hal, I’d quite forgotten about Gaeth, and I’d imagined he’d be only too relieved to find himself free of my attentions. Either that was the case, or he really was feebleminded and thought us perfectly capable of being friends without the addition of Laure to keep everyone sane. For what