We Will Be Together For Never

[17] Jordan's Questions

The bathrooms were easy enough to find - a prominent sign suspended over the nonfiction portion of the library, to the left of the conference room, directed me to them. They were empty of people, thankfully.

    I leaned over one of the sinks, opened my contact container, and popped in my contacts with ease. They had been made specifically for me, to exactly match my eye color, and I had practiced putting them in quite a bit. The eye doctor who had made them - a clueless human - was incredibly confused as to why we would want practically useless colored contacts, but for enough money, he knew better than to ask questions.

    I blinked a couple of times to ensure that the contacts were settled in my eyes before tucking the contact container into my pocket and returning to the conference room. Settling into my seat, I felt my heart leap into my throat as Jordan reached out and adjusted his camcorder to face me.

    Thankfully, my eyes were their normal, dark brown color. I sighed in relief.

    Not much had changed in the way of my hatred of cameras between my human life and my vampiric life. After all, I had despised being photographed or filmed when I was a human teenager. I wasn't sure why -there was no childhood trauma involving a photo shoot or anything like that - but I had gotten so nervous about having even simple photos taken of me, like school pictures, that I would feign stomach aches to miss the photo day entirely.

    I had just been growing used to being photographed, as one of my closest friends had loved taking selfies. (The thought of her hurt too much to touch on further.) Then I had been turned into a species who hated the very invention of cameras for reasons far more dangerous than my irrational fear.

    Now, however, the relief that my contacts had worked temporarily overpowered my nervousness at seeing myself reflected in the tiny camcorder screen.

    Jordan cleared his throat and ruffled his packet mockingly importantly, grinning over it at me. I smiled back, my unease fading at his laid-back manner.

    "Ready?" he asked gently.

    I nodded.

    He pressed the recording button on the camcorder and suddenly, I was acutely aware of being filmed, every movement I made recorded for eternity. My hands, resting in my lap, curled into shaking fists.

    You're safe. You're okay.

    Jordan cleared his throat once more, this time in earnest, and read the first question. "How long have you been going to our school?"

    I grinned. "A couple of days at the time of this interview."

    "How are you enjoying your time here?"

    I answered truthfully, although of course I couldn't share my struggles. "I've been making friends. Everyone here - even the teachers - is really kind and helpful." I looked straight into his eyes, hoping he realized that I was talking about the time when he had waited for me outside of the bathroom.

    Jordan nodded, his expression unreadable as he returned my gaze. "How does it differ from your old school?"

    Involuntarily, I sucked in a breath, making his eyebrows raise slightly in confusion. How was he to know, after all, that aside from my family, my friends had been the most important things in the world to me? And, unlike my family, I had flat-out refused to think about them, instead pining after my human life as an abstract rather than in specifics.

    I actually cared about what Jordan thought of me, though, so instead of asking to skip the question - something seemingly unjustifiable and socially awkward - I answered carefully, "My old school...was a lot less clean, just in the way the building is maintained."

    That was true - the floors had been disgusting, although I remembered with a fond smile the amusing graffiti that had been scrawled on the bathroom walls. Rather than the classic insults or genitalia, there had been actual artwork and positive messages adorning the stall walls. If someone  needed a confidence boost, their friends sent them to go read some bathroom graffiti.  That had been the type of school I attended.

    "This school's faculty is also kinder and have a more...personal approach to teaching," I continued thoughtfully. "They seem to care a lot about how their students as individuals are doing, both academically and otherwise."

    Jordan nodded understandingly, although I had personally seen him get a much different treatment from the teachers. "How do you feel about the variety of classes we offer?"

    The class variety in this school wasn't actually that interesting. Maybe he had just been running out of questions. "The variety is pretty wide," I said vaguely. "A lot of topics are covered."

    Jordan nodded once more. "I only have one more question," he said apologetically, although the sooner the camera was turned off, the better, in my opinion. "How is the mood here at the school - like, how students treat one another?"

    I thought of Sasha and Sapphire, Derek and Christian, all of their friends and how they all felt comfortable in their own skins with their varied sexualities and genders. I thought of how I had been met with nothing but smiles as I walked through the halls of school, even if most people didn't care enough to  strike up a conversation with me.

    "It's wonderful," I replied truthfully. "Everyone here is honestly so kind and they're all just such good people." My voice cracked and I pressed my lips together to keep tears from rising. Thinking of my new friends made me think of the ones I had lost, all in one fateful night.

    Jordan slowly reached over and turned off the camcorder. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked gently.

    "Talk about what?" I asked, hoping that my pretending to be clueless would throw him off. Surely this practically-stranger didn't actually care about my problems?

    "Whatever happened at your old school," Jordan persisted. "Is it why you moved here?"

    "No," I replied. I was about to simply answer that I had moved here with my guardian before I remembered that I had to strictly adhere to my falsified backstory. "My - my adoptive father and I moved out here five months ago. Change in jobs."

    "Something obviously happened at your old school, Tamara," Jordan pointed out, unaffected by the wrench I had tried to throw in our conversation - talking about being adopted. At the very least, it was meant to divert him.

    I took a good look at Jordan. His brown eyes were wide and earnest. His body language all led to one conclusion - you can trust me.

    So I did. I told him the truth.

    Or as much of it as I could.