The sixth sense

Chapter 2

Lili

The school where my stepsister studies is much bigger than my previous one. We walk down the hall and I practically ran to catch up with her pace. She greets the other pupils and introduces me to everyone.
"Meet my stepsister, Lili!"
After which follows a list of names I can hardly remember. Emma's shining like the sun, with her strawberry blond hair framing her delicate face with bright blue eyes. The corners of her mouth are always lifted in a charming smile, and the tip of her nose is trembling slightly whenever she starts laughing. If it were not for Emma, moving to Paris would be a pain, but she took me under her protective wing and things went smoothly after that. Not that we became best friends all of a sudden, of course not. I still don't know what kind of a person she is. We met twice before I moved to the city. The first time was in Lausanne when she and her father came to visit us. The second time was in Paris when our parents were discussing the details of our move. Both of those times it felt like Emma wasn't completely with us, too busy texting someone on the phone. To justify her behavior, Jérôme said she was a beauty blogger and talked to her followers a lot. I never tried to find her blog though. We never opened our hearts to each other or expressed excitement about becoming one family. Both she and I knew it was pointless, but our parents were happy, and we decided it was better to be polite with each other for the sake of their happiness. I'd never seen my mom smile so much, or maybe I simply couldn't remember the time smile stayed on her face for too long.
Emma grabs me by the elbow. "Did you happen to have a boyfriend in Lausanne?"
I shake my head. "No. Neither in Lausanne nor anywhere else."
Emma smirks and then her lips twist in a smile. "I think we can easily fix it now that you're in Paris," she whispers and nods to someone I can't see. My gaze follows hers and I see a nice-looking guy standing near the window.
"Let me introduce you two," she says, pulling me closer to him.
The guy's green eyes sparkle with excitement.
"This is Lili, my stepsister," Emma says in her usual cheerful manner.
"Paul," the guy says, kissing me on both cheeks. I still can't get used to the Parisian tradition of a double kiss. I always kissed strangers three times. I can feel the scent of Paul's woody cologne. "Nice to meet you, Lili," he says in a husky voice. His eyes never leave mine.
"Likewise," I say indifferently.
My heart doesn't skip a beat when I look at him. Paul is handsome, tall, well built, and with a boyish charisma that makes girls swoon over him. He's one of those guys who walk around the school as if they own it, smiling cunningly at everyone they pass by. He's a daydream of all the wallflowers. But he doesn't make me feel anything, neither excitement, nor flutter, nor curiosity. I'll forget about him in less than a minute.
We walk away from Paul, and Emma asks, frowning, "Isn't he your type?"
No doubt, she expected a much warmer reaction to Paul, or at least a 'thank you' because girls don't normally introduce their friends to handsome guys.
I shrug at her question.
"Okay, then describe your type," she says nonchalantly. "I'm sure we can find a perfect guy for you and don't you dare say we need to focus on classes instead. It's boring and depressing. We're young and beautiful and we need love! Everyone needs love."
I look at her, not knowing what to say. Emma's trying to be attentive. Her phone rings a few times, notifying the arrival of the new messages but she refuses to read them, still trying to make me talk. Telling her about my type is the last thing I want to do now. What shall I tell her anyway? That I like mysterious, dark-eyed guys with curly hair and a warm smile? There're millions of guys like that. But one in particular has stolen my heart and his name's Adam. He's a great storyteller with a good sense of humor; he speaks Italian and makes the best budget pasta with sausages. I can eat it non-stop. Or maybe I shall tell her how talented he is, how he painted my portrait, or how he looked at me, or kissed me, or . . . about the nights we spent together. Those were the best nights in my life. Or maybe I shall tell her a sad story about meeting a guy of my dreams during my trip to Italy and then losing him. It's been five months of thinking about him, recalling every moment we spent together. I hope I'll see him again one day. I know chances are small and it makes me so damn sad.
Emma punches my ribs slightly. "Hey, what's up? Is everything all right?
I clear my throat and force a smile. "Yeah, it's just . . . I'm afraid I don't have a favorite type."
"Never mind," she says, waving her hand. "Sorry if I nose into something too personal."
"No, it's okay."
Emma smiles once more, and I catch myself thinking I'd like to be like her. She radiates positive energy and I can't even imagine her to be sad or down. She has such a sparkly personality.
While I keep studying her, she suddenly takes off running and squeals, "Screw the weekend! I've missed you so much!"
I turn my head to look at someone she's talking to, and I swear I'm ready for the floor beneath me to open and swallow me alive. Painfully familiar arms wrap around her. And the very voice I've been dreaming about hearing again, speaks to her, "I've missed you too."
He pulls her closer and kisses her without thinking or shyness. She responds to his kiss willingly. The lips that used to kiss me, are now kissing her. My breathing stops.
Emma breaks the kiss and smiles. She looks a little embarrassed. "I need to introduce you to someone. Meet my stepsister, Lili. Lili, this is Adam, the best guy in the world!"
He turns his head to look at me and suddenly freezes. His smile slips off his face. He looks at me, I look at him. The time stops running and everything around us blurs. His dark brown eyes bore mine intently as if he thinks I'm just a trick of his imagination and he can't believe I'm real. Like he's waiting for me to vanish in the air. My heartbeat echoes in my ears; my skin becomes cold and probably pales. My heart skips one beat after another. My breathing becomes heavy.
"Nice to meet you," I say in a trembling voice, and he winces as if from a slap in the face.
Yeah, it's nice to meet you indeed, Adam. For the second time. The first time will remain unmentioned.