Read Online The Stranger by Caroline B. Cooney - Free Book Online
Authors: Caroline B. Cooney
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strange and terrible thought had formed in Nicoletta’s mind, but she refused to allow it a definite shape.
Christopher kissed her once, and then again. The third time he shuddered slightly, wanting a hundred times more than this—wanting no car, no time limit, no clothing in the way. The calm young man who easily flirted with or touched any girl because it meant nothing, was not the one driving the van tonight.
Touching meant a great deal to Christo tonight.
Think of Christo, Nicoletta told herself, accepting the kisses but not kissing back. But she could not think of him at all. She could hardly see him. He felt evaporated and diffuse. She felt sleazy and duplicitous. What have I done? thought Nicoletta. What have I let happen? How am I going to get out of this? “Good night, Christo,” she said courteously. “And thank you. I had a lovely time.”
She put her hand on the door handle.
Christo stared at her. “Nickie, we’re in the woods, not your driveway.”
But she was out of the van, standing in her fragile, silver dancing slippers on the crust of the snow. She knew she would not break through, she would not get snow in these shoes. She touched the ruby necklace. The moon came out from behind the snow-laden clouds, and rested on her face and her throat. The ruby and the red rose of her cheeks were the only heat in the forest.
Like a silver creature of the woods, she found the path, swirling and laughing to herself.
“Nickie?” said Christo. He was out of the van, he was following her. He could not stay on the surface of the crusted snow, as she could. His big feet and strong legs slogged where she had danced. “You don’t even have a coat!” he cried.
The boulder carried a shroud of snow. Nicoletta was a candle flickering in the dark. She quickstepped around the immense rock. The boulder shrugged its shoulders as Christo passed and dropped its load of snow upon him. Muffled under layers of white, his cry to Nicoletta did not reach her ears. “Wait up!” he said to her. “Don’t do this, Nickie. Nickie, what are you doing?”
She was in a dance choreographed by an unknown, moonlit hand. She had a partner, unseen and unknown, and the only thing was to keep up, to stay with the rhythm, her skirts making scallop shells around her bare stockinged legs, her feet barely touching the white snow, her hands in synchrony, touching, holding, waving.
Christo struggled free from the snow and circled the boulder.
He could see her, her gown luminous as the stars, her hair like golden music. He could not imagine what she was doing, but he did not care. She was too lovely and the evening was too extraordinary for reason. He simply wanted to catch up, to be with her, to see her eyes as she danced this unearthly dance.
When he caught up to her, she was dancing on a balance beam between two black-iced ponds. The path was so narrow his heart stopped. What if she fell? What could she be thinking of? He was too out of breath to shout her name again, he whose breath control and athletic strength were his strong assets. The stillness of the night was so complete it was like crystal, a call from him would shatter the glass in which they danced.
A black, black hole at the end of Nicoletta’s narrow danger opened wide, and opened wider.
Christo stared, fascinated, unable to think at all, unable to shout warnings if warnings were needed.
From the side of the ice-dripping, rock walked rock. Moving rock. The rock and Nicoletta danced together for a moment while Christo tried to free himself from ribbons of confusion. What is going on? he thought.
It was possible that the night had ended and he was deep in a dream, one of those electrical-storm dreams, in which vivid pictures leap and toss like lightning in a frightened sky.
“Nicoletta?” he said at last.
She spun, as if seeing him for the first time, and the rock spun with her, and it had a face.
The rock was a person.
Chapter 10
“ Y OU BROUGHT HIM HERE , ”
Christopher kissed her once, and then again. The third time he shuddered slightly, wanting a hundred times more than this—wanting no car, no time limit, no clothing in the way. The calm young man who easily flirted with or touched any girl because it meant nothing, was not the one driving the van tonight.
Touching meant a great deal to Christo tonight.
Think of Christo, Nicoletta told herself, accepting the kisses but not kissing back. But she could not think of him at all. She could hardly see him. He felt evaporated and diffuse. She felt sleazy and duplicitous. What have I done? thought Nicoletta. What have I let happen? How am I going to get out of this? “Good night, Christo,” she said courteously. “And thank you. I had a lovely time.”
She put her hand on the door handle.
Christo stared at her. “Nickie, we’re in the woods, not your driveway.”
But she was out of the van, standing in her fragile, silver dancing slippers on the crust of the snow. She knew she would not break through, she would not get snow in these shoes. She touched the ruby necklace. The moon came out from behind the snow-laden clouds, and rested on her face and her throat. The ruby and the red rose of her cheeks were the only heat in the forest.
Like a silver creature of the woods, she found the path, swirling and laughing to herself.
“Nickie?” said Christo. He was out of the van, he was following her. He could not stay on the surface of the crusted snow, as she could. His big feet and strong legs slogged where she had danced. “You don’t even have a coat!” he cried.
The boulder carried a shroud of snow. Nicoletta was a candle flickering in the dark. She quickstepped around the immense rock. The boulder shrugged its shoulders as Christo passed and dropped its load of snow upon him. Muffled under layers of white, his cry to Nicoletta did not reach her ears. “Wait up!” he said to her. “Don’t do this, Nickie. Nickie, what are you doing?”
She was in a dance choreographed by an unknown, moonlit hand. She had a partner, unseen and unknown, and the only thing was to keep up, to stay with the rhythm, her skirts making scallop shells around her bare stockinged legs, her feet barely touching the white snow, her hands in synchrony, touching, holding, waving.
Christo struggled free from the snow and circled the boulder.
He could see her, her gown luminous as the stars, her hair like golden music. He could not imagine what she was doing, but he did not care. She was too lovely and the evening was too extraordinary for reason. He simply wanted to catch up, to be with her, to see her eyes as she danced this unearthly dance.
When he caught up to her, she was dancing on a balance beam between two black-iced ponds. The path was so narrow his heart stopped. What if she fell? What could she be thinking of? He was too out of breath to shout her name again, he whose breath control and athletic strength were his strong assets. The stillness of the night was so complete it was like crystal, a call from him would shatter the glass in which they danced.
A black, black hole at the end of Nicoletta’s narrow danger opened wide, and opened wider.
Christo stared, fascinated, unable to think at all, unable to shout warnings if warnings were needed.
From the side of the ice-dripping, rock walked rock. Moving rock. The rock and Nicoletta danced together for a moment while Christo tried to free himself from ribbons of confusion. What is going on? he thought.
It was possible that the night had ended and he was deep in a dream, one of those electrical-storm dreams, in which vivid pictures leap and toss like lightning in a frightened sky.
“Nicoletta?” he said at last.
She spun, as if seeing him for the first time, and the rock spun with her, and it had a face.
The rock was a person.
Chapter 10
“ Y OU BROUGHT HIM HERE , ”
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