The excitement from earlier returns to Oz’s eyes. I only ever saw that look on his face when he spoke about Izzy. “Yeah, dude. Isn’t it amazing? I’m so going to get my gloves signed by him.”
Gloves, as in boxing gloves, I assume. Why would he want a random guy to sign them though? Doesn’t make sense. Izzy doesn’t seem to think so either. “Do I have to be worried?”
The boys break into laughter.
Izzy and I stare at them. Then at each other. “Boys,” my cousin murmurs. “Can’t live with them, can’t live without them, right?”
I wouldn’t know. I nod nevertheless.
Whatever Oz said to Marie worked. I have three periods with her, and she didn’t bother me once. Unless you count the killer looks she shot my way. Since I get them from almost everyone, I don’t mind. We only have one more class together before lunch. I’m confident I’ll survive the day.
Izzy waits on me by the door. History is the only AP course we share. Like me, she has a profound love for the past. My dad had a hand in this. He’d spent countless afternoons telling us stories about old empires and long-forgotten cultures. Prior to becoming a professor at the local university, he was an archeologist. Dug all over the world—Syria, Lebanon, South America. His favorite place, however, had always been Egypt. He was obsessed with the culture. Plus, it’s where he met my mom. She was the daughter of a rich Egyptian businessman with a thing for everything Western. One would think they had hit it off immediately—he was a handsome American, she was a stunning exotic beauty—but the contrary is true. Their first encounter had been less than pleasant. My mom hadn’t appreciated my dad and his colleagues digging near a sacred temple. She was always very protective of old Egypt and its gods. My dad loved her passion, and by the time his expedition ended, he’d set his mind on marrying her. He succeeded. I wish he hadn’t. Maybe then they’d still be alive.
“How’s it going?” my cousin asks as I approach her. That’s code for: tell me the bitch didn’t harass you again.
Allowing myself to smile is still hard on me. Curling the edges of my mouth upwards always comes with guilt. I can’t help but feel I don’t deserve to use those facial muscles. Not when I brought so much misery and pain on the people around me. For Izzy’s sake, I try. “It’s going good.”
She arches a brow. “Don’t lie to me, little cousin.” Her index finger comes up. “You know I see right through your bullshit.” Yep, she does. I’m a terrible liar, and she’s really good at reading people.
“I’m not lying, Izz.” Other than the locker incident, this day has been normal. Students go the extra mile to avoid me, keeping a minimum distance of an arm’s length. Teachers ignore me. I do my best to keep a low profile.
Izzy studies me closely. She’s trying to spot the lie beneath my calm façade. When she can’t find it, she reaches for my hand. “All right, I believe you. Let’s go. History awaits us.”
My cousin hauls me inside the classroom. I stumble over Silvio’s backpack. He’s Jefferson High’s star quarterback and the captain of the team. He doesn’t care. The boy is too busy drinking in Marie’s pretty face. Marie, on the other hand, is less distracted. “Watch it,” she barks.
My cousin throws a murderous glance her way.
“S-Sorry,” I stammer, hauling Izzy to our usual spot in the last row.
We plummet down on our chairs. “Don’t apologize to her,” she warns.
I don’t feel up for round two in the stand-up-to-Marie lecture and opt for a topic change. “So, have you met this new guy yet?” I had two periods with the boys. They didn’t talk about anything else. He’s a four-time MMA champion. The best fighter in his weight class. A machine. A beast. A warrior. They gave “fan boy” a new definition. Last time I had to endure such craziness, Izzy had a crush on Justin Timberlake. She wouldn’t stop talking about him for months. Once she was over him, I’d become a Justin specialist. Knew what his favorite food was, how many restaurants he owned, whom he had dated, and just about everything else the media had dug up about his private life.
My cousin slams her purple notebook on the table and frowns. “Nope, haven’t had the chance to meet my boyfriend’s new crush.” She smirks. “Must be one helluva dude though. Never seen Oz so crazy about anyone.”
“Other than you, you mean?”
She shrugs. “I sincerely hope there’s no one he’s as crazy about as me.”
I pat her shoulder. “There isn’t.” Oz’s world revolves around my cousin. She’s his sun, his moon, his stars—his everything. Cheesy, I know. True, nevertheless. Once upon a time, I wished I’d find a love like theirs. I dreamt of a guy like Oz who’d love my flaws as much as my strengths. That was ages prior to becoming the Angel of Death all of Shepherdstown fears.
“He sure loves me.” Pride swells her voice.
“He does.”
“Enough about me and Oz.” Izzy wiggles a light-blue strand of her hair around her finger and flashes me a smile I don’t like. One that screams: you’re in trouble, Nisha. “It’s time you tell me about that mysterious stranger from the police station.”
All of a sudden the prospect of talking about Marie seems less disturbing. Refusing to make eye contact, I pull my weighty history book out of my bag. “I told you everything at breakfast, Izz.” Okay, maybe I left out the part where he spoiled One Thousand and One Nights for me, as well as the moment he offered to show me his private handcuff collection, but my cousin doesn’t need to know that. I’d never ever hear the end of it.
She props her elbows on the desk. “You never mentioned if he’s hot.”
I wish I’d never mentioned him, period. Determined not to give her more ground for further investigation into the Blaze matter, I play it cool. “If you dig guys like M. Shadows”—I shrug—“then, I guess he’s hot.” I’d never admit it, but even if you were into clean-cut, suit-wearing Christian Greys, Blaze would still make your heart beat faster and your hormones rage wilder.
“He has the bad-boy rock star look going for him?” Izzy knows her musicians. Have to give her that.
“You could say that,” I mutter, focusing on the door. Today of all days, Mr. Thornton, our history teacher, is running late.
“How old is he?” she keeps questioning me.
“I didn’t ask.” Judging by his face, I’d say our age. Judging by his tattoos and the way he walks—like he owns the universe—I’d say much older. “He’s from England, I think.”
Her brows fly up. “Seriously?”
I nod.
My cousin shifts closer, excitement gleaming in her eyes. “He’s got one of those sexy-as-hell accents?”
I say nothing.
“Are you blushing, little cousin?” Unwillingly, I touch my cheeks, and she laughs. “Gotcha.”
I nudge her. Hard. “Drop it, Izz.” Blaze is hot, his accent is more than just sexy, and when he smiles at you, the world is a little less awful. Still, what’s the point talking about a guy I’ll probably never see again?
Izzy won’t give it a rest. “Whoa, you really like this guy, don’t you?”
How can I like someone I barely know? “We just met, Izz.”
“Never heard of instalove?”
I roll my eyes. “Sure, in books or movies.” Not in real life. Especially not in my life. Blaze is hot and all, but I’m not the kind of girl to find herself Julieting—as in Juliet falls for Romeo and marries him the next day—over someone.
“I don’t believe you,” she shoots back.
“I don’t care,” I grumble, a little annoyed by her attitude.
Ready to argue some more, she parts her lips. Luckily, Mr. Thornton finally graces us with his presence. He saunters to his desk and slams his leather case onto it. “Good morning, ladies and gentleman. Excuse my running late, but I had a meeting with our new principal, Mrs. Ray.” The lines around his eyes say it didn’t go well. He pushes his rimmed glasses higher and ogles us. “Anyway, I have the pleasure to introduce your new classmate to you.” He doesn’t
sound like it’s a pleasure. “Mr. Boswell is new in Shepherdstown. I hope you’ll all welcome him with typical West Virginia hospitality.”
We finally get to meet the new guy, huh? Well, I’d be lying if I said I’m not curious as heck. My three best friends don’t swoon over a dude every day. Boswell must be special.
Everyone is staring at the door. Marie goes as far as to put on her model posture—duck face and all. Seems like the guy isn’t just popular with the boys. The girls must have heard about him too.
“Mr. Boswell,” Thornton shouts. I’ve never heard the man raise his voice. “You can come in. Now.”
Whispers roar through the classroom. The anticipation is killing them—guys and girls alike. Izzy rolls her Hello Kitty pencil back and forth over the table. “They act as if he’s the new Justin Terieber.”
I snicker. “You mean Bieber, right?”
Izzy shrugs. “Does it matter?”
The door swings open. Instinctively, I look. “Oh, shit.” I wish I hadn’t.
Izzy eyeballs me. “Did you just cuss in class?” The back of her hand lands on my forehead. “Are you sick?”
My cousin’s weird sense of humor is the least of my problems. The real trouble is strolling into our classroom—head held high, tattoos exposed, a cocky grin directed at me. “Blaze,” I whisper, hoping the hallucination will go away when I address it.
Izzy looks from me to him. Then it hits her. “No way,” she says, way too loud. “That’s him, isn’t it? The guy from the police station? The one with the handcuffs?”
Man, I didn’t know shame could be deadly. My heart proves me wrong as it cramps in my chest, cutting my air supply in the process. Everyone, and I mean every single person in this room, is staring at me. And Blaze? He seems to enjoy my embarrassment. Maybe he’s an idiot after all.
Mr. Thornton, one of the only teachers who doesn’t hate me, takes pity on me. “Why don’t you introduce yourself, Mr. Boswell,” he suggests, breaking the odd silence in the room.
Blaze nods. “Name’s Blaze Boswell. Been shipped here from England.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks me in the eye. “And I’m beginning to think fate has brought me here.”
Marie’s gaze drifts from Blaze to me. She doesn’t like the way he’s eyeballing me. Finally, we have something in common.
Izzy slams her elbow in my ribs. “Fate, huh?”
I could use Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak. I swear, I’d never take it off.
Thornton wrinkles his nose. “Glad you feel that way.” He’s really not. “Now, pick a seat and we’ll get started.”
Pick a seat? Oh, crap. There are only two free spots in this classroom. One next to Marie. One next to me. This has got to be one of my nightmares. It can’t possibly be happening.
Don’t sit next to me. Don’t sit next to me. Don’t—
He’s sitting next to me.
Marie turns her head, Exorcist style. There’s a nasty remark on the tip of her tongue. I can feel it. One look from Izzy, and she shuts her mouth.
Blaze leans in. “How’s you, princess?”
“Princess?” Izzy teases.
“Don’t even start,” I hiss at my cousin.
“No hello?” He looks me over. “Don’t say you didn’t recognize me without cuffs?” He’s joking. Sort of.
Izzy is watching my every move. So is the rest of the class. Dang, why didn’t I just stay in bed today? All of a sudden, nightmares don’t sound that nasty anymore. Better than being under the scrutiny of classmates who hate me, or sitting next to a guy who acts as if he likes me.
“Princess?” His voice is lower.
“Don’t call me that,” I snarl, my gaze glued to my history book.
My cousin leans over the table. “I’m Izzy. Her cousin.”
A devilish smile tugs at his lips, bringing out his lovely dimple. “And I’m her friend with the private handcuff collection.”
Izzy almost chokes on her own saliva. “The what?”
Blaze ogles me. “You didn’t tell her?” He pretends to be offended, even presses his palm against his heart. “And here I thought I made an impression on you.”
Marie, who has been eavesdropping all this time, shoots Blaze a weird look. Something between amazement—a guy like him speaks to a freak like me—and disgust for the same reason.
They think I’m the Angel of Death, huh? Then, why can’t I snap my finger and end my misery now?
“About these cuffs,” Izzy says, not caring about my embarrassment or the looks directed our way. “Are they more of a Christian Grey collection, or rather a Michael Scofield thing?”
Blaze laughs. “A bit of both, I assume.”
“Quiet now,” Thornton scolds them, slamming the ruler onto his desk. “Get your pens ready. I’ve prepared a little pop quiz for you.”
Everyone groans. Everyone but me. I’m too busy wrapping my head around the hype called Blaze.
There are bad days. And then, there are worse. Today qualifies as the second. Night terrors, Marie scribbling Angel of Death on my locker, and Blaze being the new guy my friends fan-boy over? That amount of drama on a single day is too much to handle for anyone. I’ve reached my breaking point. Not just because the tattooed hotness is my new classmate. Nope. To cap this hellish Freaky Friday off, Mr. Thornton asked me to stay after class and is now trying to talk me into organizing the annual Halloween Ball at the Bavarian Inn. It’s one of the biggest charity events in our town. The school, along with the owners of the Bavarian Inn, use it to collect money for The Children’s Tree House, a nature-based child development center based in Shepherdstown. Initially, I thought he was joking. Nisha Blake organizing a social gathering? Hilarious. He’s dead serious though.
“The motto is right up your alley,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Think about it, Nisha.”
I could name a thousand reasons why I can’t do what he’s asking. I’ll give you three. One: Since that fateful night last year, I stay as far away from ancient Egyptian things as possible. Every dang hallucination I’ve ever suffered from is connected to my mother’s motherland. My shrink specifically told me to keep my distance from all things related. Two: Who would want the Angel of Death as an organizer for a Halloween ball? Three: Marie will rain hell down on me. The cheer squad always has a hand in the Halloween Ball. I’m one hundred percent sure they’d throw a fit if I got involved.
Mr. Thornton’s gaze roams my face. “You want to apply for college, don’t you?”
I know where he’s going with this, and I don’t like it. Mr. Thornton is fully aware I want nothing more than to get out of this town. College will be my golden Charlie and the Chocolate Factory ticket. But while I’m a straight-A student—perks of being a loner—I have no extracurricular activities to brag about on my application. “Of course I want to go to college, but—”
“Then, you must know what a positive impact this could have on you.” He flashes me an innocent smile. Someone ought to tell him there’s no innocence in blackmail.
“I get it, but…” I lean against his desk, wondering how to get out of this fiasco without upsetting him too much. Mr. Thornton is one of the few adults at Jefferson High who doesn’t regard me as the origin of Ebola. “I’m really busy.” Lame excuse, but I can’t think of a better one. “I work the bookstore most days after school,” I add. “And I’ve got a few essays to catch up on.”
He raises one of his devil’s brows. “I’m sure you can spare a few hours, Nisha.”
I could tell him about my shrink. How he warned me to stay away from triggers until I feel ready. Then I’d have to bring up my parents. I’m not up for that either. “Why me?” I ask. “I’m sure Marie would love to do it.” The girl takes pride in our annual Halloween Ball. She’s been organizing it since we were freshmen.
“She would, but she couldn’t do the theme justice.” Thornton sighs. “History isn’t exactly her métier.”
I’m running out of excuses here.
Mr. Thornton looks at me long and hard. “May I be blunt?”
I shrug. “Uh, sure.”
“Mrs. Ray, our new principal, is a piece of work.” He clenches his fingers around the edge of the table. “She threatened to cut funding for the history club should I fail to get more students engaged. You see, I can’t put the fate of our club in the hands of a girl who thinks Kim Kardashian and Kanye West qualify as the greatest couple in the history of humankind.” He pauses. “Please, Nisha. I need your help.”
A sickening feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. Flashes of Carrie flicker across my mind. Mr. Thornton’s pleading eyes are even worse. “I’ll think about it,” I grumble. I’m so going to regret this. What am I saying? I already do.
His round face lights up. He gawks at me like I’m his hero instead of Hannibal Lecter, or Pennywise the creepy clown from Stephen King’s IT. It’s nice for a change. “I can’t thank you enough, Nisha. Will you let me know by Wednesday next week?”
“Sure.” At least I made someone’s day. “Just a quick question: What exactly would I have to do?” I’m a Halloween Ball virgin. Have no clue what organizing it means.
His index finger lands on the bridge of his old-fashioned glasses. It’s second nature for him to push them back up. “Since the theme will be Ancient Egypt and its gods, I thought you could look through your dad’s books and come up with some design and costume ideas?”
Did he just say go through my dad’s books? That would require me to step foot into his old office, and that will never happen. I don’t have the heart to tell him. So, I simply nod. Should I be stupid enough to say yes to the ball, I could work with the greatest, and only real god—Google. “Okay, I’ll let you know by Wednesday.”
“Great.”
I’m halfway through the door when Mr. Thornton stops me. “One more thing, Nisha.”
I look over my shoulder. “Yes, Mr. Thornton?”
His jawline is tense. His face harder than usual. “It seems as if you and that new boy, Blaze, know each other?”
Book of Souls (Gods of Egypt 1) Page 5