But the alpha had made up his mind. There was no changing that. All Holden could do was ball his fists and feel sorry for the poor, dim girl from his class. She basically sealed her fate by being in the wrong place at the wrong time, just when Aaron was sniffing for new blood.
Instead of saying any of that, Holden choked down his anger. He reached into his back pocket, unfolded the permission slip, and handed it to his alpha.
Aaron didn’t even read it. He snatched a pen from the desk, signed the paper, and waved it for Holden to retrieve.
Dully, Holden said, “You don’t want to chaperone as my legal guardian?”
Bright, sharp teeth behind a wide smile was Aaron’s only response.
Chapter Five
Second Chair Coleen didn’t accompany First Chair Vera through the door of band class. That was a bit unusual. What was downright weird was when Vera turned in her seat and spoke.
“Rochelle, right?”
Blinking rapidly, Rachael politely corrected her. Even then she wondered, What could she possibly want?
With a sheepish smile, Vera said, “Sorry. Rachael. I like that name. It’s pretty.”
Pretty ordinary, maybe. Instead of voicing her immediate thought, Rachael said, “Thanks.”
Vera shot a glance at the door, her eyes dark and troubled. “Hey, look, ah. You know Holden Cavanaugh well?”
Oh, great, Rachael inwardly groaned. Outside of class she had barely noticed him for the past couple weeks. He’d gone from confrontational and creepy to subdued and distant literally overnight. So far she’d been chalking it up to his unsettling older brother having a strict talk with him. Or Coleen’s equally overnight overt interest and aggressive flirtations.
Besides, why would Rachael want to talk to him? The fact his older brother was here blew a giant hole in his “exchange student” claims. As far as she was concerned, Holden had colored himself a pathological liar, or at the very least untrustworthy. She didn’t want anything to do with him.
“Not really,” she answered honestly. “We just have a class together.”
Relief flickered on Vera’s soft features. “Oh, good. I was hoping so. Coleen said you two had a thing, but she can be—”
“No way,” Rachael exclaimed, her face hot. At Vera’s alarm, she added hastily, “I mean, no. He’s . . . he’s an okay guy. I guess. Maybe. I just . . . I don’t date.”
Vera blinked. “Huh.” An uncomfortable silence passed between them. Students around them were casting curious glances, but nobody said a word.
Then Vera perked up and said, “So, then, could you ask him out for me?”
Rachael stared back, aghast. “Why me?”
“Well,” Vera drew out the syllable longer than necessary. “It seems like you’re the only girl I know that doesn’t want him for herself. So I can trust you.”
Frowning, Rachael said, “No offense, but you don’t know me. At all.”
Vera’s eyebrows stitched together. “Kinda. I mean, I dated your brother a while back.”
“What?”
Vera looked embarrassed. “Not seriously. I mean, we were ten. But we still talk. And hang out. We raided this cave just last week and. . . .”
She continued babbling, but all Rachael could do was openly stare. Vera Maxwell, First Chair Vera, sought-after gorgeous Vera, was a gamer. And had “dated” her awkward brother.
Go figure, she thought dazedly. So much for stereotyping a popular kid. Or her brother, for that matter. Rachael had not given much thought to his love life, but with all his time spent on the computer, she’d assumed he didn’t have much of one.
The bell rang. Vera panicked. “Don’t tell Coleen,” she pleaded. Rachael barely had time to mutter an agreement before Coleen sauntered in.
“You’re tardy,” said Mr. Anderson without taking his eyes off the roster.
Dropping her bag indignantly, Coleen argued, “I had to pee.”
Mr. Anderson did look up then, not amused. “Next time manage your break period better. Or check in to let me know first. You’re still being marked late.”
“That’s unfair!”
“It’s not up for debate, Ms. Thibodeaux.”
Vera shot Rachael a brief look over her shoulder, smiling nervously. Despite herself, Rachael felt the beginnings of a grin pull at her mouth in response.
Unfortunately, Coleen happened to catch it at the last moment. “What are you snickering at,” she hissed under the teacher’s instructions toward the clarinets. She pivoted, swinging her flute case harder than necessary and knocking Rachael’s metal stand and sheet music to the floor.
For the second time she could recall, all eyes in class were on her. Rachael muttered an apology, avoiding Coleen’s smug expression as she knelt to retrieve her papers.
Just as she righted the stand again, there was a loud clang and a sharp pain exploding as something struck the flimsy metal, knocking one of the corners into her skull.
“It was an accident,” exclaimed Coleen. Her voice sounded dull and distant to Rachael as she tried to make her vision focus. She barely recognized Mr. Anderson’s sinewy arms and Vera’s strawberry blonde hair as the two hovered over her.
“Ms. Adair?”
Vera helped her sit up, moving the stand out of both Coleen and Rachael’s reach. A good thing, considering Coleen’s sardonic smile brought uncharacteristically violent images to mind for Rachael.
“Are you okay?” asked Vera.
The blurriness had vanished. “Just a bump,” Rachael mumbled uncomfortably. She had the terrible feeling that admitting to the pain would only vindicate Coleen.
“I can take her to the nurse,” Vera offered.
“No, I don’t need . . .” One glance at Coleen’s sly smile made Rachael reconsider. “I can make it.”
Mr. Anderson waved her out, and then turned to lecture Coleen about watching what she was doing. Rachael stared at her feet on the way to the door, tuning out Coleen’s protests that it was really, truly an accident, and anyway, Rachael could have been more careful as well. At least she was drawing away most of the unwanted attention Rachael had been receiving.
Fifteen minutes and several bright lights in her eyes later, Rachael blinked spots from her vision as the school nurse spoke.
“It doesn’t look like you have a concussion,” the nurse told her. “Just a nasty bump and a little bleeding.”
Rachael rubbed at her eyes, nodding an agreement.
Pursing her lips, the nurse finally said, “You can go back to class or spend the rest of it here. We take head injuries seriously, but it doesn’t look too terrible. It’s your choice.”
The idea of sitting behind Coleen for the rest of the period made Rachael shudder. “I think I need a few more minutes.”
At the nurse’s dismissive wave, Rachael made her way to the back room. Behind the cramped office was a dark resting area; two cots on either side of the room with cheap blue curtains for privacy. At the foot of one of the cots was a small freezer stuffed with ice trays, reusable cold compresses, and canned ginger ale. Rachael took a compress, wrapped it with a paper towel from the adjacent sink, and pulled one of the curtains closed around the nearest cot. She lay on her side, resting the compress against the sore spot on her head.
Well, it had finally happened. Coleen’s reputed fury had sniffed her out at last, and over something that had nothing to do with her. Part of Rachael wanted to be mad at Vera for bringing her that attention, but a surprisingly bigger part was thrilled and warmed that someone like Vera had talked to her.
It was silly. It was childish. But it felt nice. Rachael couldn’t recall having many friends for quite some time, not since the news about her mother’s diagnosis became public knowledge.
She knew it was hasty to assume Vera was going to be her friend. All the same, there was something inexplicably good emanating from that girl and Rachael found herself hoping to have more of that goodness around. Heaven knew she could use it.
Rachael hadn’t i
ntended to drift off in the midst of her musings. Yet she must have, because the next thing she heard was the faint whisper of cheap plastic curtains. Before she could stir or even open her eyes, Rachael felt something cold and wet sniff her cheek—like the snout of a dog.
Starting, Rachael pushed herself up on her elbows, the compress flopping to the cot with a suspiciously warm thwack.
The figure leaning over her was obviously not a dog. It was a girl, probably a freshman. Her dusty brown hair was cropped to her jaw, bright pink streaks highlighting her head with wild abandon. What truly captivated Rachael were her eyes—wide, deer-like, yet hauntingly sinister green with flecks of gold dancing in silent mirth.
Rachael opened her mouth to speak, but the girl was faster. A small yet fierce grip pinned Rachael to the cot, choking her so fervently that dull fireflies swarmed in her vision. The smell of lilacs threatened to drown out her other senses. Her attempts to scream couldn’t even escape as gurgles.
“I will not repeat myself,” said the girl, her voice high and even more childlike than Rachael had expected; like a ten year-old instead of a teenager. “Stay away from Holden. And mind your own damn business.”
Who is this? thought Rachael hysterically. She wondered if the room was going black or if she was on the brink of passing out.
As if in answer to her thought, the girl smiled viciously. “Call me Delilah.”
Rachael closed her eyes against her will. When they opened again, it was when the end of class bell rang, startling her awake. Immediately her hand flew to her throat. She pressed against the skin tentatively. No bruising, as far as she could tell. No damage inflicted at all.
A dream? A nightmare brought on by a minor head injury? Rachael didn’t necessarily feel safe at the moment, but whether it was due to a real threat or a particularly vivid dream, she did not know. The only sign that the girl was real was her warm compress lying in a useless jelly-like heap on the cot. But that could have just been her turning in her sleep.
Neither answer satisfied Rachael. Both gave her chills.
The warning bell pierced the air, reminding her she still had to grab her supplies from band class. Softly cursing herself, the pixie with the stranglehold was set aside for the time being. She had a science class to dread.
Rachael murmured profuse apologies to Mrs. Whitley as she handed over the nurse’s excuse slip. Of course, Mrs. Whitley hardly seemed to mind, noting Rachael as present and remarking, “By the way, I’ll need that field trip activity by next Wednesday.”
Only dimly aware of the beginning of the lecture, Rachael unhappily slumped into her chair. She was able to avoid Second Chair Coleen’s smirk from the back of the room, but not Holden’s intent, scrutinizing stare. Heat blossomed in her cheeks. Rachael ducked her head and attempted to scribble notes without drawing further attention.
Even with her head down and her mouth shut, Rachael had the queasy sensation she was still being stared at. She tried to take subtle glances around the room, pretending to stretch once in a while or pop her neck. As far as she could tell, no one was being overt about it if they did happen to be watching her.
Halfway through the period, Mrs. Whitley allowed a brief five minute break. While the chatter rose and a couple students ducked out to use the bathroom, Rachael tried to stare at her nails in feigned interest.
Holden tapped her on the shoulder and said quietly, “You’re not being sneaky, just so you know.”
Jumping guiltily, Rachael turned to frown at him. He’d caught her in the act—who else had? “I wasn’t. Trying to be, I mean.”
Holden gave her an exasperated look. “You were.”
“Yeah, well, maybe it’s for your benefit,” she said unthinkingly.
Visibly fighting a wry smile, Holden said, “You look nervous and jumpy. And yes, I’m probably the only one staring at you, but you’re still acting weird.”
Rachael wanted to retort, but his accuracy of the situation made her clam up in shame. After a few moments, he sighed and said, “Look, I’m just letting you know so you’ll calm down. You’re making me nervous, too.”
“Not my problem,” she informed him.
With a tilt of his head, Holden replied, “It will be, since we’re going to be partners on this field trip.”
Partners? Rachael felt panic begin to well up within her. Had she missed that much just by being late? Mrs. Whitley had assigned partners and not told her?
Her fear must have been palpable, because Holden said, “Relax. I asked to be your partner because I wasn’t sure you were going to be here today.”
“For God’s sake, why?” she blurted.
Unfazed, he replied, “I heard you hit your head, so—”
“No, I mean why did you ask for that?”
Holden hesitated, something like confusion coloring his eyes for a moment. Then he said, “Because I feel like a jerk for how I acted last time, and I figure I can at least help you out with that class activity and . . . well, maybe make sure you don’t get eaten by wolves out there.”
The joke was weak, but Rachael started to calm down a bit. She still wasn’t certain she liked Holden; she had absolutely no reason to. But she was desperate for assistance on the assignment, and turning down a free offer would have been silly.
“You’ll really help?” she asked.
“Sure,” he agreed. “After school, if you like.”
That was no good. Jackson would never let her hang out with a boy, even if she really wanted to. But presently Mrs. Whitley was calling the class back to attention, so Rachael whispered, “Lunch would be better.”
Holden nodded amiably, easing back into his seat. Although he had admitted to staring at her earlier, the presence of hidden eyes on her did not alleviate. Rachael suppressed a shudder and attempted to focus on her teacher, all the while berating herself for getting into a mess with the weird exchange student.
Quietly, an intruding voice in her head pointed out that this was ample opportunity to talk up Vera. Maybe Rachael could divert his interest and help a peer at the same time.
Yeah, real helpful. Push the creeper on someone else.
Rachael absently touched her throat and clamped down on that thought. Ultimately, it was of no consequence to her. She just wanted to go back to being unnoticed and left alone. If Vera wanted to get involved with Holden, let her. It wasn’t like Rachael could do her any favors by trying to talk him down.
When it was time for lunch, Holden slipped past her and exited without a word. Rachael lingered, wanting to ask Mrs. Whitley if she could change partners for the field trip. What excuse could she use, though? That Holden and his older brother were weird but not dangerous, so she’d feel better paired with anyone else?
A backpack jostled her shoulder as a student passed. Rachael looked up in time to catch Coleen’s retreating back.
Well, okay. Anyone but Coleen.
“Rachael?” Mrs. Whitley was the last in the room, eyeing her with concern from the doorway. “Is something the matter?”
Rachael gave pause, prepared to voice her uncertain question. To her shame, she instead smiled and said, “No. Thank you. Sorry.”
Her surroundings were a blur as Rachael practically fled to her locker. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she chided herself. The lock rattled as she tried to dial the combination. How pathetic was it that she couldn’t even make a simple request to her teacher? Out of anyone, Mrs. Whitley was the most likely to comply.
Now she had to meet Holden. And she didn’t even know where he was.
Rachael banged her head against her locker, heedless of the mocking giggles it encouraged from her teeming peers. This was definitely the downside to being an introvert, she decided. She’d never had to build confidence before and now it was biting at her heels, demanding she take action before she further embarrassed herself.
“Way to win at life,” she mumbled. The lock finally clicked and she traded her books for her homemade lunch. A quick search of the hallway told her Holden wasn’
t present. Reluctantly, Rachael decided to check the cafeteria.
When she rounded the first corner, she found she didn’t have to go that far. Holden was about twelve feet away, his expression carefully neutral with the blonde in front of him. Rachael couldn’t see the girl’s face, but the backpack was distinctly Second Chair Coleen’s. Come to think of it, she thought, so was the meticulously bleached and curled hair Coleen was twining flirtatiously around one finger.
Rachael nearly turned to leave, but Holden caught her eye. He raised a hand and mouthed, One minute.
Coleen looked over her shoulder to see who Holden had chosen to divide his attention with. Her painted smile vanished. Hard, dark eyes glowered at Rachael with hatred that carved the oxygen out of the air.
Though she couldn’t hear what was said over the throng of students, the way Holden’s eyes transformed from patiently blank to annoyed was unmistakable. Whatever Coleen was telling him, he appeared to have lost interest. He began to walk around her, not once speaking.
Coleen grabbed his arm and forced him to turn. “Who taught you manners?” she demanded loud enough for Rachael to hear.
“Apparently the same failure who taught you,” retorted Holden.
Rachael was baffled by her own reaction. Rather than shrink away or hide, she stood riveted. Coleen’s dramatics were never a spectacle she enjoyed witnessing. At the same time, she’d never actually seen anyone try to snub Coleen. Girls were usually intimidated or just tried to ignore her, while guys either humored her or feigned politeness. Holden was apparently fed up with both options.
Bristling, Coleen said, “I’m just trying to help you.”
Holden glanced over his shoulder at Rachael, his face unreadable. To Coleen, he said with infuriating calm, “Doesn’t look like a whore to me.”
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