Melody also has platinum blonde hair that falls perfectly straight to her lower back. Surprise, surprise. But where Jem is glam country, tall, and curvy, Melody is a glam rocker, petite, and sporting not only many tattoos but bold facial piercings as well, topped with a bright-purple streak in her hair that fades to hot pink. Somehow it only makes her look more beautiful. We are just about the most random group of girls at High Ridge, but it works for us.
As willful and confident as Jem is, Melody could not be more opposite. She is the queen of compromise, consideration, and peace-making. They are my sassy diva and gentle lady on opposing shoulders, so to speak. Angel and devil would be going a little far … even for them.
“Miladies,” I say, greeting the girls.
“So how has the gossip been today? Anything interesting?” I sit and patiently wait to see what people have circulated from the summer’s happenings.
Melody gives me a tight-lipped half smile, knowing that I am worried about the gossip about Jett and me and our rumour-worthy split. I might fly under the radar, but my ex certainly never has—especially with the constant stream of rumours he started after we broke up. In a relatively small town like El Do, they get around fast. “That bad, huh?” I try to sound casual, but inside my stomach feels like someone is slowly squeezing it. What did he say this time?
“Screw ’em!” Jem says, giving no one in particular the bird.
Kendal and her group of gossips happen to be walking past at that moment, making it painfully obvious that they are talking about me.
Kendal suddenly smirks while flipping her red hair over one shoulder and shouts, “Did you have a good summer, Dannie?”
Wow. What a sad, sad little girl … a real grade-A bee-see.
“As a matter of fact, I did. Thank you so much for asking.” I give her a glorious smile.
Jem snorts.
“I heard you got dumped. I’m glad Jett came to his senses. It’s obvious he can get better than someone like you.” She raises one eyebrow while slowly looking over me from head to toe. Compared to her with her immaculate clothes and hair, I look like a troll. I feel a little like a troll at the moment because I’m frozen in place, not knowing how to respond to her observation. She turns to her friends, smiling as they walk away whispering to one another again.
“Kendal has always had a thing for my brother. Don’t let it bother you,” Jem whispers.
Honestly, if I didn’t feel so sorry for Kendal for being so jealous over Jett, I would be a bee-see back to her. No one should be jealous over a dickhead. But I’ll admit that I’m more than a little wounded by the insinuation that I’m a social pariah. Quickly Melody and Jem begin chatting about their mornings, obviously trying to distract me. I try to listen in contemplative silence, occasionally giving a nod or smile at regular intervals. Being the quiet one of the group has its advantages. I can mope without drawing too much attention to myself.
Is it bad that I just want to take out my book and ignore everyone? Not acceptable? Okay then.
Does every guy in California wear skinny jeans? I’m all for clothes that fit well, but these guys are too much. It takes all I have not to shake my head in disbelief. I can’t take a man who looks like he is wearing jeans my sister might wear seriously.
My mental rant is over. Although I can’t seem to stop laughing in my head.
First day is about as cliché as you can get—blonde girls who wear next to nothing in this heat (my father would be appalled), guys (that’s being generous considering their choice of jeans) with long hair who say “Dude” and “Hella” a lot. Going to school in California really is just like I thought it would be—something out of Gossip Girl.
I am ashamed that I even know what that show is, but I’ll blame it on my sister or else forfeit my man card.
It bothers me that people pass by without saying hello and how no one looks you in the eye unless he or she personally knows you. It seems really rude to me, but maybe city kids were never taught manners.
City kids.
Shaking my head, I walk to the cafeteria because food is beckoning. I’m starved but also a little anxious to see what a cafeteria even is. My school back home was so small we didn’t even have one. I have to say I’m curious as to what you actually do during your hour break.
I walk through the doors into utter chaos and freeze. What. The. Hell.
People are everywhere. They are sitting at tables or sitting on tables, benches, or chairs. Lines to different lunch counters weave between tables full of people. Holy cow, there are more people in this cafeteria than in my entire hometown. I feel my face redden as someone pushes me from behind, propelling me forward toward the herd of teenagers.
I manage my way to a lunch line where they are selling burgers. Burgers. At least some things are familiar because all these people are honestly freaking me out and I’m suddenly contemplating walking out the door. I hate crowds. As I wait in the line impatiently shifting from one foot to the other, hands in pockets, I look around at my classmates. Some are freshman. It’s painfully obvious. It’s hard to imagine I was that short once, although probably not since fifth grade. Some people I recognize from classes, some are clearly the cool kids, and some are so strange. I have never seen Goth kids in real life.
I can’t believe I just thought that because it makes me sound like I lived under a rock. But really, I have never seen a person in all black leather, and in this heat, it just seems weird.
I spot a group of guys, all wearing letterman jackets with their hair perfectly spiked exactly alike, and it makes me think that they all must be on the same team. Football? Soccer? I’m not sure, but they must use a hell of a lot of hair crap between the ten to fifteen guys standing together. The amount of hair gel makes me question the use of the word guy again.
Aside from that, is every Californian girl blonde? Or do they all change their hair? Girls who change their hair are beyond me. I don’t understand it, and I certainly don’t want to. It doesn’t make them look better if their skin is so brown they look like a leather sofa and their hair is so fake it’s practically straw. Girls. It’s a good thing I’ve always preferred brunettes anyway.
I notice a secluded table with only three girls sitting at it. Maybe they want some company? Maybe they wouldn’t mind a stranger sitting with them because they look a little random themselves. I’m nervous even considering it because Californians have so far seemed less than friendly, and it’s really starting to piss me off. Two of the girls are blonde (of course), but they actually seem naturally blonde, so that’s not so bad, although one of them has tattoos all over, and from here, it looks like she has a lip piercing too. Is that even legal at this age?
Wow, I guess I really did come from under a rock.
The third girl has long dark hair though, pretty hair that looks like the color of dark chocolate. See, why don’t more girls just keep their hair the way God made it to be? Women. I shake my head, looking back at their table suddenly very interested in what the dark-haired girl looks like. From the back, she looks small but not deathly skinny like other girls I have had classes with. It makes me want to buy a bunch of burgers and start passing them around. I am chanting in my head, Turn around. Turn around, when she finally turns her head. Some redhead says something that catches her attention, and although she isn’t looking at me, she is looking in my direction.
My mouth hangs open, and my heart rate increases uncomfortably. Holy hell. Beautiful.
Close mouth immediately, idiot.
Her eyes are what I notice first. They are such a light color of blue they look unreal—not a true blue, but a blue green. They are so bright that even at a couple of yards away, they are bright enough to notice. I start to shift my eyes away because now I am obviously staring. This is going to be embarrassing if I don’t get control of myself. But this girl is seriously beautiful. I slowly look at her again because I can’t seem to help myself. It’s like gravity. I notice a dimple on her left cheek when she smiles, but I d
on’t see one on her right side. It makes her look freaking adorable. Now I close my eyes, lean my head back, and breathe slowly in and then out. Keep it together, Reed. Keep it together.
Unfortunately, as I look around, it seems that I’m not the only guy to notice the beautiful brunette. Guys check her out as they pass by. One tall blond guy wearing a letterman’s jacket seems to be staring at her quite intently. It pisses me off. I feel like I should stake my claim, but that would be completely ridiculous considering I don’t even know her.
I look back, but she has already turned away. It doesn’t matter because I am pretty sure her face is forever burned into the backs of my eyelids. Her eyes, her dimple, her smile with those pale-pink lips that I definitely remember. Lips. Stop! Or I really will have to get some fresh air.
I take a deep breath and start going over different trucks I like …
After getting my burger, I realize there is no way I can eat across the table from that girl, so I go outside, hoping distance will help. Maybe I can sit with them another time, if I decide I can be a man, instead of acting like I’ve never seen a girl before. I have been in this overcrowded room for too long, and I’m feeling a bit claustrophobic.
Pause period is apparently when you have finished too many elective classes and you have no required classes offered at that time so you have to stay in the library to do homework. I can’t say I have been in a library too many times, only when forced by assignments and projects, because I don’t particularly like to read books.
Newspapers, yes. Books, not so much.
When I walk through the door, I look around as I enter. An older lady with short white hair is behind a counter. I safely assume that she is the librarian. I scan the room and freeze. Yes! I feel like cheering, perhaps clapping. The beautiful girl from lunch is sitting at a table unloading book after book from her bag. I stand there for a moment, transfixed by her.
Wow, that’s a lot of books for one girl …
I swallow hard, and as if of their own accord, my feet head straight for her. I see the moment she notices me because she tenses as if startled. I walk a little slower. Maybe she wants to be alone? Maybe she thinks I’m a creeper because I am staring straight at her as if I know her? Maybe I should say something?
“Hey,” I breathe out.
Wow, that was it? Nice going, idiot.
I can’t help the small smile on my face when I catch her looking at me from head to toe. I’m elated. It feels like I just won the freaking lottery, knowing she checked me out. Me! I try to smile a little to make it more comfortable for her, maybe a little less creepy, but she suddenly looks away like she is frightened of me. Do I really look that intimidating? Either way, I’m committed now so I pull out the chair across from her and sit.
I try to make things less awkward, because let’s face it; this is super awkward. I take out my homework and start organizing papers, assignments, and requirements from each class, laying little piles around me, but I can’t help but be very aware of the person right across from me. I am close enough to smell her perfume, and she smells like warm vanilla … or cookies …
This girl is gonna kill me.
Seriously, she’ll be the absolute death of me …
Against my better judgement, I decide to look at her just once now that I am sitting across from her and I can study her more closely. Oh God, I do sound like a creeper. I raise my eyes regardless of my personal chastisement, and I am glad that I do. She is reading like a bat outta hell. She must read super fast, or maybe my awkwardness is freaking her out. I hope not. She has such thick dark hair falling in waves around her face and shoulders, I just want to reach out and see if it’s as soft as it looks. Again being creepy.
I look away before she notices and realize she never said hello back. Maybe I scared her? Damn. I’m hoping that it’s not because she is rude like almost every other person I have met today. I’m beginning to think California has a very inconsiderate culture.
Looking again, I see she has a little bit of a frown, like she is concentrating so hard she doesn’t realize that her eyebrows are drawn together in a serious expression. It’s adorable. Her lips are moving slightly as she reads, drawing my attention to her mouth. It is going to be difficult not to think of it every time I see her, which I hope will be a lot—if we both have this period free. I try my hardest not to lower my eyes to her body, but I’m a guy. I know that’s no excuse for being a tool, but I think she’s breathtaking. I glance up at her face again just as her blue eyes flash up to my face.
Holy hell.
She just caught me checking her out. Now she will definitely think I’m a freak. I screwed this all up, and this might be my only chance. Crap! I feel myself get red. Is it hot in here? Shouldn’t someone do something about the heat? I hate California heat. I look around, knowing that it is probably just me blushing like a schoolboy caught with his pants down.
I clench my jaw and then take a deep breath, trying to concentrate on the work in front of me. All I see is a math problem while I try not to think about the beautiful girl across the table from me and the embarrassing, uncomfortable way my body has reacted. I try to think of anything that will keep my mind preoccupied from all those things until the bell rings. I pack up my backpack and walk away without looking back.
Watching from afar isn’t enough. I sit in the library contemplating my predicament in the business of other students. I look around, hating everything I see and all it represents—everything from being forced to go to class and the expectations of the team to my parents’ academic demands. All of it feels meaningless to me.
None of them know me. Except one—the girl who told me to fake it. Problem is I’ve faked it for so long I’m beginning to hate myself for it, hate that I’ve let them make me into this disgusting farce of a human being. I’m fake, plastic, and writhing beneath the mask I hide behind. Does that make me a genius or a coward? I’m not so sure anymore …
All I know is I feel like I’m about to explode. The rage keeps building until it detonates. I want to, but I can’t. I’m forced to play nice, and I hate every person on sight because of it. Looking at my teammates at the table in front of me, I imagine myself snapping, swinging my fists, smashing, breaking, bleeding. That’s what I crave. It’s what makes me different.
Hide it. Control it. Fake it.
I think back to when she wasn’t mine, when she was his. Jett, that asshole, never appreciated what he had. Jett never deserved her.
My jaw clenches at the thought of his smug face.
Two Years Earlier
I keep an eye on the blue-eyed girl, always from afar, but every girl needs a man to take care of her. I might not be on her radar, but it’s the least I can do after she gave me the formula of my freedom, the means to my success. I appreciated her words of wisdom that day, and to repay her, I will make sure no one messes with her. She is under my protection. Under my guard. Mine to care for.
Mine.
I watch her between her classes, almost always with a tall blonde girl, talking while exchanging notes or reading unaware of my notice. Unfortunately, walking on her other side is a guy who lingers a little too close for my liking. Another player on the team, I believe. Varsity. That asshole doesn’t stand a chance if you ask me. There is no way she would fall for his line of bull, I think as he strategically drapes his arm over her shoulder, claiming what isn’t his.
Does she not even notice his eyes lingering on the legs of the passing redhead? The redhead notices and exaggerates the swing of her hips, giving him a lustful eye. Or does my blue-eyed girl not care? I hope not because I know exactly what type of guy he is …
Later in the locker room while changing for practice, I finally decide to approach the varsity player and ask him exactly what his intentions are with Ms. Blue Eyes.
Be nice. Play it cool. Don’t lose control.
“Hey, man, how’s it going?” I say casually. Standing toe to toe with this douche bag, I still tower over him now that I have h
it six-four. I like that. He doesn’t seem to notice me for a minute so I cross my arms to keep my clenched fists hidden.
He turns, smiling at a joke another player made. “Hey, kid. What’s up?”
A-hole.
“Nothin’. I was just wondering if you’re dating that girl Dannie? I was thinking of asking her to homecoming but didn’t want to step on any toes?” Yeah, like I would go to a school dance. Only pussies dance.
“Yeah, she’s spoken for, dude. Sorry,” he says, looking anything but sorry.
Spoken for, huh? We’ll see.
I try to think on my feet. “Really? She seemed like she wanted to go with me when we talked about it earlier today. I just wanted to double-check as a courtesy.”
His brows furrow in confusion.
Annoyed at him, I smirk slightly, just to piss him off.
“Really? She told me she wasn’t allowed to go.” He tries to brush off his wounded ego. “You know women … always teasing men.” He laughs it off to save face in front of the other teammates. He makes the mistake of continuing, “Hey, more power to you, man. Just forewarning you though … she doesn’t put out.”
Wrong thing to say.
Now my fists are shaking as I try not to hit this bastard. The blue-eyed girl better not be putting out for this piece of shit. “Good.” I turn on my heels before I do anything to jeopardize my position on the team. I walk away, still able to hear him loudly talking smack about my blue-eyed girl.
She better not go anywhere near that guy. She’s gotta be smarter than that. Either way, he insulted the wrong girl in front of the wrong guy.
Breathe, Nick. She isn’t his anymore. If she were honest with herself, she’d realize she was never his. She has always been mine.
Jett … he’ll get what’s coming to him …
Snapping out of my thoughts as I look at Dannie across the library, I allow myself to wonder what she would feel like in my hands. Dannie … the girl I dream about … the girl I crave.
The Face You See Page 2