Very Wicked Things
Page 11

After a year of avoiding each other—of me avoiding her—I’d taken a good, long gander at her and survived. Unscathed. See, it hadn’t been bad. She wasn’t all that. Yeah. Carry-on. Find another hot girl. They’re a dime a dozen around here. And hadn’t that been the way I’d dealt with her absence anyway? Hadn’t I screwed every faceless girl I could to forget her?
Yeah.
And still she didn’t say a word at our lockers. But why would she? She was done with me.
Instead, she huffed and slammed hers. I didn’t relax until the sound of her soft footsteps drifted further and further away. She was headed to English Lit class, same as me, although she sat in the front and I sat in the back. I’d sit back there and stare at her back, feeling one part miserable for our past and another part thankful she’d gotten away from me.
One last furtive glance in her direction, and I saw Spider wrap his arms around her and lean down to give her a peck on the cheek. She stood on her tip toes and kissed him back, laughing at something he said.
How easily she forgot me.
It was obvious they were tight because I rarely saw her with any other guys. She’d dated some ballet dude for a while after we’d broken up, but it hadn’t lasted. Spider was her one constant. She’d always claimed they were only friends, but what about now? They talked in the halls, ate lunch together, and I’d heard she spent the night with him sometimes.
He wasn’t good enough for her. Neither was I.
His bleached white hair and lean build were in direct contrast to me. He had a reputation as a good guitar player according to Sebastian. So what. I didn’t like him much. No reason, really, or maybe it was the way his eyes shifted to Dovey whenever she walked in a room. He was screamingly obvious he wanted more from her. Were they having sex? My body tightened into a hard ball at that disturbing thought.
Forget her. You’re a fuck-up, I reminded myself. And fuck-ups don’t get the good girls.
Emma Easton, head cheerleader and future trophy wife, attached herself to my side like glue. And that’s the type of girl I spent my time with. Superficial and beautiful. Just like me.
“We need to talk,” she said right off the bat, without even a hello.
“So talk,” I said, not stopping my stride. I wanted to get to Lit so I could get a seat as far away from Dovey as I could.
“Not here. Why don’t we go to Portia’s Pastries after school?” She stroked my arm.
I halted. She’d been acting odd lately, almost as if she wanted more from me. Which was crazy because our hooking up had stopped back in October.
And I’d made it clear the sex was over. No particular reason. Just didn’t want her getting attached. We’d grown up together and had been friends more than anything. I kinda felt sorry for her because I got how messed up her home life was with a dad who was a famous televangelist. But she’d never be my girlfriend. I didn’t do girlfriends. I didn’t do relationship responsibility. Not since Dovey.
I tapped my fingers against my jeans. “Spill, Emma. What’s eating you lately?”
Before she could answer, thunder rumbled and lightning struck in a loud bam! outside the building. “What was that?” she shrieked, sliding in closer to me.
“A thunderstorm,” I said, pulling away, not in the mood for drama. “Happens all the time, Emma. Nothing to freak out about. Just another day…”
My voice dropped off, and my stomach sank so fast it made me queasy. I fell back against the locker, my mouth dry as sandpaper.
Today.
February 7.
The day my mother killed herself.
And somehow I’d forgotten? I shook my head, disgusted with myself.
“Cuba?” Emma asked. “What’s wrong with you?” She got up in my face, her overpowering perfume making my nausea spike.
“Nothing. Just tired,” I said. “Give me a minute.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and inhaled sharply, sucking in fresh air as she moved away.
No wonder I’d been operating in a weird kind of fog. No wonder I’d broken my stand-off and looked at Dovey.
A long whistle came from my left side. “Cuba, my man,” Sebastian said, slapping me on the back. “You ready for your update on the sweetheart dance?”
I nodded, ignoring the cement in my stomach. Of course, I didn’t give a shit about the dance, but for him I’d pretend. He’d moved here from Los Angles in August, joined the football team, and we’d promptly become a duo over the past few months.
The light to my dark.
And because he was a fun guy, he’d been nominated to head-up the planning committee for the end of the season athletic banquet. He took his job very seriously.
He broke it down for me, his voice animated. “First off, I got the venue booked at The Dorchester in downtown Dallas. It’s got a fucking giant ballroom. And, I got the Hummer limo you requested, but we gotta find some girls to ride in it. Don’t think that will be a problem though,” he said with a grin, his eyes lingering on Emma.
She flicked her hair.
I pushed up off the locker, trying to act normal when I felt anything but. “Did you decide about the band?” He’d been talking about his band, Vital Rejects, but he’d needed to clear it with his brother first.
“Yep. Vital Rejects is all set to play. It’s going to be on. I can’t wait to do my thing on stage.” His grin faded. “Dude. You look like shit. You good?”
“Fine,” I said, faking a smile. Lie until it becomes the truth, right?