Personal Demons (12 page)

Still nothing. I’m sure I didn’t imagine it . . . she was furious.

“All right,” Mr. Snyder says, wandering the rows. “Pull out
The Grapes of Wrath
and turn to chapter twenty-eight. Who can give me an example of conflict from this chapter?”

I zone out during the class discussion, focusing on Frannie. And when Mr. Snyder calls on her to read I lean in, as close as I can get without touching her, as she holds her book away from me, to her right, and reads aloud for the class. I close my eyes and lose myself in the silk of her voice.

When she finishes, Mr. Snyder paces the front of the room. “You have a few minutes before the bell. Work on your chapter twenty-eight outlines, focusing on conflict.”

She turns to me, and I get caught in her eyes for a second. “So . . .” I finally manage.

“So?” she says.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Maybe I can get an admission.

“Nothing’s wrong.” She smiles sweetly. “We’re supposed to be working on our outline.”

“Hmm . . .” I write “Luc and Frannie” in big block letters in my composition book, then “Conflict” in bigger block letters under it.

She just stares at me for a really long time, and I stare right back, without blinking. When the bell rings we’re still staring at each other. She turns away and slides her books into her bag.

“What’s wrong, Frannie?” Still hoping.

“Nothing,” she says and walks past me toward the door. Almost involuntarily, I grab her arm as she passes. I can tell from the look on her face and the sudden shot of grapefruit that my hand is burning her, but I don’t let go.

She looks into my eyes and I search hers, feeling suddenly lost.

“What do you want from me?” she says, pulling her arm free.

Your soul. But more. “Just to know what’s wrong. Did I do something?”

“No. I’m fine.” And she is. If I don’t stop this insanity, I’m going to blow any chance I have at any approach—direct or indirect. So I let her go. Concern flits briefly across her face, then she shakes it off and walks across the hall to her locker.

I hang back in the room, trying to collect myself and figure out what just happened. But then I look out into the hall, to where Frannie slams her locker closed with a crash, and I see Gabriel. That bastard’s smooth, I’ll give him that. He walks right up to her and leans against my locker, shooting me a glance as I stand in the doorway. I can’t hear what he says, but I
do
hear her laugh. My gut does this flip-flop and electricity crackles under my skin. I step through the door into the hall, needing to do something but not really sure what that something is—maybe rip Gabriel’s wings off and shove them up his . . .

“Guess who!” Out of nowhere, hands are covering my eyes, and the smell of some rank perfume assaults my nostrils.

Angelique.

Great.

I peel her hands off of my face.

“Walk me to class?” she pouts.

Gabriel’s eyes shoot to me again, and his smile stretches into a grin as he places his hand on Frannie’s back and steers her down the hall to physics. When she leans into him and wraps her arm around his waist, it’s everything I can do not to send a blast of Hellfire down the hall into his back.

I push a little power at a pretty redhead a few lockers away who’s been watching me. She strides over and shoves Angelique off my arm.

I look apologetically at Angelique. “Sorry, I promised to walk with . . .”

“Cassidy,” the redhead finishes for me.

I spin and follow Gabriel and Frannie down the hall with Cassidy stumbling along beside me.

I made a mistake with Luc, letting him worm under the edges of my defense. But now he’s back on the outside where he belongs, with everyone but Grandpa, and all those crazy emotions are stuffed back into the black pit I keep them locked in. Mental judo.

I sit in physics lab with Gabe and focus on the classwork, pushing everything else out of my head. There’s something very peaceful about being around him. Pretty soon I feel calm, like we’re alone in the room. Maybe even alone in the world.
My mind wanders off into that world—just me and Gabe, left alone to repopulate the planet. Like Adam and Eve. My pulse flies thinking about exactly what that would entail.

“I’d kill to know what you’re thinking right now.”

I’m so lost in my fantasy that his voice, low in my ear, scares the snot out of me. I pull the knot out of my hair to hide my crimson face and concentrate on the circuit board, because there’s no way in hell I’m telling him what I was thinking. “I was just . . . uh . . .”

“Whatever it was looked pretty intense.” His chuckle really pisses me off.

“Okay, I’m thinking about becoming a nun.” That’s the ticket—swear off guys altogether. There’s mental discipline for you.

A sarcastic smile paints his face. “Yeah. Right.”

A tiny tendril of anger slips free from the black pit deep inside me, and I lash out. “What the hell does that mean? You don’t think I’m good enough?” I rein it in and tighten the lid to the black pit.

He smiles. “For what it’s worth, you’d be a great nun, but I’m pretty sure that’s not your path.”

I start to seethe . . . till I realize there was no sarcasm in his voice. I look up. He’s smiling, and those eyes are killing me. I work to keep my breathing steady as he lifts his hand, and I find myself leaning toward him, anticipating his touch on my skin. But his hand barely brushes mine on the way to the circuit board, where he pulls loose the switch I just wired in backward and fixes it.

Oh God.
What the hell is wrong with me?

I slip out of my seat at the bell and try to ignore my pounding heart when Gabe loops his arm around my shoulders and walks with me back to my locker. I swap my books and look to see if Luc’s coming.

Gabe snorts a laugh.

“What?”

He props himself on Luc’s locker and brushes a stray wisp of hair out of my eyes with his finger. “What does a guy have to do to get your attention?”

You’re doing it.

A deep tingle starts in my belly as the scent of summer snow washes over me. I close my eyes and focus on my heartbeat, breathing deep and working it back down to single time. I’m afraid to look at Gabe, ’cause he always seems to know what I’m thinking, and what I’m imagining right now is way too embarrassing.

He smoothes a hand over my cheek, and for a second I think the fantasy will come true and he’ll kiss me. But when I open my eyes, my breath catches. His eyes lock on mine like they’re seeing my soul, and it feels more intimate than a kiss.
Much
more intimate. My legs go soft, and I pull my gaze away just in time to see Luc walk up out of the corner of my eye. Suddenly it feels like I’ve swallowed a bowling ball.

I turn up the hall without a good-bye and bolt for Mr. Sanghetti’s room. But just before I reach it, Reefer corners me. He sidles up and leans into the wall with a hand just above my shoulder, trying to seem all casual. But he’s not pulling it off. His jaw is clenched tight and his eyes are way too intense.

“Hey, you.” It sounds more like an accusation than a greeting.

“Hey.” I lean back into the wall and watch the mass of humanity in the hall behind him.

His eyes bore through me, searching, and his strained, fake smile is gone. “So, who’s the guy?”

“Which one?” I say, just ’cause I can.

His big brown eyes widen and his face falls. And my heart clenches into a hard knot.

I’m such a jerk. It’s so hard to walk this tightrope—especially when I have no idea what I’m feeling. My insides ache, partly from Luc’s bowling ball, partly from Gabe’s . . . whatever that was, but mostly from the look in Ryan’s eyes. He really is a good guy. I don’t want to hurt him. How long is it going to take him to figure out he doesn’t love me?

“Joking, Reef. There’s no ‘guy’—at least not how I think you mean it.”

His eyes shift to mine again, his eyebrows lifted. “You sure, ’cause I heard you were hanging with some new guy.”

I blow out a sigh. “I’m not hanging with anyone.”

He hesitates for a second and his eyes drop to the floor before meeting mine again. His gaze turns hopeful. “So . . . you wanna come to band practice—”

“I’m not coming back.” I’m immediately sorry for the hard edge to my voice.

He raises a hand. “Let me finish,” he says. “That girl, Delanie, called. She’s singing with us tonight. Thought you might want to hear, that’s all.”

But he’s lying. I know that’s not “all,” ’cause I’ve seen that look in his eyes before.
You don’t love me.
I press harder into the wall to make more space between us. “Maybe.”

He leans in and his dreads brush my cheek as he whispers. “ ‘Maybe’ is something I can live with.”

I close my eyes and breath him in, remembering how easy things were with us . . . till he ruined it. My eyes snap open and my breath catches when I find his face just an inch from mine. I turn my head and look over his shoulder—and see Luc eyeing us from the door to Mr. Sanghetti’s room, jaw clenched and eyes raging. He turns and skulks through the door.

I splay a hand on Reefer’s chest and push him back gently. “It’s probably better if I don’t come,” I say, realizing anything I do, other than act like a total bitch, is going to encourage him.
You don’t love me.

He looks at me with sad eyes as Trevor meanders by and smacks him on the back of the head with a textbook. He winces but holds my gaze a second longer before breaking free and jogging down the hall after Trevor.

I walk into history and slide into the seat next to Luc, letting myself feel exactly nothing, and ignore all his pointed glances as he and Mr. Sanghetti go at it. At the bell I bolt out of class a few steps ahead of Luc, but he catches me in the hall.

“Who was that?” he asks, trailing a step behind me.

“Who?”

“The guy.” He steps up beside me and reaches for my elbow, but I yank it away.

“Reefer.” I say, my voice neutral.

He stops walking, struggling unsuccessfully to stop the smile pulling at his lips. “Reefer,” he repeats.

I take the opening and storm into the cafeteria, leaving Luc standing in the hall. I drop my book bag at our table and shuffle
through the lunch line. When I get back to the table, I find the tall, gorgeous, redheaded Cassidy O’Connor shouldering Angelique out of the way to sit next to Luc. I slide into my seat between Luc and Gabe and clamp down on the lid to my black pit as I feel a wisp of jealousy start to slip out.

Gabe smiles at me as I poke at my salad. “So a nun, huh?”

“Yep.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Luc’s head snap up.

“Interesting career choice.” He shifts so our shoulders are touching and grins over my head at Luc. “What are you doing tonight? We could finish that lab write-up.”

I try to pretend his shoulder touching mine isn’t causing totally unrelated parts of me to tingle. “Oh . . . sure. I have judo after school, but you could come over for dinner and we can study in my room after,” I say. Luc’s shoulder bumps mine, and I turn to find him still staring at me. I ignore the head rush I feel when our eyes connect and turn back to Gabe. “So, around six?”

“That works.”

I hear Cassidy’s chair scrape back and glance over to see her make her way to the lunch line. I turn and smile at Luc, and my hand tightens around the knife on my tray as I mentally weld the lid on my emotions shut.

My new game plan basically involves the trifecta: lust, envy, and wrath. Which means I still need to make Frannie want me. And
to envy those who have me. And hate them, and me too. It’s a tricky balance to strike. Especially when Frannie isn’t cooperating. I glance toward Cassidy in the lunch line. I’m finding it a little disconcerting that, other than Cassidy’s ginger, I’m getting nothing. Frannie is keeping her emotions extraordinarily under wraps. No pepper, no anise, no garlic. Nothing.

Of course, I’m the one that seems to have jealousy issues. I almost blasted Gabriel just now at the lockers. And after her little show with that Reefer guy in the hall, it’s occurring to me I may have overestimated my pull on her. Because when I saw her with him, how close she let him. . . . There was something she was giving off then—the faintest wisp of rose. Sadness.

I turn back to the table, hoping her expression will give her away, but her face is calm and flat.

What does a guy have to do to get a rise out of this girl?

Then I remember Frannie’s reaction to Taylor that first day. Her envy. I pitch my voice low, conspiratorially—always better for grabbing the attention of those around you. “So, Taylor, how was your weekend?”

She raises an eyebrow suggestively. “Could have been better.” The innuendo is unmistakable.

“I was thinking, if you’re free, maybe you’d like to go to the movies tonight.”

She launches a victorious glance at Frannie. “Absolutely.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I’m sure I see Frannie’s posture stiffen as she pretends to be engrossed in conversation with Gabriel. For a split second, just the faintest trace of licorice teases me.

Riley glances significantly at Frannie. With a hint of panic, she says, “We should all go. What do you think, Fee?”

Frannie turns toward the table. “Sorry, what?”

“Movies. Tonight. You in?”

“Oh. No, thanks.” She reaches for Gabriel’s hand on the table and twists her fingers into his. I seethe as I catch a hint of ginger. “We’re slammed with physics homework, right, Gabe?”

Gabriel smirks at me. “Slammed.”

Riley’s mouth drops open and the silent “What the hell are you doing?” in her hard stare at Frannie is clear.

Frannie ignores her and starts up with Gabriel again.

I had wanted Taylor alone . . . but this could work too. “Mmm. Too bad,” I say, nodding at Taylor and Riley. “I guess it’s just us.”

Taylor turns to glare at Riley.

If this doesn’t get a rise out of Frannie, nothing will. The greater the intensity of the wrath the better, and what wrath can be more intense than for a best friend or two who have done you wrong? The indirect approach is going to work. I’ll wear her down. If I play this right, as a parting gift, I might also score Riley’s and Taylor’s souls. Bonus.