The Bad Boy's Dance (9 page)

             
I scrunched my nose. Dana could certainly be graphic. She’d made me turn so green the day we were dissecting frogs in Bio that I’d had to be rushed to the nurses office. I still can’t look a frog in the eye.

             
Me:
You wouldn’t want to do that with Paul here, now would you?

              Dana:
I’m soooo having Caleb stuff a soccer ball up your nostril. Just watch.

              Me:
He wouldn’t do that. He’s not a meanie like you. I’m going through a mountain…in the Appalachians….in a hurricane…oh no…I think I’m disconnecting. Bye!

             
Giggling when I pictured her furious face, I clicked on the text from the unknown number.

             
I get to pick the next movie.

             
Asher. How’d he get my number? Oh yeah, I’d given it to him when we were assigned the project.

             
Me:
Hephaestus no.

             
He responded instantly.

             
Asher:
You’re such a dweeb.

              Me:
It’s the trend nowadays, you’re the weird one buddy.

              Asher:
Doesn’t make me any less awesome.

              Me:
Or arrogant.

             
My family was oblivious to my distractedness, too busy railing on Spencer for something stupid he’d done. Only Paul was watching me sharply. I mouthed “Dana”. He relaxed marginally, and I felt a little guilty for lying. But if he thought I was talking to a boy, he’d flip his schnitzel. Even if I patiently explained that I’d sooner make him road-kill than be another of his conquests, Paul would go ape.

              My entire family would, actually.

             
Asher:
I noticed you didn’t deny that I was awesome.

              Me:
I thought you were joking. I, personally, thought the assessment was funny.

              Asher:
Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt. Why can’t you come over today, exactly?

              Me:
My older brother is home from college. I’m spending the day with him.

              Asher:
I see. Monday it is then

              Me:
Yup. See you tomorrow.

              Asher:
If you can drive there without turning your car into a pretzel.
 

             
Shaking my head, I closed my phone. He would never let me live that down, even though
he
jumped in front of my car. I think it was a show of my amazing skill behind the wheel that I didn’t squish him under those circumstances.

              “Ivy, go help your brother unpack his things. Victor and Spencer, get dinner ready. I’ll get the mail. Scat!” Mom commanded. Victor was Dad’s name, and she only used it when she meant business. We scuttled in different directions, with me trailing behind Paul up the steps.

              He opened the door to his room and flopped onto the mattress. “Ah, it’s good to be home!” he mumbled against a pillow.

              Grabbing his biggest suitcase, I settled on the ground. His clothes were neatly folded, making my job easier. “It’s good to have you home,” I replied sincerely.

              He slid to the ground in front of me. Brushing his curly brown locks from his face, he assessed me. “You look good.”

              “Thanks,” I said cheerfully, hoping he wouldn’t open the subject I knew was eating at him.

              “No more panic attacks?”

              “Not recently, no.” I hadn’t had an attack for months.

              “And there hasn’t been any contact?”

              “Drop it, Paul,” I said sharply.

              “How can I? The bastard sent you letters every day because of some promise you made him.”

              My hands stilled on the clothes as the memory swallowed me whole.

             
He slid to knees, head bowing. Honey-colored hair- the same color as his eyes- covered his face. I wrapped my arms around him on the ground, and we held each other tightly on the floor.

              It was before he’d changed. He was still the boy I’d fallen in love with, not the monster I feared.

              “Ivy,” he choked. “Promise you won’t ever leave me.”

              Rubbing my thumb against the hollow behind his ear, I nuzzled his cheek. “Why would I?”

              His fingers curled against my side. “Promise me. You can’t leave me. I can’t get through this without you.”

              Maybe I should have sensed something then. Maybe I should have been disturbed by the turmoil behind his honey eyes, the overwhelming need that swallowed me in its greed.

              But I didn’t.

“I promise.”

“He stopped sending me letters. Even when he did, I threw them away, Paul. Stop worrying. It’s in the past, okay?” I insisted. The dark fist of despair that
his
name always evoked was tight in my chest.

Paul looked conflicted, but he finally nodded. “If you say so. I just worry, you know? It’s a big brother’s job.”

I snorted. “You and Spencer must be getting instructions from different books.” For the most part, Spencer was chill and relaxed.

“Since when has Spencer
read
?” Paul asked with mock puzzlement. Shoving his shoulder, I laughed and fell into an easier pattern, chatting with him.

Dinner was fun, and Spencer and Paul’s antics were almost too much to bear. Spencer tore off a few strands of his hair and mixed them into Paul’s soup, resulting in Paul’s retaliation by mashing a meatball into Spencer’s ear.

Mom went ballistic and sent them both up to their rooms moping. She didn’t give a flip if both of them were in college, her house meant her rules.

Settling into bed later that night, I was anticipating Monday with a mixture of dread and excitement. Rooting in my inner psyche- what a fun word,
psyche
- I located the reason for both emotions.

Oh jeez. I was thinking about Asher. What was wrong with me? I could
not
let him get under my skin, for many reasons. Anyway, it wasn’t like Asher Grayson gave a flying fig about women. He was the ultimate player. The sad thing was, some girl’s knew that but chose to give him what he wanted anyway, in hopes of
taming
him. No one could ever tame someone as wild as Asher Grayson.

I flipped onto my front and burrowed into my pillow. Hmm, what non-Asher related topic could I think of? Oh yeah, that cliffhanger episode of
favorite detective show
.
Was Beckett dead? Obviously not; they couldn’t kill off the female protagonist. Or could they? Movie producers were smoking all types of new weed nowadays, who knew what they were thinking?

I fell asleep to the image of a bunch of hippies discussing who killed the surgeon.

Monday was always evil, but it was easier to handle once we were actually in school. Poor Monday, so abandoned and unloved. If it were a person, I’d give it a hug.

Dana was giving me the silent treatment, sulking in the backseat while Caleb fiddled with the radio up front. “How’s soccer practice?” I asked him, more to divert Dana’s annoyance than anything.

He shrugged. Caleb was the definition of
bulky.
He had large shoulders, wide hands, and he was muscled like a steam engine. I’m pretty sure if he, Dana, and I hadn’t clung to him like seaweed junior year, he wouldn’t be hanging with us.

Then again, he was as weird as we were.

We were a bit early, so we lounged on the front steps of the school. It wasn’t five minutes before I felt someone kick my backpack, scattering my papers all over the ground.

Sigh. And here I’d hoped Klein had transferred to another school. Or been abducted by a UFO. Maybe the aliens could find his mother planet, because it sure wasn’t Earth.

Klein towered over us, six feet of undiluted bully. He’d had it out for me since I’d whipped his derriere in the contest for top five students with the highest GPA in middle school. Then again, when I’d made him look like an idiot by refuting a thesis he’d developed on the definition of infinity.

He’d taken the burdensome task of picking on me as revenge.

Usually he didn’t bother me when Caleb was near, since Caleb could easily crush him, but he’d missed a week of bullying. He must be in withdrawal.

Dana helped me gather my things while Caleb stood, poking Klein in the chest hard enough to make him wince.

“Move off, man,” Klein whined. “This isn’t about you. Robello and I are just playing, isn’t that right?”

Oh how I longed to smack that slimy grin straight from his face.

“Ivy’s my friend. Stop bugging her, Klein, or it’s not gonna end well for you. Got it?” Caleb warned.

Klein just scowled at me, and I sighed. Caleb had unintentionally made it worse. The dipwad would just have even more ammo against me.

The bell rang, signaling the mad rush to first period. Waving goodbye to my friends, I merged into the crowd and flopped into my chair, ignoring Mrs. Peters’ barely concealed hostility. “That woman needs to get laid,” Kyle commented as he plopped into the seat beside me. He looked great as always, blonde hair hanging loose above the collar of his form-fitting sweater.

“You offering your services?” I quipped, then frowned. Where had that come from? Usually I was very talented at keeping my sarcastic one-liners to myself.

Kyle smiled wryly. “Nah, Peters doesn’t seem like a cougar, and I don’t dig women old enough to be my mother.”

“Ick.”

“My point exactly.”

“So…” Kyle fiddled idly with his pencil as Mrs. Peters began to talk about cell walls. “Are you guys going to Homecoming?”

I stared at my paper. Cohesion, adhesion, and now asexual reproduction? Plants were some interesting creatures. “Um, Dana’s going, and Caleb will probably ask someone last minute.”

Kyle glanced at me. “Oh, really? Who’s Dana going with?”

“Jason Kelly, the jock dude.”

Kyle wrinkled his nose. “That dude is useless. Barely knows how to tie his own shoes.”

I shrugged helplessly. “I don’t understand female brains.”

Kyle grinned and pointed at my paper. “Or plant ones.”

My jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me. They have brains too?”

After smacking Kyle on the arm for freaking me out, we spend the rest of the period in the marvelous world of plants. The next few periods flew by, and I didn’t see Asher once. Monday was shaping up to be a pretty boring day until lunch swung around.

That’s when all the poo poo hit the fan.             

Chapter Nine

         Cupcake Makeover

              .

Dana waved me over to our table after I bought lunch. Caleb was poking at his tray. “I think my ravioli is moving,” he declared once I sat.

Gross. Some of the lunch was edible, but if you were late to the cafeteria, the leftovers were usually monsters from the black lagoon. I was ecstatic because I’d snagged a red velvet cupcake with vanilla frosting. The Plastics were already seated, meaning I was super late. It wasn’t my fault. Senora Marshall had held me after class to ask me why I hadn’t taken honors and I’d had to dodge her questions.

“Did you guys hear?” Caleb lowered his voice and leaned towards us. We met him halfway, heads bent together like witches over a cauldron. There are few things teenagers enjoy more than a good bit of gossip.

“Brenda Curtis went ballistic this morning. Nobody knows why, but I’d stay out of her way. Especially you, Dana,” he shared. Brenda and Dana had history, but Dana wouldn’t tell us. Not from lack of trying, but it was too raw, I suppose. I suspected it had something to do with their friendship before Dana’s mom left. Whatever it was, Brenda and Dana hated each other with a fiery passion.

“When isn’t she going ballistic?” Dana waved her hand dismissively, but I could see a fissure of anxiousness when she started shoveling her salad into her mouth.

That bothered me. Klein wasn’t too difficult to handle. He merely shoved me against my lockers, knocked down my books, tripped me and so on every once in awhile. I could pick myself up and walk on. Brenda Curtis, on the other hand, was major league. She knew some of Dana’s secrets, and she exploited them at every turn. She could cut Dana down and make her afraid to go to the cafeteria. Dana was tough; she didn’t let Brenda walk all over her. But it made me violent, when I was usually a mellow person.