Playing with Fire Page 2

  I’m absolutely dumbstruck by his assessment. This is abrasive? And he wants me to try to make friends? As if I hadn’t tried before? “I can go put on the Ask me about my STD T-shirt if you prefer. It’s quite a conversation starter,” I quip harshly.

  He sighs, and I know I’m dangerously close to upsetting him again. Dad’s eyes dart to me, and then back to the paper quickly.

  In fairness, there might have been some alternate-reality me who spent her days scavenging the mall for the perfect dress, getting manicures and mocking people like, well, me. But that all went out the window for me when Mom died. Now I was more of a black-or-darker girl. I’ve spent the last year and a half learning not to give a shit what people thought of me, and I’ve learned it really well.

  “Lucy got here this morning. She’s out front if you wanna take her today,” he says.

  I slide off the counter. “Really? And I can drive her?” I have to admit, I’m really surprised. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get driving privileges back until I was forty.

  He nods and points to where the keys hang on a hook near the fridge.

  I slurp down half my lime drink and replace the cap, stuffing the rest into my backpack for later. I’ve slipped some notebooks, pencils, and my tablet in my little red bag too. At my last school, there would also have been a can of pepper spray. Hopefully, I won’t need that here. I do, however, tuck my wallet into my back pocket and fasten the chain onto my front belt loop. What can I say? Old habits.

  “I’m taking off. You need anything?” I ask, grabbing the keys on my way out the door.

  “I’m good. I’m going to be at the squadron today. Still getting pass downs from all the shops. If you need anything, call me on my cell. I don’t have the office number memorized yet. I should be home around six. You alright to fend for yourself tonight?” he calls down the hall after me.

  “Yeah. I’ll grab something on my way home. Have fun, try not to make anyone cry,” I shout through the door, shutting it behind me.

  I hear him mutter right before it closes, “Right back at ya, kid.”

  The engine of my beautiful baby roars to a stop in the student parking lot, drawing looks of admiration from the male population. Dad and I have been restoring Lucy, my gunmetal gray ‘67 Mustang Shelby Fastback, since I was ten. She was well worth the wait. Not that she doesn’t have her little quirks, like the fact that the emergency brake is held up with safety wire, but for the most part, she’s perfect. For a long time, I thought we were fixing her up for my dad, but then, for my sixteenth birthday, he’d handed me the keys and orders to Cherry Point.

  I wasn’t sure which I was happier about.

  Looking out at the faces of strangers slowly gathering for a peek at the new girl, I take a deep breath, pat Lucy gently on the dash, and scoop my bag from the passenger seat.

  With my chin held high, I step out of the car, into the harsh light of the North Carolina sun, and head for the door.

  I’m still standing in line in the office when the first bell rings. There are two other new kids in front of me, an attractive senior boy transferring in from somewhere abroad, and a freshman girl from somewhere near Texas if I’ve heard her accent correctly. By the time the elderly secretary gets to me, first period is well underway. Super. Nothing says inconspicuous like bursting in during the middle of class.

  Getting my schedule and map, I head off to first period. I find the correct room, do a quick double check of my schedule, and stuff the paper into my back pocket, opening the door as quietly as possible. Instantly, all eyes swing my direction. Walking in, trying my best to look more comfortable than I feel, I hand my note to the teacher, Mr. Walker.

  “Class, we have a new student,” he announces as my stomach sinks into my shoes. Of course he’s going to be one of those teachers who makes a big deal about it. I shift my backpack onto my other shoulder and struggle to keep my chin up as he announces me. Best not to show any weakness. Teenagers, like sharks, can smell blood in the water.

  “This is Farris Barnett. I trust you will all make her feel welcome.”

  There are a few mutterings from the back, but I can’t make anything out. He makes a note on a clipboard on his desk and waves his hand in my direction.

  “Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself, Farris?” he says absently, lowering himself into his creaking chair.

  I glance to my right, at the open windows. Maybe I can make a break for it. A fall from a second-story window couldn’t possibly be more painful than this. But I’d probably end up in one of those full-body casts and be tortured by an unreachable itch for three weeks. The teacher clears his throat impatiently. Ah, the hell with it.

  “Right. I’m Farris. I spend my spare time trying to calculate the air speed velocity of the European swallow. My life’s ambition is to develop some sort of freeze ray, and I’m a firm believer that at some point, the world will be taken over by zombies.”

  Chirp, chirp, chirp. Either no one gets it, which wouldn’t surprise me, or no one cares, which also wouldn’t surprise me. To my left, someone snickers, but I’m too busy glancing longingly at the windows to notice who it is.

  Traction is looking pretty good right now.

  “Yes, well, welcome to Cherry Point High. Please take a seat in the back there.” The teacher points to an empty desk in the farthest row before launching into a forty-five minute lecture on the infrastructure of post-Julius Caesar Rome. At some point, I stop taking notes on my tablet and just allow myself to zone out, scrolling through the local news instead. When the bell finally rings, I practically leap from my seat, gather my crap, and head for my next class.

  I barely turn the first corner before I see it. Three tall boys, two of them in matching football jerseys and one in a black T-shirt, have another boy backed up against the lockers. They are exchanging heated words when one of them reaches out, slapping the book from the boy’s hand. The hallway is filled with people, but no one is even looking at them. It’s a genuine handicap, I realize. People are so willing to be blind when something like that is happening. Too often, I’d been in his shoes, tormented by others as people around me just ignored us like we were invisible. Maybe that’s why I snap. Or maybe I’m just too—how did my dad put it? Abrasive.

  Either way, I move in quickly, catching the tail end of the taunting.

  “Why are you even here?” the tallest boy demands. “Nobody wants you here.”

  I pipe up. “Hey, leave him alone.”

  The three boys turn, looking at me as if I’ve just done some kind of magic trick, like pulling a rabbit out of my ass.

  “What did you say?” one of them demands.

  I speak very slowly. “I said, leave him alone, you giant sack of dicks.”

  The tall boy, he seems to be the leader of the group, shakes his head. “You’re the new girl, right? This really doesn’t concern you.”

  I cock my head to the side. “Maybe it’s not my business, but, call me crazy, I don’t get the warm fuzzies when I see three people ganging up on someone.”

  The guy in black holds up his hands. “Hold up there, Mighty Mouse. You don’t even know us. We’re just chatting with our buddy, right?” He looks past me to the boy with his back against the locker. “Right?”

  I turn, looking at him for the first time. His posture is stiff, but not scared. His face is stern. “It’s fine.”

  I shrug. Hey, if he won’t stand up for himself, there’s not much I can do. “Fine.” I look back to the others. “But you guys are still jerks.”

  The one in the middle chuckles. “I think you peaked with sack of dicks.”

  I flip him off because I’m pretty sure it’s the international symbol for go fuck yourself. Bending down, I retrieve the book they knocked away and hand it to locker boy, who takes it without really looking at me, and I turn to walk away.

  “Wait, new girl,” one of them calls after me. I pause, turning reluctantly. The tallest of them jogs up to me, “I heard your intro in class toda
y. Funny stuff. Any other hobbies I should know about? Besides competitive name calling?”

  He smiles crookedly and flips his shaggy, blondish-brown hair out of his eyes.

  He’s easily six inches taller than the boys around him, which puts him just above my eye level. I’ve been five foot ten since I turned fifteen and it used to bug me, but the guys are finally catching up and it’s nice to be able to look them in the eyes. Especially when they’re being misogynistic ass monkeys.

  “I can kill a man using only a toothpick,” I retort, not smiling.

  The guy’s lopsided grin widens. “A toothpick, huh? Sounds like quite a talent.”

  “It’s not so much a matter of skill as one of persistence,” I say with a shrug.

  He laughs and steps in front of me, halting my progress. I’m about to barrel through him—and hopefully plant him square on his butt—when he does the last thing I’m expecting. He sticks out his hand.

  “I’m Oliver, king of the dick sacks. It’s nice to meet you, new girl.”

  I stare at his hand for a second like he’s joking. Is he really trying to make nice after all that? I’m not sure what prompts me to take it, but it seems impossible not to. “I’m Farris. Queen of those who take no shit.”

  He drops my hand quickly, snatching my backpack as it slides down my arm. Slinging it over his broad shoulder, he motions for me to continue walking with a grand sweep of his arm.

  “I really am sorry about that. It’s personal stuff. Old drama.”

  I shake my head. “No excuse. And he’s the one you should be apologizing to, not me.”

  He grins. “You’re right.”

  My knee-jerk reaction is to wipe the smirk off his face with a well-placed kick to the nards, but I just stare at him, dumbfounded. His smile isn’t mocking or arrogant; it’s just sort of…sincere. I take a step forward, then another, and before I know it, we’re walking together, the rest of his group peeling away in different directions.

  “So, what’s your next class?” he asks nonchalantly, as if we’ve been best friends forever. I’m so off balance that I don’t quite know what to say.

  Pulling my schedule out of my pocket, I read it off to him and he chuckles. “Ah, good old Mrs. Allen. You’ll have to tell me what you think of her. She kinda has a polarizing effect on students. The guys love her and the girls hate her.”

  He shrugs off my backpack and hands it back to me. I take it, still half dazed by his behavior.

  “What’s that look for?” he asks.

  I frown so hard my eyebrows meet in the middle of my face. “I’m trying to decide if you’re going to drop a bucket of pig’s blood on me or something.”

  He chuckles. “Not till prom, I promise.”

  “Well, at least you’re straight about it.” I hug my bag to my chest, fighting off the urge to riffle through it and make sure he hasn’t lifted any of my stuff. Normally, my asshole radar is spot on, but this, this was just downright unsettling.

  “Have a good class,” he says, nodding toward the door.

  “Um. Yeah. Thanks,” I mumble, surprised at how effectively he’d thrown me off guard.

  “Let me know if you need anything. Just think of me as the unofficial welcoming committee.” He tilts his head in an old-fashioned gesture and disappeared around the corner, lost to the crowd of moving students.

  As I slip into a desk near the back of the room, I catch a glimpse of Mrs. Allen and immediately understand what Oliver meant. Mrs. Allen is a short woman who is so hilariously top heavy that watching her strut around the room verges on cartoonish. Her hair is long and blonde, streaked with gray, and her tight blue sweater leaves little to the imagination. To make matters worse, as she introduces herself, she leans forward, bracing herself on her desk. The front row of students, completely populated by guys, leans forward with eager smiles. Girls all over the room groan and roll their eyes. I choke back a laugh, pull out my tablet, and start taking notes, wondering in the back of my mind just what kind of person Oliver really is.

  ***

  A little after eleven, the bell rings, and I follow the rush of people heading to the cafeteria. Not surprisingly, I see Oliver at a round table across the room, surrounded by a group of jocks in football jerseys and pretty girls. He doesn’t seem to notice me walk in, or if he does, he’s ignoring me. Either way is fine. I haven’t decided yet if he falls into the maybe-friend category or the he-just-might-actually-dump-pig’s-blood-on-me-at-the-prom category. I try not to notice the single dimple in his left cheek when he smiles or the way his upper lip is just a little fuller than his bottom one. As I’m busy not noticing these things, I trip over a backpack on the floor and am barely able to recover myself before anyone notices.

  It’s a much-needed wake up call.

  I toss my bag down at an empty table and pull out my green sports drink. Gradually, people start coming up to me and introducing themselves. The first is a dark-haired boy and his matching girlfriend (Derek and Kayla, respectively), who remind me of an emo Barbie and Ken. He wears a long, black trench coat over dark jeans and a black leather vest. His midnight-black hair is long in the front, short in the back, a reverse mullet. Kayla is a petite thing in torn, black leggings, a red plaid skirt, and a black dress shirt, its collar held together with safety pins. Her hair is a wild mixture of magenta and electric blue, but it looks really good with her deep olive skin and makes me long for some multihued streaks of my own. The shape of her beautiful, heavily kohled gray eyes suggests she is at least part Asian.

  “Nice to meet you,” I offer pleasantly, glad not to be sitting alone anymore. I’d spent the bulk of my last year sitting alone in the corner of the cafeteria while the people who used to be my friends snickered and threw wrappers at me. Now here I was, feeling like a somewhat normal person again.

  Weird.

  “We heard you stood up to Ollie and his tribe of idiots today. That’s cool,” Derek offers, flicking his hair out of his eyes only to have it fall back in place again.

  “Did you really call them a bag of dicks?” Kayla asks curiously.

  I shake my head. “I called them a sack of dicks.”

  She laughs out loud, and it’s too deep to come from that small body. “That’s epic. Wish I could have seen it.”

  “Are they always like that?” I can’t help but ask.

  She says nothing but Derek answers for her. “Mostly they just leave us alone, different orbits and all that. But once in a while, yeah, they can be total dicks. Especially to Reid.” He nods, and I see locker boy walking toward our table.

  “Hi, I’m Reid,” he says, sitting beside Kayla with his tray of pizza. He must be a friend of theirs because he immediately slides his carton of chocolate milk over to her and she accepts it without a word, plucking it open with dainty, black-polished fingernails.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, offering a smile. “Officially.”

  “Yeah.” He rakes his fingers through his messy, black hair. “About that. Thanks and all, but it’s probably not a good idea to make yourself a target on their board.”

  I shrug and take a drink. “Your life. I just can’t stand shit like that.”

  He nods, looking down. “Thanks, all the same. I can deal with them.”

  Message received. He’s not interested in me sticking my nose in. “Got it. I will leave you to it then.”

  Another girl takes a seat, and then another. They are talking to Reid about tutoring them in chemistry, and I realize that he’s not the victim I first thought. A pacifist, maybe. But not a victim. As he’s talking, I see the way they hang on his words, the way they laugh just a little too loudly at his jokes. The boy has game. And why shouldn’t he? He looks like a super-hot Harry Potter. He even has the glasses. Nerd chic. It’s a panty dropper.

  He notices me staring at him, and he blushes. It’s literally so adorable that I want to fold him up in my backpack and keep him in a shoebox in my room.

  And as a bonus, I realize it’s day one and I’m well
on my way to a full table. Nice.

  Pushing his glasses up his thin nose, Reid blushes again.

  “So, what do you think so far?” Kayla asks, twirling her multihued pigtails around her slender fingers.

  “It’s not bad. We’re just settling in, still unpacking and stuff. I haven’t really seen anything but housing and the school yet.” There. Very diplomatic.

  “We?” Reid asks between bites of pizza.

  My stomach growls, and I realize I’m staring at his food. Not only is cafeteria pizza really good, but I haven’t had real food all day and I am starving. Just looking at it makes my saliva glands hit overdrive.

  “Yeah. My dad and me. He’s the new CO over at VMX 195,” I answer, twisting my now-empty bottle open and closed again.

  Reid smiles, tears his pizza in half, and holds a piece out to me. I accept the cheesy mass without hesitation. One of the other girls asks for a bite too and Reid looks away, leaning over so she can tear a bite off with her teeth. Behind him, Oliver is staring at us with a surprised expression. When I catch his eye, he smiles a hundred-watt smile and waves like an idiot. I feel the heat hit my face before I can look away. Great, now the whole room is staring at me.

  “I see Oliver has decided to fawn on you,” Kayla says flatly.

  I think I hear a twinge of bitterness in her voice.

  She leans in close, her hair almost touching my face, and whispers, “I know Oliver is cute, but he’s weird. You know, one of those charming, smart, annoyingly perfect, until-the-day-someone-finds-a-body-in-his-trunk types.”

  I lean back just a little and tilt my head. “Do I smell a little history there?”

  She shrugs. “You could say that. His family is medical, so they’ve been here forever. Anyway, I remember freshman year, he took a swing at my friend Dylan for accidentally tripping him in PE.” She lowers her voice. “And there were other things, too. He was always in trouble for something. It’s only in the past year or so he’s gone on this being a better person kick. Don’t be fooled; it won’t last for long.”