Crave (17 page)

And then I felt it…prickles racing down the back of my neck and over my arms. Ouch. That was all I needed to know who was behind me without even looking. After not seeing Tristan Coleman for two-and-a-half months, and no new vampire/witchy developments, I'd hoped my awareness of Tristan's presence would have gone away. But if anything, I could swear it had increased ten times over. I used to feel only a warm ache tugging at my gut and chest whenever he was within twenty yards of me. This time, it felt more like the back of my neck and arms had somehow fallen asleep and the blood was finally rushing back through all the veins. I had to fight against the urge to rub my skin.

Once again, someone just
had
to remind me that I wasn't quite normal.

Oh, boy, this better wear off soon. Maybe he was headed for a different class and the feeling would go away.

But when I heard his heavy footsteps follow me down the sidewalk then up the short cement steps and into history class, I knew I was doomed. And then I looked around at the other students in the class and realized just how doomed I was. Not only would I be sharing this class with the prince of Jacksonville, but I'd also be in here every A day with the Brat Twins and Dylan Williams.

And then Mr. Smythe made my year complete by saying, “Okay, kiddies, let's get you all alphabetically seated, shall we?”

I couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry as I took my assigned seat of torture on the front row beside Tristan, the Brat Twins seated directly behind him.

Yes, it was going to be yet another
very
long year.

Tristan

Talk about a crappy start to the year.

Obviously my protection spell against Stanwick had worn off. Why couldn't the guy just forget about Savannah already? I saw her out of the corner of my eye for the thousandth time in an hour and mentally cursed as my heart slammed into my throat like a caged bear trying to break free. On second thought, I knew exactly why Stanwick couldn't forget about her.

My knees bounced harder under my desk as I considered my options. The solution should be simple. I'd just have to make another protection spell for her. Maybe a couple of them. And I'd drink some coffee or something before doing the spells so I wouldn't fall asleep this time. Although now
that Dad had taught me how to draw energy from nature to use instead of my own, I doubted that would be a problem.

At the moment, I had too much energy. I should have grounded at lunch when Emily asked me to after I'd seen the soccer jerk walk with Savannah to the lunch line. But then they had exited with their food, and Stanwick had kissed her cheek. And I'd lost all ability to think as my gut dropped somewhere down to my toes. The sick feeling had only grown stronger as the two of them, apparently a couple now, had sat together at Savannah's table with her friends.

How long had they been seeing each other?

I knew then that I should leave, go outside and ground as much energy as I could. But I couldn't tear myself away from the sight of the two of them laughing together, talking with her friends, the casual way the soccer jerk touched her hand or shoulder or put his arm around her. And she let him.

She liked him. Maybe even loved—

Acid rose up in my throat, and I had to look away, pretend I was listening to the other descendants talking at our table, to think about anything but the nightmare that was taking place just yards away from me.

But when the bell rang, no matter how much my gut was twisted into knots, I still found myself following them out of the cafeteria. I exited the doors and started up the walkway just in time to see Stanwick kiss her goodbye on the catwalk. She hesitated for a minute, her shoulders hunching up near her ears. Could she feel me watching her? She didn't turn to look, instead heading down the sidewalk toward the portable buildings. It was only as she walked up the steps to Mr. Smythe's class that I realized we had history together this year.

And now we were seated by each other, and it should have been great, but it wasn't. Because not only could I see her from head to toe out of the corner of my eye without even
looking at her, but I also couldn't help but see how pink her cheeks were. And her constant smile.

The soccer jerk made her happy.

And that just made me want to punch something.

Savannah frowned and rubbed her arm, and I noticed for the first time that the skin below her short sleeves was covered in goose bumps. Huh, that was weird. It didn't feel that cold in here. But maybe I should ask Mr. Smythe to turn off the AC for a while.

I had to stop looking at her.

Jerking my wandering gaze to the dry-erase board ahead of us, I tried to copy down the notes as the class had been instructed to do. But my peripheral vision was a real curse, letting me see her long legs uncross then recross the opposite way.

Oh, man, I was so screwed. I'd be able to see her from head to toe all year, every other weekday, without even turning my head. For an entire hour and a half.

I'd have to beg my sister to help me with my homework again, this time in history.

Giving up on the note taking, I tilted back my head and stared at the ceiling. Ah, better. At least this way I could only see Savannah from the waist up. Too bad I couldn't shut out the sound of the Charmers bracelet she wrote. Apparently she'd joined the dance team over the summer, too. The tinkling was going to drive me crazy. Every movement of her wrist seemed to sing, “Tristan, look at me.”

“Mr. Coleman, come see me, please,” Mr. Smythe barked from his desk at the back of the room.

Surprised, I got up and walked over to him.

He held out a piece of paper. “Take this note for me.”

Confused, I accepted the sheet of unlined paper. “You want me to deliver a note, sir?”

“Yes. Now.”

Okay, this was a new one. I took the note and headed outside, shutting the door behind me.

The note wasn't sealed, which was also weird. Didn't teachers always seal their notes with tape or something so students couldn't read them? I glanced at the handwritten lettering on the note then saw it was addressed to me.

And then I remembered. Mr. Smythe was Dylan's uncle and a descendant. Cursing under my breath, I headed for the nearest trash can, did a quick flash burn on the note until it crumbled into ashes in the container, then headed for my usual grounding tree.

Only to realize halfway there that I'd have to find another method. Now that it was no longer lunchtime, anyone who saw me at my grounding tree would grow suspicious and maybe even report me to the office for ditching class. I needed some element of nature other than air that would directly connect me to the earth. Fire, wood, earth, water…

And then I had it. Changing course, I headed for the nearby restroom. Once inside, I checked to be sure no one else was there. I turned on a faucet, put both hands under the cold stream and willed the excess energy out into the flow of water. The heat from my energy immediately combined with the cold water to make steam that fogged up the lower half of the mirror. Cool. I hadn't expected that.

The bathroom door opened behind me, and a zit-faced freshman walked in, signaling the end of this grounding session. Hopefully it had been enough.

The kid hesitated, his eyebrows raised. Probably at the steam.

I turned off the water, dried my hands under a blower. The boy was still frozen near the door, his eyes squinting in suspicion.

“Watch that hot-water knob. They must have cranked up the settings on the water heater,” I joked.

That did it. The boy chuckled, nodded in understanding, and headed for a urinal.

I took my time strolling back to class. The water grounding was a good idea. But I'd better find a way to get over Savannah quick or people were going to notice my grounding efforts and think me a freak. At the very least, the descendants on campus would tell Dad that I was getting out of control again.

I needed to find a way not to care about Savannah. I'd thought dream connecting with her that one time last year would be okay, that it would take off the edge. But she was like a drug for me. Every little contact with her made me want to spend even more time with her just to see her smile or hear what she'd say next. I'd wanted to dream connect with her again. But I'd been unable to. Not for lack of trying, though. I'd slept outside so much, Mom had complained that she should buy me a doghouse. I'd tried training harder with Dad, flying through the last of the beginner-level lessons plus several intermediate ones in no time. Then I'd taken a month off, thinking a break from using my power would make it increase and give me the oomph I needed to dream connect again with Savannah. Recently, I'd even talked Dad into
teaching me how to draw power from nature to supplement my own.

But nothing worked. All I'd gotten for months of effort was the nightly return of those frustrating beat-the-barrier dreams. Just like in my dreams, Savannah was once again so close in history class, and still as unreachable as ever. Even worse, now she was some other guy's girl. And that made her about as untouchable as a girl could get in my opinion, short of being related to me. I'd dated a lot of girls, but I made it a personal rule never to go after someone else's girlfriend. I'd always figured if a girl was interested in me, she'd break up with her boyfriend before I ever had to make a move in her direction.

Of course, none of those girls had been Savannah, either.

I headed back to class, taking my time. Was there a spell to make a guy act enough like an idiot to make his girlfriend break up with him, but not so bad that he broke her heart in the process?

I'd have to ask Emily.

Savannah

Over the next two weeks, my friends gradually quit grumbling about the Charmers, and Greg became a steady part of my school schedule. For our daily lunch break, we compromised. Mondays and Thursdays we sat with his friends, Tuesdays and Fridays we sat with mine, and Wednesdays we didn't sit together at all. This kept both sets of friends happy. Surprisingly, Anne didn't hate Greg like she did most guys, and she didn't even tease us when he rested his arm across the back of my chair sometimes. I had no idea what his friends really thought about our dating, but Mark and Peter didn't seem bothered by it. Usually they either talked about soccer or asked me endless questions about why some girl they liked
had done something they didn't understand. At least I knew I had a possible career as a therapist someday. If I didn't turn into a vampire first.

Somehow, we slipped into a new routine, until gradually Greg became a regular part of my life. I saw him five out of seven days of the week, sometimes six when he took me out for a quick dinner after the Friday-night home football games. We wrote goofy notes to each other a couple times a week just for fun, and sometimes he called me on the weekends so we could talk without an audience of friends.

He was easy to talk to, as well, both on the phone and on our dates. By the time he finally kissed me on the lips, he knew almost everything about me, and I was more than ready for my first kiss. It was nice, no tongues or slobber involved, and I kind of liked the gentle press of his lips over mine and the way his arms cradled me as if I were breakable.

By our three-month anniversary, I was surprised to find my life mostly calm and, if not perfect, at least reasonably happy for the first time in too long to remember. Now that I'd given up trying to please my father, I wasn't so stressed-out all the time. And I loved being on the Charmers team, even if just as a manager. The team made me feel needed, an important part of something special. I had my first boyfriend, whom everyone seemed to like, including my friends. And his ex-girlfriends. And every weekend was filled with stuff to do and people to see. If not for history class with four of the worst descendants every other day, plus the fact that I still didn't dare look anyone in the eyes, I could almost forget that I wasn't quite normal.

At least I could pretend that I was.

But I should have known the happiness wouldn't last forever.

At the beginning of September, Greg was my date for the
homecoming dance after the game. The homecoming dance was a fundraiser jointly held by the Charmers and the cheerleaders, our team directors' annual futile attempt at forcing the two squads to bond. Greg's mother had made me a custom mum that had to weigh at least twenty pounds, and I couldn't stop grinning with pride at how good my boyfriend looked in his matching mini mum attached to a garter around his left bicep. Even if I didn't get to actually dance with him much because I was too busy working the concession stand with other Charmers most of the night.

When I did get a break, dancing with Greg proved to be…interesting. At five-eleven, he wasn't too much taller than my own height of five-five. This would have been great for soul-deep eye gazing. Except obviously I couldn't do that. So I had to be careful while dancing with him. Every time we'd danced together that evening, I'd nearly slipped and looked directly into his eyes instead of at his nose.

By the final slow dance of the night, I was more than a little frustrated. That's when the doubt started to creep in. And the questions.

It had been five months since I'd made direct eye contact with any male. The weird incident with the three boys in freshman algebra seemed like a dream now, or a nightmare faintly remembered. What if I was remembering it as much worse than the situation actually had been? After five months, anyone's memory could blow something small out of proportion.

Not to mention, those algebra boys had been virtual strangers. I knew Greg. The entire time we'd been dating, he'd never been anything but sweet. He was nice to others, too, holding doors for strangers even when he thought I wasn't around or looking. He was a preacher's kid, the oldest of five, and regularly babysat his younger siblings so his parents could
go out on dates or hold religious events. He even cleaned up other people's trash on the sidewalk outside the movie theater sometimes. Greg was a total Boy Scout through and through. I'd never known a nicer guy.