Crave (2 page)

My backpack's strap bit into my hands as I swallowed down all the things I wanted to say and instead muttered, “Sorry.”

“Yeah, you are,” Vanessa said. She and her sister laughed like hyenas high on helium and turned away.

I should have just let them go and been grateful to get away from them. But a headache pounded at my temples now, and all I could think about was how different things were when we were kids. Back when these girls were my best friends.

As soon as my hand touched her shoulder, Vanessa hissed.
Both sisters whirled around to face me again. Shocked by the fury on Vanessa's face, I stepped backward until the wall of lockers stopped me. Whoa. This was nuts.

“Van, why are you being like this?” I made a point of using my old nickname for her. “We used to be friends. Remember Valentine's Day, fourth grade? We held that pretend wedding, and you two were my bridesmaids?” That was the last day we'd all played together, and it was one of my favorite childhood memories. The twins and I had prepared for the ceremony by sitting in a circle on the merry-go-round and braiding flowers into each other's hair. While my first and only boyfriend, Tristan Coleman, had stood beneath the nearby oak tree watching us, waiting for me.

Waiting to give me my first and only kiss…

Everything about that half hour had seemed so sweet, almost magically perfect. But I must have been the only one who'd thought so. Because the next day, all of the Clann's kids had refused to talk to me, not even long enough to tell me what I'd done to upset them. Including Tristan. Ever since, the only time anyone from the Clann spoke to me was when the Brat Twins called me names or “accidentally” shoved me in the hallways.

“We braided daisies into each other's hair,” Hope whispered, almost smiling.

She remembered. I nodded, daring a small smile of my own, and eased away from the lockers.

Vanessa's eyes softened for a few seconds, transforming her into the girl I used to know, like she was remembering our former friendship, too. But then her expression darkened again, twisting with hatred. “That day was a huge mistake.
Your
mistake, for thinking a freak like you could actually be friends with anyone in the Clann. And especially for thinking you could even pretend to marry someone like Tristan.”

“Yeah. The Clann does
not
hang out with freaks like you,” Hope added.

So much for remembering the good old days.

I sighed, defeat making me even more tired. “I don't get you two. Or Tristan. You guys used to be my best friends. What did I ever do to—”

Vanessa closed the distance between us so fast I didn't have time to react, her nose nearly touching mine. “You were
born,
freak. That's more than enough reason to make every member of the Clann hate you for the rest of our lives. Now get. Out. Of our. Way!” Using both hands, she slammed me against the lockers then stalked off, Hope tagging along in her footsteps.

I shouldn't have been stunned. I should have known the past was over and done with and there was no going back. But still, it took a few seconds before I could make my feet move again. My throat and eyes burning, I tried to ignore the way everyone was staring at me and headed for my locker at the other end of the hallway, my chin lifted, as if the encounter had been no big deal.

 

Three hours later, I flopped into my seat at my friends' table in the cafeteria.

Carrie Calvin's eyebrows shot up beneath her long blond bangs. “A little early in the day to be so tired, don't you think?” She flicked her shoulder-length hair behind her.

I managed a grunt and focused on unscrewing the cap of my tea thermos. Time for another dose of homegrown medicine. Hopefully it wouldn't take too long to kick in this time. Or maybe I should open a vein in my arm and pour it in directly.

As promised, Nanna's special tea had helped during first-period English. But climbing the sports and art building's two flights of stairs to second period pre-drill class, followed by
an hour and a half of dancing, had set back my recovery. I felt worse than ever.

“Oh, she's just worn-out from all that dancing she's taken up,” Anne Albright said. “You know, twirling with the froufrou tutus at Miss Catherine's Dance Studio. Kicking it in pre-drill with all those sad Charmer wannabes.” She tightened her thick, chestnut-brown ponytail and grinned, apparently unable to resist stirring up a little excitement for lunch.

I chucked a French fry at her. She was lucky she was my best friend, or I'd be tempted to dump her soda over her head instead. She knew Carrie and Michelle were still annoyed that I'd picked dance lessons instead of playing volleyball again with them this year. To them, even sucking at volleyball was better than dancing.

Michelle Wilson turned her big hazel eyes toward me. “Are you going to try out for the Charmers, Sav?”

It took me a few seconds to understand. Then I remembered. Most students only took pre-drill as a required class so they could audition for the JHS Cherokee Charmers Dance/Drill Team in May.

“Of course she isn't,” Anne jumped in before I could reply. “Pre-drill is just her mom's idea of fulfilling her P.E. credit without embarrassing herself again like last year.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said. But I couldn't really be mad. Anne was only saying the truth, as usual. I
had
taken pre-drill for the P.E. credit, and because it had no audience or competitions for me to doom a team at. Trying out for the Charmers was the last thing on my mind.

“Sorry,” Anne muttered, both looking and sounding sincere.

Between desperate gulps of tea, I gave her a half grin to show I wasn't really upset. She'd been my best friend for over two years now, and I'd gotten used to her blunt style. In a
way, it was even comforting. At least I could always count on her to be honest, no matter what.

A new wave of pain rose up to slam into my stomach and chest, wiping the smile right off my face. This was an ache I knew far too well. It hit me every time
he
came within a hundred yards of me, usually before I even saw or heard him.

Michelle, who sat across from me, let out a dreamy sigh, confirming what my body already knew.

“Please let me trip him,” Anne muttered once she'd glanced over her shoulder and spotted him, too.

I kept my gaze on Michelle, though the tiny blonde's moonstruck expression was tough to watch. Anything to keep me facing forward. Tristan had to either walk along the outer wall of the cafeteria or cut across the center by our table on his way to the food lines. Most people cut across. No doubt he would, too.

Just a few more seconds and he'd pass right behind me. I told myself I didn't care, even as my skin tingled with some secret knowledge all its own that he was drawing closer.

And then I heard it…a low whistling, the notes so quiet I could almost have believed I'd imagined them if not for my sensitive hearing. Sugarplum music, as plain as if he'd whistled the notes right against my ear.

Ever since he'd seen my ballet slippers fall out of my backpack during algebra earlier this year, Tristan had started whistling
The Nutcracker'
s “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” song every time he saw me. I remembered his sense of humor, how his mind worked. This was his wordless way of teasing me about wanting to be a ballerina, without having to actually bother to talk to me. Because of course a klutz like me couldn't ever become a decent dancer, right?

I felt a blush flood my cheeks and neck with heat, adding to my frustration. I must look like a strawberry…red face, red
hair, red ears. But no way would I duck my head. I would not give him the satisfaction of any reaction I could control, at least.

“Oh, I am so gonna trip him,” Anne hissed, turning her chair toward him. Apparently she got his sense of humor, too, even if she didn't approve of it.

“No, you can't!” Michelle reached over the edge of the round table, grabbed Anne's arm and yanked her sideways half out of her seat. By the time Anne recovered, he was past our table.

“He's a member of the Clann. You know how all those witches treat Savannah,” Anne said.

“Tristan Coleman isn't like them. He's nice,” Michelle said. “The whole witchcraft thing is just a rumor. And a stupid one, at that.”

Carrie, Anne and I all shared a look.

Michelle sighed. “Tristan is so not a witch! Or warlock, or whatever they're called. His family goes to my church. And he's too nice to sacrifice small animals. Remember how he saved me last summer at that track meet? None of the others would have done that, but he did.”

Carrie and Anne both groaned out loud. We'd heard this story countless times this year, until Anne had finally threatened to beat Michelle to death if she told it one more time.

I just groaned inside my head. I was too busy forcing air in and out of my lungs past the tightness in my chest. How did he
do
this to me?

“‘Saved' is a little much,” Carrie said. “And for the record, witches don't sacrifice animals.”

“Yeah, Michelle,” Anne said. “All he did was help you off the track after you got shin splints.”

“Exactly!” Michelle retorted. “Those shin splints hurt
so
badly. And he was the only one to come and help me. And he didn't even know me!”

Carrie sighed and dropped her chin into a propped-up hand.

“Michelle, get a grip. He just did that to make himself look good for everyone at the track meet.” Anne chugged the rest of her soda then burped. She didn't bother to say
excuse me.
“He's nothing more than a glorified spoiled rich kid.”

“That's not true. And he doesn't need to try and make himself look good. He already looks good. Did you see that chest? Those huge shoulders?” Michelle sighed again. “Thank you, God, for growth spurts. I swear he's grown half a foot taller this year. And that new voice. Oh, yum.”

“Oh, gag me,” Anne said. “I'll bet his ego grew right along with the rest of him. He thinks every girl on the planet should be eager to drool over him. And what do you mean, ‘that new voice'? You got a class with him or something?”

It was Michelle's turn to blush. “No. He stops by the front office before first period on A days sometimes to talk to me and the other office aides.”

“And I'll bet you just love chatting him up, don't you?” Anne glared at her.

“Well, it…it's the least I can do, since he saved me.”

“Ugh, I'm gonna hurl.” Anne gathered up her books.

“Me, too. I can't believe you talk to a Clann member,” Carrie said, picking up her things despite her still half-full salad bowl. “Especially one who thinks he owns all of East Texas.”

I stared down at my untouched chili cheese fries. My comfort food looked anything but comforting today. “I think I'm done, too.”

“Aw, guys. Don't be mad.” Michelle jumped up and grabbed her stuff. “Y'all are way too hard on him. He's really very nice once you get to know him.”

“Puh-lease.” Anne proceeded to explain the difference between being nice and being a total player as we all headed for the trash cans then the rear exit. I followed but tuned them out, tired of hearing about Tristan Coleman's infamous reputation with the girls. But my traitorous gaze still slipped over to the Clann kids' table long enough to see that the prince of Jacksonville needed another haircut. Tristan's golden curls had grown long enough to brush the collar of his polo shirt again.

 

Later that afternoon before fourth period, the foot traffic streamed around me like a human river flowing through the main hallway. I sighed, tired and achy and cranky, trying to ignore the claustrophobic feeling from the swarm of people all around me while I squatted in front of my bottom-row locker. I still hadn't gotten used to how many students were packed into this campus every day. The junior high had only three grades and much bigger hallways, so when someone had bumped into me there last year, it had been a personal message. Here, students nudged against me every couple seconds as I struggled to find a pencil inside the chaos of my locker for my last class. Stupid algebra. It was my toughest subject, and the only class that required a pencil.

It was also the only one I had with any Clann members. And with the worst one of them all, too.

Thank goodness at least Anne was in the same class. She was a genius at anything to do with numbers.

She wasn't great at waiting for me, though.

“Hey, slowpoke, you're gonna be late. As usual.” Anne leaned against the lockers next to mine and gave me a friendly punch on the shoulder, hard enough to make me wobble. I righted myself and winced, guessing I'd probably have a bruise on my shoulder for a day or two.

“And what does a female jock care about being late to class?” I teased while I wearily continued to dig through books and supplies. Where the heck had that pack of pencils gone? If I had to borrow a pencil from Anne, I'd never hear the end of it. She'd use loaning me a pencil as an excuse to launch yet another tirade about how I needed to get organized.

She snorted and squatted down beside me. “Obvious answer. If volleyball doesn't pan out for a scholarship, the grades will have to do it for me instead. Harvard costs a butt load, or haven't you heard?”

“I still don't understand why you need to go to Harvard just to become a CPA. Can't you go to any college to do that?”

“And I still don't understand why you can't keep a locker clean.” She reached forward as if to start tidying up the pile. I swatted her hand away with a smile.

Suddenly someone rammed into my back. I threw one hand against the lockers and the other hand to the floor to catch myself as my backpack slid off my shoulder and thudded on the floor at my feet. My entire body vibrated from the impact, as if my bones were hollow and echoing from the hit like metal pipes. Then everything came cascading out of my locker in a mini avalanche, hitting my shoulder on the way down. That was definitely going to leave a bruise.