Dead Silence (5 page)

“You already know pretty much everything there is to know about me. Now stop avoiding my questions.” She settled her chin against her palm, trying to look perky rather than peeved as she waited for him to get on with it.

He leaned closer, coming over the top of the wood laminate desk, so that she found herself staring directly into his deep blue eyes. She told herself not to be unnerved. It wasn’t the first time she’d been this close to him. He was just trying to throw her, she was sure of it. His lips parted and her gaze shot down to watch them, her heart speeding up. “Sara,” he said.

“Sara?” she asked. “Sara what?”

He let out a low chuckle, and she knew he was laughing at her but couldn’t manage to be annoyed by it. “You asked whose fault it was. It was Sara’s. She’s the one who asked us to enroll this semester.”

Violet frowned, trying to make sense of what he was telling her. “Why would she do that?”

His hand crossed the space then, settling over hers, and like so many times before, there was a sudden surge of warmth, like a microexplosion, from his skin to hers. Achingly familiar, yet disquieting at the same time. Like the music-box imprint that followed her. “She was worried about you, and she doesn’t like the idea of us going to school in the city with metal detectors at the doors.” He grinned then. “Plus, I think she’s hoping some of your small-town charm will rub off on us.”

Violet drew away, but not far enough, and their fingers still touched. “I’m fine. I’ve already told you that. All of you.” She didn’t know if he could tell she was lying. Honestly, she didn’t even know
if
she was lying. She
was
fine, she supposed, as fine as she could be considering everything that had happened.

“Is that why you barely come to the Center?” He stared at her, unblinking as he studied her. “Is that why you avoid my phone calls?”

Violet glanced away. “I answer.”

“Sometimes,” he said, but there was a wistfulness to his voice now. “I get the feeling you wish I’d leave you alone though.”

She swallowed, not sure what to say to that.

“I can’t, V. And Sara’s not the only one worried.”

Her eyes shot back up to his, and she wondered if Gemma’s empathic gift was wearing off on her, because she swore she could feel everything Rafe was feeling in that moment. Restlessness and fear and concern, all frenzied and tangled together like wings trying to beat their way out of his chest.

Or maybe those were her feelings.

“I—I’m telling you the truth. I’m better. I’m . . .
stronger
now.”

Rafe just watched her, and then he shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t up to us anyway. And we’re not leaving, so you might as well get used to it.”

Violet heard someone clear their throat, and she looked up to find Mr. LeCompte looming above them. She glanced nervously down at their hands, realizing that their fingertips were still pressed lightly together. She squeezed hers into a fist.

“You’re up, you two,” Mr. LeCompte said, and then turned on his heel and left them sitting there, staring after him.

“Quick,” Violet whispered. “Tell me where you were born.”

Rafe got up, looking completely nonplussed by the panic in her huge green eyes. He bent down and whispered in her ear, “You were warned, V. This is about to get awkward.” And then he grinned at her before following Mr. LeCompte to the front of the room.

“Hey, V! What’s up?”

“Oh my god, will you please stop calling me that?” Violet complained to Chelsea as she dropped her lunch tray on the table with a crash.

Chelsea grinned back at her with absolutely zero remorse. “I think it’s kinda precious. Besides, word on the street is you prefer it.”

“Yeah,
V
,” Jules chimed in, a similar unrepentant look on her face. “What I don’t get is, why you never told us before. We’re your friends—you can tell us anything.”

“Can I tell you to shut your pieholes?”

“Uh-oh . . .” Chelsea mocked. “Someone’s cranky.”

“Maybe she’s hungry. Her blood sugar’s probably low,” Claire offered. Jules and Chelsea started cracking up, while Claire just stared at them, trying to figure out what she’d missed.

“I’m
not
hungry,” Violet retorted, just as she saw Jay coming toward her.

“Oh, snap! Check this out,” Chelsea said conspiratorially, elbowing Jules. She pointed to Gemma and Rafe, who were also heading right toward them, drawing whispers and stares. “Jay doesn’t like Rafe, but Rafe likes Violet—I mean,
V
. And the girl, the one who isn’t really his sister—” She turned to Violet now, interrupting her narration. “Wait, what was her name again?”

“Gemma,” Violet answered listlessly, giving up and letting her friends have their fun.

“Okay, yeah, Gemma. Gemma doesn’t like Violet
or
Rafe as far as I can tell. She’s kinda nasty, that one. But she
definitely
likes Jay, or at least I think she does. She was all over him in third period.” Violet glanced up at them, suddenly more interested in Chelsea’s running commentary than she wanted to be. Chelsea’s voice dropped to an almost-whisper just as all three of the people she was discussing converged on the table at once. “This is about to get real.”

They stood there, the three of them—Jay, Rafe, and Gemma—all looking down at the open spaces at the table as if deciding who would sit where. Violet reached for Jay’s hand, making his decision for him as she pulled him down to sit beside her, scooting over to make room.

And then her mouth practically fell open when she realized that Gemma was actually trying to squeeze herself into the nonexistent space on the other side of him. Gemma smiled at the boy who sat on the long bench on the other side of her, batting her long lashes and puckering her lips, until he willingly made room for her. When he smiled back, he sheepishly revealed braces and could barely maintain eye contact with her. But he didn’t seem to mind when she sandwiched herself between him and Jay. Why would he, Violet thought? Gemma was probably the hottest girl who’d ever pressed herself against him.

Violet, on the other hand, minded a great deal.

Rafe seemed oblivious as he rounded the table, to the other side, where Jules and Chelsea parted like the Red Sea to make a spot just for him.

Violet leaned forward on her elbows, hovering across the top as she narrowed her eyes on Rafe. “You realize everyone’s calling me that now, don’t you?”

“What? V? I thought you liked it.”

She pursed her lips, counting silently to herself before responding. She didn’t want to lose her temper. Not here, in front of everyone. “No, Rafe, you didn’t. I told you I didn’t, and you stood right up there in front of the entire class and told them it was my favorite nickname. And what was all that stuff about me playing the banjo?”

Claire stopped chewing long enough to ask, “So that’s not true either? I thought that was kinda cool.”

“You know we’re probably getting an F, don’t you?” Violet finished, ignoring Claire.

“An F . . . for introductions?” Rafe turned to Jay then, petitioning for an ally. “Come on, man. Help me out here. She’s being a little dramatic, right?”

Violet glanced up at Jay and saw a flicker of something she recognized all too well, the hint of amusement. Her lips tightened as she locked eyes with him.

He raised his brows, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Leave me out of this,” he said to both of them, laughing just a little too easily. “I don’t wanna get involved in your battles.” And then he grinned at Violet, looking intentionally contrite. “That was the right thing to say, wasn’t it?”

Across from them, Chelsea pretended to cough the word “whipped” while Gemma cupped her chin in her hands as she watched Jay and Violet with more interest than she should have. “Is she always this . . . controlling?”

Violet glared at Gemma, but it only made Gemma’s lips bow upward. A smile that could pass for a sneer, depending on who it was directed at. And when she looked at Violet, it was definitely a sneer, no matter how pretty it was.

Inside, Violet felt her emotions churn at the prospect of spending even another hour, let alone a week or an entire semester, under the same roof as Gemma and Rafe on a daily basis. They were her teammates, sure, but they were also stirring up trouble in the part of her life she’d always considered her own. The one she tried to keep separate from the secrets of the team and her ability.

After stopping at the office to talk to the counselor about the possibility of changing some of her classes so she wouldn’t have to spend the majority of her school day with Rafe, she reached the biology lab just after the bell sounded . . . which meant, on top of everything else, she was tardy.

It also meant there were only two seats still available by the time she’d arrived. She was surprised to find that Gemma was in this class with her. She hadn’t bothered to look at the other girl’s schedule. In fact, it hadn’t even crossed her mind they might actually share classes together.

The other thing that threw her off was that the seat next to Gemma was one of the two that remained vacant. Considering Gemma had been the star of the show today—at least where the boys were concerned—she would have expected to find them clamoring to sit beside her.

But when Violet glanced at the seat, she realized why it was still open. Gemma’s designer book bag was already sitting there, and Gemma had already started unpacking her stuff and spreading out. It was clear she intended to take up more than her fair share of the lab table.

Gemma looked up as she opened the cover to her binder, which was an embossed alligator print that matched her book bag. Violet rolled her eyes and made her way toward the only other open seat in the lab.

But she faltered mid-step when she saw who was sitting in the spot beside it.

Grady Spencer.

Grady, who Violet had known since elementary school . . . who she’d played tag with on the playground and ridden bikes with and learned to skip rocks with at the lake.

He was all those things, and more. But he was also the same Grady Spencer who’d tried to kiss her last year . . . even after she told him she didn’t want to be kissed. Even after she insisted he stop. He’d been aggressive and forceful, and had crammed his tongue inside her mouth. Even now the memory made her heart race and her palms sweat.

Seeing him there, she felt trapped.

Grady hadn’t noticed her, as he dug through his backpack, his gaze down. But he would . . . any second now. And then he’d see the panic on her face, and he’d know that
he
was the one who’d caused it.

She wondered why she even cared what Grady thought. He
had
caused it. It was his fault she felt this way. His fault she stood frozen in the middle of the classroom, unable to take another step. Unable to even think.

Maybe he should know how she felt about him. How torn she was between the Grady he’d once been when they were kids . . . and the Grady who’d pawed at her, drunken and belligerent, refusing to believe she didn’t want
him
the way he wanted
her
.

She looked around, sure that everyone must be watching her now. How could they not be? How could they not see the dread coming off her in anxious waves?

But they weren’t. No one in the class even glanced her way.

Except for Gemma.

Gemma was watching her, her expression more intrigued than usual. Her lips taut and her eyes intensely curious.

And something else. Something
more
. . .

Violet wasn’t sure what it was she saw there. If it had been anyone other than Gemma, she would’ve thought it was worry. But this was Gemma she was talking about.

Violet blinked, certain her imagination must be playing tricks on her. Certain it was merely the panic of facing Grady, distorting her perception and screwing with her mind.

But when she looked again, it was still there, the look. And this time she was convinced it had to be real.

And then Gemma did something else unexpected. Violet watched in disbelief as the other girl reached over and removed her book bag from the chair. After a moment, probably only the span of a breath really, when Violet didn’t react, Gemma lifted her eyebrows and nodded toward the empty chair beside her.

And Violet knew: Gemma was telling her to sit in the open spot.

But why? Violet wondered, even as she backtracked in her own footsteps, trying not to breathe an audible sigh of relief that she wouldn’t be forced to sit next to Grady.

It didn’t matter really. Violet didn’t have the luxury of being choosy; she took the seat wordlessly, not sure what she could say to the other girl.

She frowned as she pulled out her own spiral notebook—a plain one with a flimsy green cover—and dropped her backpack on the floor. She knew how Gemma felt about her.

What was it she’d said exactly,
that Violet reeked of the dead
? Was that how all empaths felt about her? That she carried the scent of death on her wherever she went? She supposed she’d have to wait until she met another empath, someone who could sense the emotions of those around them, to find out. So far, Gemma was the only one she knew.

She glanced sideways at the blonde girl, who was staring straight ahead now, almost as if she were intentionally ignoring Violet. In spite of herself, Violet couldn’t stop from asking, “Why?”

For a moment she thought Gemma wasn’t going to answer her as she continued to look forward at the space where the teacher was already introducing herself and explaining the ins and outs of Anatomy & Physiology. But Violet didn’t believe Gemma was as captivated as she appeared to be by the teacher’s explanation.

Just when she’d decided it was pointless—the other girl wasn’t going to answer her at all—she heard Gemma sigh and say beneath her breath: “Whatever that guy did to you, it must’ve been pretty messed up.” She turned her pointed chin just the scantest amount to appraise Violet’s reaction, and seemed satisfied when Violet’s eyes widened. “I honestly don’t think I could spend an entire semester in the same room with the kind of tension you were feeling. You were making
me
uncomfortable.” She looked forward again, indicating the conversation was over. “And you’re welcome.”