Ex-Factor (Diamond Girls) (3 page)

“Nice catch,” I whispered, and widened my eyes in appreciation. “Oh, and thanks for filling me in. I don’t know anyone here aside from my cousin, Olivia Brown, so you’ve been a huge help.”

Erin narrowed her eyes as she carefully registered my words. “Brown… Brown… Olivia Brown?” Then, suddenly, as if she’d been floundering about in the dark and someone had just turned a light on, her eyes widened with mixture of surprise and excitement. “Livvie B! Oh my God!” She whacked me on the shoulder and bounced quietly in her seat as I rubbed at the now tender flesh. Girlfriend hit like a dude, hard and fast.

“You’re the cousin Livvie’s been bragging about down at the gym for the past couple of weeks.” She clamped onto my upper arm with what felt like a pair of iron claws and squeezed, then clapped her hands together and stifled a squeal.

Clueless as to what had her so excited, I sat quietly and waited for her to calm down. It was apparent she wore her emotions on her sleeve, and I knew right away she was a straight shooter. This girl couldn’t lie to save her life. The truth would always show on her face.

She hooked a finger toward me and leaned in close again. “I cheer with Livvie on the Diamond team. She’s been talking you up, telling everyone what a great tumbler you are. Are you excited about your tryout tonight?”

My stomach fell as soon as the words “excited” and “tryout” fell out of her mouth. I was most certainly not excited. In fact, if I were being honest, I was dreading it. I’d lain awake most of the night, worrying the girls at the gym wouldn’t like or accept me, and terrified I wouldn’t be able to meet the coach’s expectations. X-Factor Cheer was looking for a ringer for their level five squad, an ace in the hole, someone with amazing acrobatic skills to “wow” the competition judges and audience.

Someone emphatically
not
me.

Erin narrowed her eyes. “Um, Nev? Are you okay?”

I cringed inwardly.
Swept away in a mental pity party for one, I’d checked out, got lost in my own head, and left her question hanging in midair, unanswered.

I swept my hair behind my ear and slapped on a plastic smile. “What? Oh, yes. I’m fine. Sorry. Just a little overwhelmed with everything. Um, yeah, I’m totally excited about tonight,” I lied. It wouldn’t do me any good to give my happy new friend even a quick peek into the darkness gnawing at my heart and mind. If I wanted to make friends in this new town, and I did, I’d have to suck it up and pretend to be somewhat happy. Even when I wasn’t.

“Ah, Mr. Scott!” My gaze automatically swept to the front of the classroom; Keltar’s loud, obnoxious voice was almost impossible to ignore. “So good of you to grace us with your presence today. I trust you’ve learned something during your time away from school? Violence is never the answer, young man.” Frowning, the surly Santa wannabe begrudgingly swept a pink slip of paper from a tall, muscular boy dressed in dark clothing.

My heart jumped a little in my chest as I surveyed the colossal mass of male student at the front of the class. What the hell were the people of Indigo Falls feeding their sons? Some type of über growth hormone? Over half the guys in the school looked as though they belonged on the cover of a weightlifting magazine—chiseled, as if cut from granite. And what was that about violence, and time away from school? Had he gotten into a fight? From his size, he looked like someone who could deliver massive amounts of pain with ease.

The new guy stood in complete silence as Keltar continued on, delivering the same tired speech he’d given me upon entering the room. The same nervous feeling that had plagued me when I entered the school just a short time ago returned with a vengeance, and I caught myself struggling to breathe.
What the hell?
The new guy, whoever he was, had a bizarre effect on me, and to be honest, it was freaking me out a little. I mean, hell, I hadn’t even seen his face, and I had butterflies whirling in my stomach. How was that possible? What kind of person had that type of effect on people?

He turned around then, and the answers to my unspoken questions all but slapped me upside the face.
Holy Mary, Mother of Pearl.

If boys were classified into two shades, light and dark, my Paper Thief, Eli, would hover somewhere in the realm of ivory or beige. But this new guy was dark. We’re talking black down to the very pit of his soul type dark.

Ebony eyes void of emotion swept over the room before finally settling on his seat, the empty chair next to Erin. Short, dark hair hugged his skull, bringing attention to the chiseled line of his jaw. His features were strong, hard, and beautifully masculine. No joke, he looked like an avenging angel hell-bent on mayhem and destruction. Bad. The boy was bad to the bone.

Heat scorched my neck and cheeks, and my pulse ratcheted up another notch.

Electricity arced through the air as he neared the table, and the oxygen in the room seemed to thin even more. Incapable of speech or movement, I sat open-mouthed, gaping at him like an imbecilic fool. The black T-shirt he wore stretched across his broad chest like a second skin and revealed a set of arms, one of which sported a wicked tribal tattoo. His gait was confident, yet lazy, and clearly shouted “I don’t give a fuck. I’m only here because I have to be, so stay the hell out of my way.”

Erin cleared her throat and cast me a knowing “Well, well, well. Look who thinks the bad boy is hot” smirk.

The boy’s most standout feature was a jagged scar which ran from the center of his skull down along the top of his left ear. It ended just below the left half of his jaw. The skin was thick, raised, and silvery pink, making it obvious that whatever trauma had placed it there hadn’t happened that long ago.

Heat scored the base of my skull, and I reached, as if on autopilot, for the fat, rigid bump that crawled across my hairline. How had he gotten his scar? A hundred different scenarios played out in my head, none of which included the circumstance that had earned me mine. Motorcycle accident? Knife fight? A drug deal gone bad? The possibilities were as endless as my imagination.

Erin shook her head, the movement small, almost imperceptible, as if she were trying to be sly. She leaned over again and whispered into my ear. “That’s Bodie Scott. He’s gorgeous, I know, but he’s been through a lot and has some serious anger management issues. He got suspended for fighting with one of the guys on the lacrosse team two weeks ago.” Her eyes grew dark. “He beat him pretty bad. Sent him to the hospital for stitches.”

I sat back in my seat, head swimming with thoughts of Bodie and heart still pounding in spite of all that Erin told me.
Bad news. Anger management issues.
Given the evil eye darts he’d shot at me, and his general aura of “mess with me and I’ll kill you,” I’d say Erin was right on the money with her assessment of him. Thing was, people usually had a reason for lashing out with unhappiness and rage. I ought to know. I bit my lip, wondering what it was that had made Bodie Scott so angry with the world.

Mouth dry, I focused on Keltar, who was spouting off high-speed directions on how to bake a Dutch Apple pie.
Crap. I hate apple pie.
Actually, that wasn’t true. I loved apple pie. But it was my mom’s favorite, and well, I just couldn’t bring myself to eat it anymore.
God.
I missed my mom so much it physically hurt to think about her.

I frowned. Today’s lesson was sure to be a lot of fun.

Keltar finished his speech and the students simultaneously stood from their seats and meandered over to their respective cooking stations. Like a sheep, I wandered over to the food prep area along with everyone else and did my best to stay out of the way while the rest of my table went about their business. I didn’t know where everything was yet, and if I could somehow manage to weasel my way out of making my mother’s favorite dessert, I was all for it. School sucked bad enough on its own without dredging up painful reminders of a life that was no more.

Tingling heat lit up the side of my face as I hugged the left hand side of the counter. My pulse raced and my hands began to sweat. While Eli was hot as hell and I’d enjoyed flirting with him, he hadn’t elicited the type of feeling currently pulsating through my veins. Nope. In the past two years, there had only been one person that sparked such a strong attraction in me: the dark, tatted-up angel who’d waltzed into class late.

The warm, squirrely sensation festering in my gut grew stronger with each second that passed. Despite my best efforts to ignore it, and him, I finally gave in and looked over my shoulder. I was immediately sorry I’d done so.

Jet eyes filled with what appeared to be a heavy amount of disgust regarded me coolly. I frowned and glanced down at my feet, insecurity smothering me like a thick blanket. Why was he mean mugging me? I didn’t know him. He didn’t know me. Why was he so pissed?

I took a chance and dared another peek in his direction. I was shocked to find him glaring at me still, his expression angrier, if that were even possible.

He crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow. “Seriously? You’re just gonna stand there and look pretty the entire period? How ‘bout you at least move out of the way so the rest of us can get what we need?”

I blanched, unable to speak, let alone move. In another circumstance, I’d feel giddy about his reference to my being “pretty,” but as it stood, I felt sick. Clearly irritated, a healthy dose of sarcasm coated his deep voice. Why were there never any holes around when you needed them? I was ready to crawl into one and assume the fetal position.

“Back off, asshat,” Erin snapped. She brushed past me, opened the cupboard I’d been standing in front of, and pulled out a stack of aprons. With a huff, she snatched an aging, blue apron from the top of the pile and flung it at my handsome hater, the soft cotton fabric hitting him in the face. “She’s new and doesn’t know where everything is yet.”

He didn’t say anything else, just scowled for what I assumed he felt was good measure before pulling a ball of pastry dough out of the small refrigerator below.

“Ignore him,” Erin said, as she handed me an apron. “Bodie Scott is a douche with a bad temper, and totally not worth your time.”

I mashed my lips together and gave her a nod, doing my best to ignore the pang of hurt whirling in my chest, and the odd tingling sensation skimming across my flesh. My short time at Grant High thus far had been anything but great. I’d been heckled by a group of Victoria’s Secret Angel wannabes. I’d flirted with a hot guy who turned out to be dating the one person who’d tried to befriend me. For reasons unknown to me, I’d pissed off the only other guy I’d come across in ages who’d had any sort of impact on me. If the morning’s events were any indicator of how the rest of my day would be, I was screwed.

Chapter Three

Status update:
FML! Is it over yet?

Second and third period were both a hazy blur of information, Algebra Two and Chemistry being my least favorite and most difficult subjects. I could write a ten-page essay with ease and memorize historical dates like nobody’s business, but throw some random letters into a math equation, or ask me to play with a Bunsen burner and I fell apart. Couple that with the general anxiety I felt when taking a test and you had the makings of an epic academic failure.

My aunt Trish argued I’d be fine. She was a math whiz and insisted she’d get me through both classes. I didn’t share her confidence in the matter, but far be it from me to burst her charitable bubble.

As embarrassed as I was about carrying around Livvie’s color-coded map, I found it invaluable when navigating my way through the never-ending halls of Grant High. It was by the grace of God alone that I made it to my fourth period class, US History with Mr. Cartwright, who, according to Livvie, was the coolest teacher in the school.

I stumbled into the classroom with moments to spare and high-tailed it to the back of the room, taking a seat in the far left corner. Several of the students milling into the room looked familiar, but I couldn’t remember any of their names, and knew I’d end up struggling for a while to match them up. I was great with faces; names, not so much.

The somewhat peaceful reprieve I’d enjoyed during my second and third period classes ended abruptly when Bodie Scott strode into the classroom seconds before the bell rang. His mood apparently hadn’t changed much in the short time since I’d seen him. He wore the same scowl he had earlier. A scowl that deepened when he locked eyes with me.

Dammit. What is it with this guy? What the hell is his problem?

Along with Bodie, I’d apparently done something to piss off the cosmos in general because he proceeded to book it down the narrow aisle toward me and planted his angry ass one seat up, kitty corner from my desk.

FML…

Much like the first time I’d seen him, my pulse raced, my mouth dried, and my hands felt sticky, as though I’d eaten something sugary then licked my palms. I was a right wretched mess, and I didn’t like it one bit. This guy had been a real shit to me earlier, but for whatever reason, my body didn’t seem to care. My hormones were raging, my stomach was a mess, and I had an odd tingling sensation ghosting over ninety percent of my body.

So. Not. Cool.

I didn’t have time to stew over my uncomfortable plight, thank goodness. Mr. Cartwright blew into the classroom like a powerful storm, barking orders a mile a minute.

“Good morning, class. Please open your textbooks to page two hundred thirteen. Today marks the start of our journey inside the mind of Richard Nixon.”

Younger than Keltar by about forty years and weighing in at about one hundred pounds less, Cartwright sported a head of thick, wavy brown hair. His masculine, good-natured face was topped off with a set of piercing blue eyes and a goatee. He wore a button down and khakis, much like the rest of the teaching staff at Grant High, the difference being Mr. Cartwright did his shopping at Abercrombie and not the local Big & Tall.

If I could somehow manage to ignore the brooding and ever-scowling teenager to my right, I knew I’d enjoy the class. I enjoyed US History, and Cartwright looked like he might be a fun teacher.