Louder Than Words (Fall For Me) (2 page)

CHAPTER 5

I lead
Mason
over to Blake, who’s at his locker looking through a computer magazine. Or
maybe it’s a game magazine. Whatever it is, he looks very peaceful and happy
and content. Like life is good. Couldn’t be better. Of course he doesn’t see us
coming. Or he’d scream like a girl.
Because Mason is huge.
And scary.
(And okay, gorgeous. But that part wouldn’t
make Blake scream. That part would just make him mad—because Mason is
next to
me and everything
. And Blake is a stalker.)

Without saying a word, Mason grabs
unsuspecting Blake and pounds him in the face—hard.

Blake falls back against his
locker, covering his bloody nose with his hands, his magazine falling to the
ground.

“That’s for the picture,” I snarl
at him.

Both him and Mason look at me questioningly
like, what picture?? Then they both ask it—only sounding completely
different. Blake sounds baffled and terrified. Mason sounds furious and like
Blake is a dead man. He grabs Blake by the collar, looking like he’s going to
kill him.

Blake yelps out, “I don’t know
anything about a picture—I
swear
.
I just took your clothes.”

Mason’s grip on Blake’s collar
tightens, and the veins pop out in his neck like he’s going to rip Blake apart.
“You took her
clothes
?
”

He swings his arm back as though
he’s going to punch the lights out of Blake, but Blake blurts out in a
terrified rush, “As a
joke
, only a
joke. I left her a clown suit in the bathroom.”

Mason narrows his eyes, but he
doesn’t carry through with the punch.
The muscles in his jaw
tick.
He seems intrigued. His voice tight, he threatens, “You better
talk—fast.”

Blake gulps. “I took her clothes
from her locker—while she was at swim practice. But I didn’t take a
picture—or even see her naked, I swear.” He adds quickly, talking a mile
a minute—at least, “I didn’t hang around the locker room, I just left her
the clown suit for her to put on—that’s it. I swear. Go check.”

Mason looks back at me like,
What
do you want? Want me to kill the punk?

I bite my lip, my whole body stiff.
I feel sick. Blake sounds sincere. I actually believe him. What he’s saying is
way more his thing than the picture and threats. More his lame style—a
clown suit to show me he’s nobody’s clown. Well, ha-ha. Anyway, his sorry
attempt
to show that. Only now
he’s groveling and terrified.
With maybe a broken nose.
Poor clown.

“I didn’t take a picture of you,
Summer,” Blake says.

Even in his condition he takes a
small moment to eye my outfit longingly.
Even while his nose
is gushing blood.
He leans his head back against his locker and closes
his eyes with a wince. “I might
threaten
stuff like that. But you
know
I wouldn’t do it…. I was hoping we could get back together.”

Mason’s dark eyes
narrow.
He looks at me again, his brow lowered and his gaze hopeful, as
though hoping for confirmation that he can now continue to beat Blake’s sleazy
face in. But unfortunately, I believe the jerk.

“Let him go,” I tell Mason with a shaky
sigh. I feel nauseous.

Reluctantly, Mason lets Blake
go—but with a violent shove, his dark eyes blazing. “Don’t ever threaten
her again,” he growls, his angry tone scary deep. Pure anger. “Or I swear, I’ll
break every bone in your body.”

Mason’s narrowed eyes cut to me.
Probably sees that I’ve turned white and light-headed. Blood does that to
me—and he knows it.

He grunts, and grabs me, wrapping
his strong arm around my middle. Instantly, he turns completely gentle as he walks
me towards my next class, basically holding me up, since I feel woozy and sick—not
only from the blood, but from my huge, horrible mistake.
I
mean, Blake was gushing blood.
His nose was probably broken … and the
loser didn’t even take the picture!
Groan!

Guilt washing
through me, I stop in my tracks.
Can’t take it. I hate violence. So
much. And I’d brought it on. Caused it.
Asked
for it.

I clutch my stomach. “I feel bad,”
I whisper to
Mason
. “I need to go apologize.”

Mason’s hot hands tighten around
me. He pulls me back to him and keeps making me walk towards my class.

He growls near my ear, tugging me
in tight, “Don’t apologize to him.” His warm breath tickles my neck, though he
has no idea. He goes on, sending heat through me with his rough, dark voice. So
haunting.
And beautiful.
“He shouldn’t have pulled
that crap. Or threatened you.”

His warm hands gently come on
either side of my face, making me look up at him, into his achingly gorgeous
eyes, so tender and full of concern I could cry. “He deserved that punch,
Summer
. Man, he deserves a broken jaw. You should have come
to me sooner.”

My breath hitches from his
glistening stare. The way his dark, intense eyes are so full of anger at Blake,
yet so full of care for me. Trembling, I shake my head.

Though my knees are weak from his
unyielding stare, I shudder.

Like I said, I hate
violence—and I don’t like to use Mason. Not only because being near him
does this—turns me into a trembling puddle, but because he gets into
enough trouble on his own. “No I shouldn’t have,” I whisper. I’m shaking all
over. “I just—I don’t know who’s doing this to me.”

CHAPTER 6

While I’m sitting in first period I
get a text from Blake.
“My nose is probably broken.”

Guilt washes through me again. It’s
annoying. I mean
,
the guy is a menace.
Seriously, cyber-ly a thief—of everything that’s mine.
And private.

I push back my shoulders and stand
my ground.
‘Cause actually, Mason is right.
The guy deserves a broken jaw.

I text back,
“Good. Look, you can’t snoop into
people’s lives. People don’t like that.
I
don’t like that. I
tried
to make it clear to you.”

“You made it clear.”

“Well, you wouldn’t stop.”

When I first gave in and started dating
Blake (my math tutor), I thought he was nice.
Different than
other guys.
Turns out he was just smarter.
But also,
more demented.
(And that’s saying something.)

In the blink of an eye Blake
changes the subject, completely, texting back,
“Who took pictures of you?”

I stiffen and feel my cheeks heat
up, but I don’t bother responding. Since I don’t know. I don’t have the
slightest clue—and if I did, I wouldn’t tell Blake anyway. I want him out
of my life. Completely. So, in a way, it’s good that I finally sicced Mason on
him. I doubt he’s going to do much hacking into my life anymore … ’cause if he
does, it will be more than a broken nose next time. Mason doesn’t fool around.
And now Blake is definitely on his radar. (Believe me, you don’t want to be on
Mason’s radar—well, unless you’re a hot girl … and not worried about
getting your heart ripped to shreds. If you’re hot and don’t mind a broken
heart—well, by all means, get on Mason’s radar. I hear his random
make-out sessions are to die for. And hey, it’s your funeral. Just sayin’.)

I slump in my seat, once again
worried about the threat I got in the locker room.
‘I could send this picture to the whole school.’

Who does that? Who makes threats
like that? But then again—who takes naked pictures of girls? My skin
crawls thinking about it.

Shivers ignite down my spine.
Who saw me naked???

I’m hunched over my desk, clutching
my stomach, feeling
so
nauseous. I
mean, seriously. I might seriously puke. Seriously. While I’m scanning the room
for an emergency trashcan, for just in case
—Sean Evans
gets called on by our teacher to read his poem
. And at first I’m not
listening.
Or interested.
Because
Sean is yet another ex.
And I don’t waste my time giving ex’s much
thought—especially when they are lying, cheating, dirt-bags. (Which most
of them are.) So, I’m more intent on finding a trashcan than I am on Sean or
his stupid poem.

But then suddenly my head jerks up
and I’m at full attention—when I hear the title of his poem.

“I call it,
‘Incredible Summer’
,” he announces around a smug smile.

I blink, a jolt of adrenaline (and
denial) blazing through me.

I try to reason (well, anyway,
hope) it’s only a coincidence. But then I peek at Sean from my dying fetal
position at my desk. He’s smiling all smug at me from across the classroom. But
his
girlfriend
, Sabrina, isn’t
smiling at me. Not even close. Her eyes are narrowed into tiny slits and seem
to be shooting ice daggers at me.

I shrug at her and give her a look
that I hope conveys my apologies and complete bewilderment. (Guys are
dogs!!!!!) Then I give Sean a scathing look that I hope says,
What
the #@*%!!!

Because, holy smokes, who does that
?!!

Sean reads his masterpiece aloud
with a mischievous smile.

The poem is … well, boarding on
erotic. But our teacher doesn’t notice—or get it—because she thinks
Sean is talking about a “smokin’ hot”
season
.
Not a girl.

When he’s done, Mrs. Frisk smiles
at him, like what a bright rainbow he is in our drab little class. “That was
beautiful,” she gushes.

“Yeah.” He winks at me. “Summer
gets me all excited.”

I roll my eyes and squirm in my
seat. I swear
,
I can feel my toes curl—and
lasers shooting at me from Sabrina’s angry eyeballs.

***

“Sorry,” I mumble to Sabrina after
class. “Are you guys in a fight or something?”

“No,” she hisses. “Well, we
weren’t
. We are now.”

Which is a big duh.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, really
not knowing what else to say. She picked up my sleazy ex as soon as I’d broken
up with him. I had warned her against Sean, but the warning had fallen on deaf,
(dumb) thrilled ears. Sabrina had wanted him. Big time. Apparently. Well, she
got him. (Well, sort of.) I guess now she was finally starting to see he was no
prize.

“Guys are dogs,” I tell her.

But she just pushes past me,
muttering, “Whatever.”

So, of course, she’s mad at
me
.
Of course.
Great. See, this is why friends shouldn’t date friend’s
ex’s
.
Okay, well, technically Sabrina isn’t exactly my
“friend.”
But she’s a fellow cheerleader. And well, I had warned
her that Sean is a stalking, cheating, wad. But at the time, she had said all
huffy, “You say that about all your ex’s.” Which may be the truth—maybe I
do. But only because it’s a fact: they are stalking, cheating, wads.

Anyway, Sabrina had ignored me and
fell for Sean’s flirting, though I tried to tell her he was only doing it to
get back at me. Which wasn’t working, by the way—the getting back at me
thing. Not in the slightest.
Until now.
Now he has me
seeing red. Because now I have a huge problem to deal with—I have to work
cheer practices with a jealous co-captain. Wonderful.

This day just keeps getting better
and better.

CHAPTER 7

As I walk into second period a
chill runs down my spine, ‘cause everyone goes silent and I’m getting a lot of
stares—from guys
and
girls. Guys
are looking at me with red faces and dreamy glazed eyes (or sheepish
smirks—but still with red faces). Girls though seem to be glaring at
me—or squinting at me or rolling their eyes about me—like I flirted
with their boyfriends. (Which I’m pretty sure I didn’t. At least not
all
of theirs.)

I’d think it’s just my
outfit—only there’d been way too much whispering going on before I
entered the class, and it’s starting up again now that the shock of seeing me
here (where I come every day at this time) is over—now it’s back to
whisper, whisper, whisper.
Too much for just a semi-scandalous
outfit—one that looks absolutely cute on Zoey.

My stomach is twisting and my palms are sweating buckets.

What’s
going on?

I know
something
is … and I’m not going to like it. It has my heart
pounding and I’m shaking a little ‘cause my body spazzes when it knows
something bad is up. And something is definitely up. And it’s bad.

As I slip into my seat, Zoey rushes
to my class. Which is, you know, another sign of doom. Since her class is way
over on the other side of the school. Yet, here she is, standing at the open doorway.
I raise my eyebrows at her and she gestures for me to come outside with her. Which
is another big uh-oh.

She has a sympathetic-slash-anxious
look on her face. So, yeah, this is so not good.

Still shaking, I trail over to her.
Try to sound like my chest isn’t winding tight. “What’s up?”

She pulls me out of earshot of my
class, over near some lockers.

Then she gives me this big, fake
cheery smile. “You’re rocking my outfit,” she says way overly cheerful.

I smirk. Well, try. “That’s what
you called me out of class for?”

I know it’s not, but friendly
chatter—I guess I need it before she drops the bomb. At least she seems
to think so. She’s probably right.

She gives me another big fake
smile, trying so hard to calm me down (though outwardly I’m a stone). “Yeah,
you look great,” she says, then she adds in a squeaky
trying-to-make-light-of-something-she-knows-is-going-to-kill-me whisper, “…
almost as good as you do naked.”

My eyes pop open and I make this
strangled, choking noise. “What
?!!
”

“Um … ” She plays with the hem of her
sweater instead of meeting my gaze. Then she says it again, “Um …”

Hesitantly—cautiously—she
adds more, “So, um, you haven’t looked at your phone messages?”

Shuddering spasms rip through my
body.
Oh no
.

I narrow my eyes and tilt my head
at her, like a question, though unfortunately I know exactly what she’s talking
about. Know it with a cold, hard certainty. I just want to be wrong.
So bad.
I swear, I can hardly breathe. “I haven’t checked it
in the last five minutes.”

“Then don’t,” she says, grabbing my
phone from me. Well, trying. But I keep it away from her. (Zoey’s tiny.)

She makes this sympathetic noise,
like her heart is breaking for me. “Let’s go out for donuts. My treat.”

“Right now?”

She nods, staring into my eyes,
looking so worried for me.
And concerned.
I could hug
her.

It’s good to have a best friend.
Especially times like this.
When apparently the whole school
has semi-seen you naked on their cell phone.

“I’ll survive,” I tell her. “You
have that math test, right?”

She shrugs. “I could miss it.”

“Really.” She shrugs again, like
she’s trying to convince me it’s no big deal. “It’ll give me more time to
study. I mean, I could totally study at the donut shop, right?” (Fake)
excitement bubbles up inside her as she adds, “—or the mall.”

She gives me a coaxing smile, her
eyes flashing bright. “We could get
chocolate
at the mall—and new shoes.”

I waver. Yeah … I could definitely go
for the comfort of new shoes right about now. And chocolate.
Lots
of chocolate.

But Zoey’s been studying like crazy
for that test. And I’m not really so sure she can just make it up. Some
teachers are understanding about things … but some aren’t. Especially when it
comes to things like steamy pictures on cell phones. (And I don’t exactly want
teachers to know. I mean, of course I don’t want
anyone
to know.
Of course.
But teachers??
SHUDDER
.)

I sigh and squeeze my eyes shut. “Don’t
worry about it, Zoey. Naked is my best outfit.”

Look, what else can I say? The
damage is already done. Apparently the picture was sent—to the whole
school.

I gulp as that realization sinks further
in. I mean
,
I was getting way too much attention just
from the mini-skirt and boots. Now it’s going to be like—like … well,
like I’m naked on guy’s phones.

I shudder.

Zoey gives me a hug. “Let me know if
it gets too much and you want to bail.”

I nod, still in her hug, wishing
she could come to class with me. I do better with my best friend around. I’m
stronger.

I give her a friendly little shove towards
her class. “Get to class, young lady,” I mockingly scold. “Go take your test.
Don’t let the silly little excuse of dirty pictures floating around keep you
from acing it.”

“
’kay
,”
she says.

“Good luck,” I tell her.

She turns back to me. “You too.”
She gives me a sad but admiring smile.

Then she heads to her class and I
suck in my breath.

This day sucks.
So
bad.