Reign or Shine

Reign or Shine (Demon Princess #1)

Michelle Rowen

A cknowledgments

Thank you to Stacy Cantor, editorial princess, whose magic red pen royal y helped this book.

Thanks to al of my friends, online and off, for your support and continued encouragement of my writing. You al rock! To Jim McCarthy, my prince of an agent

"That guy is staring at you."

I glanced over at the far right corner of the cafeteria and groaned. Melinda was right. In fact, I knew the tal , dark-haired guy in the faded Van Halen T-shirt

and navy blue hooded sweatshirt had been staring at me for about ten minutes and I was relieved someone else had noticed.

"Who is he?" I asked. "I don't recognize him from around here."

"No idea. Some loser."

"Just ignore him," I suggested.

She grinned at me before taking a sip from her bottle of Evian, the sum total of her Wednesday lunch. "Maybe he wants to ask you to Winter Formal."

I made a face. "No, thank you."

"Wel , he's going to be too late." Her grin widened. "Because I know who
is
going to ask you." I blinked. "Who?"

She shrugged. "Can't tel . It's a secret. But not for long." Great. A secret. I felt my blood pressure shoot up about fifty points right then, wondering who she

was talking about.

2

Melinda looked way too proud of herself. She couldn't possibly know how much stress she was causing me with her cryptic statements. She didn't have any comprehension of what a loser I'd been before transferring to Erin Heights High School two months ago--not that I felt al that much different now.

Though I'd seriously lucked out when I'd become friends with her.

Not only did my mom move us three thousand miles away from our old home in San Diego, but she'd moved us right out of the
country.
We were now

settled in the smal town of Erin Heights, which was about thirty minutes west of Toronto, in Canada, nestled right next to Lake Ontario. Mom had been born in the area so she was excited to be back. Me? Not so much.

And it was cold here. Like,
cold.
I knew it was only like this during the winter months, but unfortunately, being that it was the seventh of December, one day after my not-so-sweet sixteenth birthday, we stil had a whole lot of winter left to shovel our way through. Snow should be for skiing over on vacation, not for

trudging through in less-than-adequate shoes on your way to school. That was my opinion, anyway.

I hadn't been in a very good mood when we arrived in October. In fact, "miserable" probably would have best described me. I had to start school while the semester was already in progress--the absolute kiss of death for someone trying to fit in.

Mom got married to Robert, a Canadian accountant she met on a singles cruise, and we moved up here right 3

after the honeymoon. I probably should be used to this kind of thing by now, though. My mother's been married
four
times, and I've had to start at a different school each and every time. Since I'd never had much of a chance to settle in and get to know people who already had established cliques and

friendships, I was usual y out of luck.

Nikki Donovan:
outcast.
Welcome to my life. The first day I moseyed into Erin Heights High I was expecting exile. Up until lunchtime my first day, it was exactly that. I was ignored. I got some curious

stares, a few unfriendly glares, but nothing too major.

I ate my oh-so-gourmet peanut-butter sandwich alone and seriously considered dwel ing eternal y in my morbid unhappiness for lack of anything better to

do.

But then Melinda James and her entourage entered the room and sat down in the very center of the cavernous cafeteria. I had overheard a couple of

classmates referring to them as the "Royal Party," and at first glance I could tel that Melinda was the queen. Pretty, blonde, stuck-up, and wealthy--a total high school cliche. Or at least that was my first impression of her.

The reason that we were best friends two months later was quite simple.

Five minutes after she walked into the cafeteria that day she nearly choked to death on a honey-mustard pretzel.

I was clued in that something was wrong when everyone around her started to freak out and I turned, curious to see what was happening.

Melinda had her hands around her throat and she was

4

making odd little noises. Everyone thinks that when you choke on something you cough, but when you're choking, no air is getting down your throat so,

actual y, no coughing. Her face was quickly turning blue. Her perfectly smooth long hair was messy from tossing her head back and forth. Her model-pretty face wore an expression of terror. And everyone in her general vicinity had taken one rather large step away from her.

No one knew how to save her. No one was even wil ing to try.

Wel , except for me. Thanks to being forced by my mother to take a CPR class the previous summer, I knew the Heimlich maneuver. When I approached,

Melinda stared up at me with wide, watery eyes. Her lips had quickly developed a distinctive purple tinge.

Without saying anything first--it wasn't exactly the time for friendly introductions--I grabbed her designer shirt, spun her around, and tried my best not to

break any of her ribs. The offending piece of honey-mustard pretzel flew out of her mouth and hit a guy named George Rodriguez, who I'd later learn was

the president of the chess team, squarely in the forehead.

George wasn't too thril ed about the situation. But Melinda was grateful.
Very
grateful.

"You are my guardian angel," she said very seriously, with her hand against her throat. "Uh . . . who are you?"

"I'm Nikki," I said nervously. "Nikki Donovan."

"You saved my life."

"It's no big deal."

5

"It
is
a big deal. Huge." She took a drink of water with shaking hands. "You're new here?" "Brand new. This is my first day."

"So you don't know anybody yet. You were over there eating alone, right?" I looked down the table of Royal Party members--the most popular kids at school--al staring at me as though I'd done something miraculous. I real y hated being the center of attention. "I haven't met too many people yet. No."

"Then consider yourself my new best friend," she said. "For a week. I can introduce you to everybody and help you fit in here. And you can sit at this table

at lunch. Does that sound okay?"

I shook my head. My mouth felt dry. "Forget it. It's real y not necessary."

Her eyes widened a little, possibly with surprise that I hadn't jumped on her offer right away. "Come on. One week. You
have
to say yes."

I
had
to?

I chewed my bottom lip as I considered my options. Basical y, be alone and try valiantly to make friends with people who already had established cliques that year, or take Melinda up on her one-week offer of friendship and try to make the best of it.

"Okay," I final y agreed, careful not to get my hopes up too much that it would lead to a real friendship.

The other members of the Royal Party mostly ignored me or kept their distance, which was fine by me because they were kind of intimidating. But the

more I hung out

6

with Melinda as the days went by, the more I realized that she wasn't al that scary. Since I had a real y hard time faking being nice--I wasn't much of an

actress, I guess--I just behaved like myself. Warts and al .

I don't
actually
have any warts. It's just a saying.

After the week was over, I assumed that was it--I'd be on my own again. But Melinda kept chatting with me by the lockers after school like nothing had changed.

"Isn't my week up.7" I asked her plainly.

She looked at me with confusion for a moment. "Your week?"

"My al otted week to hang out with you."

Slow realization came over her face. "Oh. You mean you don't want to be my friend anymore?"

Now I was the confused one. "You said I could spend time with you for a week. The week's over."

She waved a hand. "That was just the screening process. I wasn't sure if you would try to use me or not."

I blinked. "Do a lot of people use you?"

"You'd be surprised." She shrugged. "I only realized it recently--it became, like, crystal clear to me--that at least half my so-cal ed friends aren't real y my

friends. They usual y try to use me for what they think I can get them-- popularity, hot guys, you name it. So they flock. Therefore, my friendship screening process recently came into effect."

"And I passed?"

"With flying colors." She grinned. "So, can we be friends? For real?"

7

I could have been wrong, but I swear I saw a glimmer of doubt in her eyes, as if she half-expected me to say no. Melinda James--the queen of the Royal

Party--scared I wouldn't want to be her friend?

I hadn't even thought it was possible, but at that moment I could admit to myself that, yeah, I did want to be Melinda's friend. I'd realized over the week that we had a lot in common. I mean, she was perfect and I was far from it. But we liked the same movies, television shows, books. We'd talked for hours one

night about absolutely nothing. I felt comfortable with her.

"Friends," I agreed with a smile. "For real."

And that was that.

Suddenly I had a chance to fit in somewhere and be accepted after sixteen years of being a big nobody. I hadn't asked for it, but being friends with Melinda was like winning the social-life lottery.

Which apparently included being stared at by a real y strange guy with shoulder-length dark hair that hid his face so I couldn't even see what he looked

like.

He was starting to seriously creep me out.

Melinda eyed me. "He's bothering you, isn't he?"

"Forget it."

But she didn't forget it. She stood up instead, and everyone along the cafeteria table stopped eating and talking long enough to turn and look at her.

"Hey, loser!" she shouted in the guy's general direction. "Why don't you take a picture of her? It'l last longer."

8

I felt my cheeks heat up. "Melinda--" I pul ed at her arm, then glanced over to see the guy shove his hands in the pockets of his jeans and walk out of the

cafeteria.

She smiled. "See? You just have to be more confrontational."

"If you say so." I glanced back at the entrance and this time my breath caught in my chest because at that very moment, Chris Sanders walked in.

Picture: hot, gorgeous, fabulous, wonderful, and popular. Dark blond hair, blue gray eyes like the ocean on a stormy day, broad shoulders, and a kil er

smile. A whole year older than me. Total perfection.

That was Chris.

He was my major crush since I'd started at Erin Heights, and since he was also a member of the Royal Party, I'd had the chance to talk to him a few times. Every time I'd tried very hard to hold back the drool.

"Here he comes." Melinda grabbed my hand. "Just try to stay calm."

My eyes widened and I turned to look at her. "He's not the one you were talking about, is he?" She gave that noncommittal shrug. "Maybe."

"And did you have anything to do with this?"

"I might have helped a little bit." She grinned. "I figure you've been here two months. It's about time for you to start dating somebody worthy of your new

social status. Besides, it's only two days til the dance and you stil haven't accepted anyone else's invitation."

No, I hadn't. A couple of guys had asked me, but I

9

wasn't interested in any of them. I'd planned on skipping the dance altogether.

Chris Sanders was going to ask me to Winter Formal? Me?

If that was the case then I'd seriously have to reconsider my decision.

I inhaled so sharply that I almost had a coughing fit. Luckily, I didn't. That wouldn't have made a very good impression on the hottest guy in school, who was getting closer to me with every step he took.

I forced myself to be cool. It was a struggle.

"Hey, Nikki," he said as he approached the table.

"Hey," I squeaked as if I'd been chewing on a helium sandwich.

His gaze flicked to the very amused Melinda and then back to me. "Can I talk to you?" "Uh-huh." Another squeak.

His dazzling smile widened. "Let's go out in the hal . If that's okay."

"Sure." I slid out from behind the table and fol owed him to the hal way, right next to a long bank of lockers that I leaned against to give the il usion of casual confidence. I wished Melinda had given me some kind of warning so I could have worn something nicer than black jeans and my old blue cable

knit sweater. At least my ankle boots had heels. Since Chris was tal --and I wasn't--it helped a bit.

"I want to ask you something," he began. "I know this is last minute, but I'd real y like you to go to Winter Formal with me. If you want to."

10

And there it was.