Witches & Werewolves: A Sacred Oath (7 page)

I have no idea if Jake even has insurance for the rust bucket. My guess would be that he doesn’t. I mean, it was practically scrap metal before the accident, so the wreck might actually be an improvement.
 

I climb up the steps to the trailer when something catches my eye. Near the tree line, I see movement. A shadowy form darts between the trees, too dark to see. My eyes stare intensely, attempting to discern the figure. Emerging through the blackness, two red eyes stare back at me.
 

CHAPTER 9

IF I WOULD have known school was going to be like this today, I would have stayed home. First, Jen wants to know every conceivable detail of the events, which I’d honestly rather not relive. Every time I describe what Ethan did, she replies “Oh my God, that’s so hot.”

Okay, yes, upon reflection, it’s hot. He’s hot. Who doesn’t want to be rescued by the man of their dreams? But I almost died, so I wasn’t really focused on taking the opportunity to flirt. And I certainly didn’t have a near death experience just for attention. To hear Jen talk, it’s like we should have dropped to the ground and done it on the side of the road, right then and there. Jen clearly lives in a fantasy world.
 

To the rest of the school, I’m like some kind of instant celebrity. I can’t take a step in the hallway without being accosted by someone wanting the scoop, or telling me what a miracle it is that I survived. People I’ve never met tell me how thankful they are that I’m still here. One girl actually wanted my autograph. Another was convinced that the shear fact that I’m still breathing is proof that supernatural forces are at work. All morning, people have been coming up to me wanting to touch me, like I’m some kind of religious artifact. I’m contemplating charging—at least I could start saving money for a new car. A new, used car.

Of course there is always that one person that has to be a jackass. Abigail Monroe just has to let me know that the reason I got in that accident and flipped over the cliff was because I am clearly a sinner. Her smug, condescending tone makes me furious, but I contain myself and just smile back at her. I’m reasonably certain that I’ve committed no sin worthy of such retribution.
 

By Abigail’s logic, there would be no need for the criminal justice system, as karma would take care of it. Bad things happen to good people all the time. And bad people seem to get away with evil a lot more often than they should. It just seems to be the way of the world.
 

I feel the tears well up in my eyes, and I fight them back. My thoughts drift instantly to my parents. They did nothing to deserve their fate. Abigail’s snide judgement gnaws at me. And it takes every thing inside of me to hold back from punching her in the jaw—or more realistically, beating her with my crutches.

Thankfully, Lucas shows up, putting a hand on my arm, as if sensing the impending doom I’m about to unleash on
little miss snooty pants
. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Abigail?” he says.

Abigail huffs. “Away from you!” she says, storming off.

“I’m Lucas, we met at the bonfire,” he says with a comforting smile.

“I remember.”

“Don’t pay any attention to her.”

“I’m not,” I say, wiping my eyes.
 

“Although, I’d have thoroughly enjoyed seeing you lay a right cross on her. That would have shut her up,” says Lucas.
 

“Was I that obvious?”

“You’re pretty easy to read.”

“Oh, am I?”

“I don’t mean that in a bad way. You just seem… genuine. I’m guessing people always know where they stand with you.”

“If I’m so easy to read, what am I thinking right now?” I ask.

“You’re wondering if I’ll be able to guess what your thinking?”

I huff and roll my eyes. “That doesn’t count.”

“Pick one thing and think about it. And don’t think about shoes, shopping, or cupcakes. That’s way too easy.”

“Cupcakes? Are you saying I’m fat?”

“No, no, not at all. I was just saying… Doesn’t everyone like cupcakes?”

“Look at you squirm,” I say, reveling in the fact I’ve made him uncomfortable. “It’s okay, I’m just messing with you.”

“I knew that,” he says.

“Of course you did, you can read minds,” I say, with a healthy dose of sarcasm.
 

“Well, I can’t read minds that are constantly changing.”

“It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“A likely story,” I say.

We grin at each other, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think we were almost flirting. Almost. Lucas seems kind and gentle, and I guess Jen was right—he is kind of cute. But, he’s definitely not my type.
 

“Not your type, huh?” he asks.

My face flushes and I know my cheeks are turning beet red. My heart flutters, and I feel my chest sweat. Was I thinking out loud? Certainly I’m not that much of a moron to actually verbalize my inner monologue? Am I?

“Excuse me?” I say, hoping I’ve misheard him.

“I figure, I’m not your type. Right? You probably go for the star quarterback kind of guy?”

“Don’t presume to know what type of guy I would, or wouldn’t go for,” I say with a raised eyebrow. He is about to see a sassy side of me.

“No, I’m just saying, that’s good, because you’re not really my type either.”

I raise both eyebrows now, and I can only imagine the look on my face.
 

“But that’s a good thing, because it means we can be friends without having to worry about all this other stuff,” he explains.
 

I play dumb. “Other stuff?”

“You know, the whole ‘sexual attraction’ thing.”

“I am not sexually attracted to you,” I say.

“See, it’s perfect. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
 

Lucas drifts away, heading to class.

“What?” I stammer.
 

“Eight. To get dinner,” he says.

“No!”

“What,” he says, innocently. Lucas points back and forth between us. “Friends. Friends eat dinner together. Eight. No sexy stuff.”
 

With that, he disappears into the crowd.
 

I stand there, slack jawed, wondering what just happened? Did he just con me into a date?
 
Certainly not. This is absolutely, positively not a date. Right?

I’m standing in the hallway looking like a deer caught in the headlights. I'm trying to piece together how, exactly, I got myself into this non-date when I glance over to see Ethan glaring at me.

 
I’m mortified.

 
Has he been there the whole time? How much of our conversation did he hear? I feel like I want to explain to him that this is just a
friend
thing. But why should I have to explain anything to him? I don’t owe him anything—except my life.

 
The bell rings, and I’m late for class. Because of my newfound celebrity, near-death experience, and broken leg, Mr. Jenkins decides to take pity on me. Graciously, he doesn't slap me with a detention for hobbling into class a few seconds late. However, his leniency doesn’t last long. Jen’s incessant prying for information about my encounter with Lucas saddles us both with a detention.

 
After Jenkins’s class, I’m still agonizing about what to do. I want to call this whole thing off with Lucas, but I can’t seem to find him anywhere on campus. Jen won’t give me his number to call and cancel. Of course, she plays dumb and acts like she doesn’t have it—maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t? I don’t know why I keep freaking out about it. It’s not a big deal. It’s just two people going to eat. We all have to eat, right?

CHAPTER 10

BY THE TIME I get to chemistry class, I’m in a panic. Why do I feel guilty about going on a non-date with Lucas? There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Ethan. Other than the obvious. I’m exhibiting all the telltale signs of lunacy—my heart races, my stomach turns in knots, and I break out in a sweat whenever I see him. Not to mention the fact that I’m constantly thinking about him, even though I try not to. No, I’m not into him at all.
 

 
I take my seat next to Ethan and cringe in anticipation of the awkward conversation we will have about Lucas. “Hi,” I say, trying to break the tension.
 

“Hi,” Ethan says, smiling back.
 

“I never really got to thank you.”

“For?” Ethan asks.

I give him an incredulous look, “Oh, I don’t know.”
 

“Oh, that,” he grins. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Mr. Storm, do you have something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?” Mr. Fischer barks.

The entire class stares at us. “No, sir,” Ethan says.

Ethan never says another word for the rest of the period, though I’m sure he has to notice me shift and squirm in my seat for the entire hour. The minute the bell rings, he darts out before I can say anything. I’m more frustrated and anxious now than before class began.

After school, I meet Jen in the parking lot, and again I see Olivia going off on Ethan. Fire in her eyes, like she’s about to pounce. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but as soon as she catches a glimpse of me, rage washes over her face. From across the parking lot, I can see the veins popping out in her forehead and neck. I am clearly the subject of her anger. What is her problem with me?

“Bitch has some wicked PMS,” Jen says, as she slips into her car.

I watch Ethan try to calm her down, to no avail. Olivia looks as though she’s about to march straight toward me, but Ethan gets in her way. Every time he puts a hand on her shoulder to settle her, she flails it off. I think this is my cue to leave. I slip into Jen’s car. “Drive. Fast!” I say.

I don’t have to tell Jen twice. She drops the car into gear, slamming her foot on the gas. Tires spit gravel as we rocket through the parking lot, weaving in and out of students plodding to their cars.
 

“Okay, maybe not quite this fast,” I say, white knuckling the hand grip.

“I don’t think we’re driving fast enough. One thing you don’t want is Olivia storm pissed off at you,” Jen admonishes.

“Whoops.”

“I told you to stay away from Ethan.”

“You’ve been rambling on all day about how hot you think he is,” I say.

 
“Just because he’s hot doesn’t mean he’s good for you. It’s kind of like cherry chocolate—it tastes divine, but it goes straight to your thighs.”

 
“And Ethan going straight to my thighs is a bad thing?”

Jen raises an eyebrow, “Damn! One near-death experience and you become a ho.” She grins.

“I am not a ho.”

“Well, you got two boyfriends,” Jen smirks.

“I do not have two boyfriends.”
 

“But you could,” Jen says with a wry tone.

I roll my eyes.
 

We swing by the middle school to pickup Noah. It’s starting to drizzle again, and Noah waits under the awning. He dashes to the car as we pull up, hopping in the back seat. I ask how his day went. He gives me the obligatory thumbs up while he listens to his headphones. I could probably say anything and he would just nod and smile, not hearing a word of it. “You’re not listening to that too loud, are you?”

Noah shakes his head.

“Don’t want to go deaf, do you?” I say.

He shakes his head again.

“Give the kid a break, don’t act like his mother,” Jen says, cutting herself short as she realizes what she said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” I say, as a tear wells in my eye, spilling down across my cheek. I quickly wipe it away. I don’t want Noah to see.
 

“I’m a complete, tactless moron,” Jen sighs, deflated. We all sit in silence for a very uncomfortable moment.
 

“Ice cream. I want ice cream. You want ice cream?” I ask.
 

Jen and Noah nod in unison.
 

There’s nothing like chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream when you’re a bit down. Pure bliss. Cool, creamy scoops of heaven dancing across your palate. And for those few, fleeting moments, everything is right with the world. That is, until the last bite goes down and buyer’s remorse sets in. And you are left with only the calories and the fat. Then you start calculating just how much effort it’s going to take to burn it all off.
 

Of course Noah has none of these concerns as he heads to the counter to order another serving. I don’t know if stopping at
Screaming Scoops
on they way home was a good idea or not. Their claim to fame is 99 flavors, and I’m certain that Noah intends to try every one. I’m going to have to put the hammer down at some point, but for right now, we’re all happy, and Noah has a smile on his face. And that’s something I haven’t seen a lot of.
 

It’s still raining when we hit the highway, and we plow through the evergreens, winding our way up the mountain to uncle Jake’s. “Could you keep it at a reasonable speed?” I mumble.