Untouchable (Untouchables, 1)

Definitely not going to approach him when he has an audience to perform in front of. I might be curious about Carter, but I’m still sensible enough to be wary of him. Whatever he’s like with me when we’re alone, I know he won’t be the same person in front of them, and I have no interest whatsoever in their Carter.

Since I caught his attention on the way in the building today, after history class, Carter falls into step beside me as I’m leaving.

“Missed you at the game,” he remarks, like we’ve lost no time.

Glancing over at him as I hug my books against my chest, I remind him, “I told you I wouldn’t be there.”

He shrugs casually. “Could have changed your mind.”

“No offense, but I honestly could not care less about football. I know that’s a sacrilege in this town, but it’s not my thing.”

“Your friend Grace was there,” he states.

I didn’t even think he knew Grace’s name, and the way he says that, like he knows it will unsettle me… well, it does unsettle me. It sends chills of caution dancing across the nape of my neck.

He probably wants a reaction, so I don’t give him one. “I don’t go everywhere my friends go; I’m not you.”

His tone is amused, and as he speaks, he reaches his arm out and drapes it around my shoulder. “Yeah, you have a mind of your own, don’t you, princess?”

It shouldn’t be an accusation, but I know it keeps me from fitting in with my peers, even some family members, so it feels a little like one. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

“I like that,” he tells me casually enough, but it feels real. “I like smart girls who navigate their own paths instead of following everyone else’s. You strike me as that sort of girl.”

Excitement shouldn’t jump within me, but he just gave me a free puzzle piece, and I grab it up with greedy hands. “Yeah?” I ask, with genuine curiosity. “Do you know many women like that?”

He nods his head, and I begin making mental notes. Doesn’t look down on/disdain all women. “My older sister is sharp as a tack. You’d like her.”

“What about your mom?”

His lips curve up faintly, but he doesn’t respond. “I just answered a question, didn’t I? Your turn. Give me something about you.”

“I don’t know what you’re lookin’ for. What I like in a woman?” I ask lightly.

“Hey, if you roll that way, I am all ears.”

I know he’s joking, but I answer him anyway. “I don’t. I mean, girls are pretty, but I seldom have to resist the urge to corner them in classrooms and grope them against their will, so… I’m probably not that into them.”

“Is that the barometer?” he asks, amused.

“Seems to be.” My heart speeds up, but this is such a perfect opening to ask the one question I need an answer to, I don’t see how I can resist. Shoving down my doubts, I ask, “Have you… have you ever done that before? To anyone else, I mean? Before me?”

Predictably, he falls silent. His arm feels heavier around my shoulder, but he doesn’t move it. When he doesn’t want to answer a question, I notice he ignores it. I expect him to change the subject altogether, but instead he asks, “Why do you want to know?”

My pounding heart tells me I should stop, that I should break away, cut my losses, and flee his company. My gut tells me maybe giving him something real is the way to go. I go with my gut. “I… I can’t help wondering if my silence is endangering other girls. Telling isn’t just about consequences for the sake of myself, for some sense of justice, it’s about correcting the behavior. I assumed when I told on Jake, he would be punished, then if he ever thought about behaving that way again, he would remember the consequences he faced and choose differently. Obviously it didn’t work out that way, but it wasn’t all about satisfying my own ego. It wasn’t just that someone dared wrong me, and my fury had to be sated. It was about more than that. It was about making sure someone more vulnerable than me wasn’t hurt. Maybe someone who… who wouldn’t be able to handle it the way I did.”

I feel stripped bare, having said that to him. My insides are shaking with the vulnerability of exposing myself to a known predator, my gut roiling with dread as I wait for him to strike me when he knows he can land a good hit.

The moment stretches on forever, bile rising in my throat as I wait. When he continues to hold his silence, I finally work up my nerve to look at him, half-expecting him to look amused at my little speech. He doesn’t, though. A small measure of relief courses through me because he looks pensive, the way I must have looked when I was perusing article after article, trying to understand him and his behavior.