Beautiful Creatures (Caster Chronicles 1)

Don’t be crazy. It’s just lunch.

“I think I forgot something in my locker.” She turned, but I kept holding on to the strap.

Friends eat lunch together.

They don’t. We don’t. I mean, not in here.

I picked up two orange plastic lunch trays. “Tray?” I pushed the tray in front of her and shoved a shiny triangle of pizza on it.

We do now. Chicken.

You don’t think I’ve tried this before?

You haven’t tried it with me. I thought you wanted things to be different than they were at your old school.

Lena looked around the room doubtfully. She took a deep breath and dropped a plate of carrots and celery onto my tray.

You eat those, and I’ll sit anywhere you want.

I looked at the carrots, then out at the lunchroom. The guys were already hanging out at our table.

Anywhere?

If this was a movie, we would’ve sat down at the table with the guys, and they would’ve learned some kind of valuable lesson, like not to judge people by the way they look, or that being different was okay. And Lena would’ve learned that all jocks weren’t stupid and shallow. It always seemed to work in movies, but this wasn’t a movie. This was Gatlin, which severely limited what could happen. Link caught my eye as I turned toward the table, and started shaking his head, as in, no way, man. Lena was a few steps behind me, ready to bolt. I was beginning to see how this was going to play out, and let’s just say no one was going to be learning any valuable lessons. I almost turned around, when Earl looked at me.

That one look said it all. It said if you bring her over here, you’re done.

Lena must have seen it too, because when I turned back to her, she was gone.

That day after practice, Earl was nominated to have a talk with me, which was pretty funny, since talking had never really been his thing. He sat down on the bench in front of my gym locker. I could tell it was a plan because he was alone, and Earl Petty was almost never alone. He didn’t waste any time. “Don’t do it, Wate.”

“I’m not doing anything.” I didn’t look up from my locker.

“Be cool. This isn’t you.”

“Yeah? What if it is?” I pulled on my Transformers T-shirt.

“The guys don’t like it. Go down this road, no goin’ back.”

If Lena hadn’t disappeared in the cafeteria, Earl would’ve known I didn’t care what they thought. I hadn’t cared for a while now. I slammed my locker door, and he left before I could tell him what I thought about him and his dead end of a road.

I had a feeling it was my last warning. I didn’t blame Earl. For once, I agreed with him. The guys were going down one road, and I was going down another. Who could argue with that?

Still, Link refused to desert me. And I went to practice; people even passed me the ball. I was playing better than I ever had, no matter what they said, or more often didn’t say, in the locker room. When I was around the guys, I tried not to let on that my universe had split in half, that even the sky looked different to me now, that I didn’t care if we got to the state finals. Lena was in the back of my mind, no matter where I was or who I was with.

Not that I mentioned that at practice, or today, after practice, when Link and I hit the Stop & Steal to refuel on the way home. The rest of the guys were there, too, and I was trying to act like part of the team, for Link’s sake. My mouth was full of powdered doughnuts, which I almost choked on when I stepped through the sliding doors.

There she was. The second-prettiest girl I had ever seen.

She was probably a little older than I was because, though she looked vaguely familiar, she had never been at Jackson when I was there. I was sure of that. She was the kind of girl a guy would remember. She was blasting some music I had never heard, and lounging at the wheel of her convertible black-and-white Mini Cooper, which was parked haphazardly across two spaces in the parking lot. She didn’t seem to notice the lines, or she didn’t care. She was sucking on a lollipop like a cigarette, her pouty red lips made even redder by the cherry-colored stain.

She looked us over, and turned up the music. In a split second, two legs came flying over the side of the door, and she was standing in front of us, still sucking on the lollipop. “Frank Zappa. ‘Drowning Witch.’ A little before your time, boys.” She walked closer, slowly, as if she was giving us time to check her out, which I admit, we were.

She had long blond hair, with a thick pink stripe sweeping down one side of her face, past her choppy bangs. She was wearing giant black sunglasses and a short black pleated skirt, like some kind of Goth cheerleader. Her cut-off white tank was so thin, you could see half of some kind of black bra, and most of everything else. And there was plenty to see. Black motorcycle boots, a belly ring, and a tattoo. It was black and tribal looking and surrounded her belly button, but I couldn’t tell from here what it was, and I was trying not to stare.

“Ethan? Ethan Wate?”

I stopped in my tracks. Half the basketball team collided into me.