Corrupt (Devil's Night 1)
“Please?” I pleaded.
But he narrowed his eyes, looking worried. “Are you sure Trevor’s not going to kick my ass? Judging from the way he’s on you all the time, I’m surprised he hasn’t GPS’d you.”
That was a good point. Trevor would be mad I wasn’t asking him, but I only wanted friendship, and he wanted more. I didn’t want to lead him on.
I guessed I could chalk up my disinterest in Trevor to knowing him my entire life—he was too familiar, kind of like family—but I’d also known his older brother my entire life, and my feelings for him weren’t at all familial.
“Come on. Be a buddy,” I urged, nudging his shoulder. “I need you.”
“No, you don’t.”
He stopped at my next class, which was on the way to his, and spun around, pinning me with a hard look. “Rika, if you don’t want to ask Trevor, then ask someone else.”
I let out a sigh and averted my eyes, sick of this conversation.
“You’re asking me, because it’s safe,” he argued. “You’re beautiful, and any guy would be thrilled to go out with you.”
“Of course they would be.” I smiled sarcastically. “So say yes then.”
He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at me.
Noah liked to draw conclusions about me. About why I never dated or why he thought I shied away from this or that, and as good of a friend as he was, I wished he’d stop already. I just didn’t feel comfortable.
I reached up, rubbing a nervous hand over my neck—over the pale, thin scar I got when I was thirteen.
In the car accident that killed my father.
I saw him watching me, and I dropped my hand, knowing what he was thinking.
The scar ran diagonally, about two inches long, on the left side of my neck, and although it had faded with time, I still felt like it was the first thing people noticed about me. There were always questions and pitiful expressions from family and friends, not to mention the jerk comments I got in junior high from girls laughing at me. After a while, it started to feel like an appendage, big and something I was always aware of.
“Rika,” he lowered his voice, his brown eyes gentle, “baby, you’re beautiful. Long blonde hair, legs that no guy in this school can ignore, and the prettiest blue eyes in town. You’re gorgeous.”
The one minute bell rang, and I shifted in my flats, gripping the strap of my bag tighter.
“And you’re my favorite person,” I retorted. “I want to go with you. Okay?”
He sighed, a defeated look crossing his face. I’d won, and I fought not to smile.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “It’s a date.” And then he spun around, heading for English 3.
I grinned, my nerves immediately relaxing. I was no doubt taking Noah away from a promising night with another girl, so I’d have to do something to make it up to him.
Walking into Pre-Calculus, I hooked my bag on the back of my chair in the front row and pulled out my book, setting it on the desk. My friend Claudia planted herself in the seat next to me, meeting my eyes and smiling, and I immediately sat down and started writing my name on the blank piece of paper that Mr. Fitzpatrick had set down on everyone’s desk. Friday classes always started with a pop quiz, so we knew the drill.
Students hurried into the room, the girls’ green and blue plaid skirts swaying, and most of the boys’ ties already loosened. It was nearly the end of the day.
“Did you hear the news?” someone said behind us, and I jerked my head around to see Gabrielle Owens leaning over her desktop.
“What news?” Claudia asked.
She lowered her voice to a whisper, excitement crossing her face. “They’re here,” she told us.
I glanced at Claudia and then back at Gabrielle, confused. “Who’s here?”
But then Mr. Fitzpatrick came in, booming in his large voice, “Take a seat everyone!”, and Claudia, Gabrielle, and I immediately faced the front of the room and straightened, ending our conversation.
“Please sit down, Mr. Dawson,” the teacher instructed to a student in the back as he came to stand behind his desk.