A Piece of Heaven (Allendale Four 1)

I showed up the next day in an outfit that was a little tighter, a little shorter, and definitely a lot sluttier. My socks were tight, striped, and went up to my thighs. My skirt barely grazed the tops of them, and my shirt was from the children’s department. Enough said.

I pulled my hair up, letting the red welt show on my neck.

That was Oliver’s big plan, which was really my original plan, but now, for some crazy reason, it wasn’t just me implementing it. I had allies. Two hot, popular allies.

Right. I was living in bizarro world.

I wasn’t hiding anymore. They could think what they wanted, and for once, maybe I could change my reputation from nobody to somebody. I’d intentionally put myself out there. Maybe going from unnoticed to noticed wasn’t the worst thing. Maybe it was time to take control of my life, do what I want and forget about everyone else.

Easier said than done, I thought, hiding with my head shoved in my locker. I pretended to rummage around for my books until I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“I think you dropped this?” I heard a deep, sexy voice say.

I turned and fought to keep the smile off my face. Jackson Hall was holding a pink Hello Kitty pencil in my direction. It wasn’t mine, but whatever. “Clumsy me,” I said, plucking the pencil from his hands. “Thanks.”

Jackson wasn’t Oliver or even Anderson. We weren’t friends and if anyone was known as a player in the group, it was him. His gray eyes were glued to my legs and boobs and neck. Every time he shifted from one he got stuck on the other. I cleared my throat. “Bell’s gonna ring.”

His eyes snapped upward. “Yeah, um...okay.”

My stomach was twisted in a pretzel. We were really doing this. Operation Heaven’s A Slut was in action. Would I have liked Oliver to be the one doing this? Sure. Anderson? Definitely. Playing with Jackson was like playing with fire. I could get burned, but he was a means to an end, and I wasn’t going to risk losing the opportunity because I was out of my comfort zone.

“Would you like to walk with me?” I said it teasingly. I’m pretty sure I sounded like an idiot. Man, flirting was hard.

A lazy smile crossed his lips. “Sure.”

We took the short walk together, talking about classes and stuff. I tried not to appear as though my heart was about to bust out of my chest. I tried to ignore Eric as he winked at me from his locker when we passed. Jackson mentioned a party that weekend, although he didn’t exactly extend an invite. When we reached the Chem lab, he abruptly stopped talking and looked away.

Anderson was waiting at the door. He gave me the same cocky smirk as he always did, but his eyes were stuck on his friend. Every other boy in the school had given me the once-over that day. Apparently, Anderson was immune.

“See you around, Jackson,” I said, leaving the boys in the hall.

I walked to my seat and sat on the stool, dropping my books on the table. My eyes flew to the door when I heard a raised voice. It was Anderson. He and Jackson were arguing about something, and although I tried to use my supersonic hearing, they kept it low enough for me to not hear. Damn it. I needed a better superpower than being the good girl turned bad, especially since Anderson didn’t seem interested in either. The last thing I saw between the two was some kind of staring contest, and then Anderson punched Jackson in the arm. It was hard enough that he winced and rubbed it as he walked away from the door toward his own class.

Anderson marched to our desk, head down, hair dipping over his eyes. He sat without a word.

“Fighting with your boyfriend?” I jabbed.

He brushed his hair back with perfect, long fingers and rolled his eyes. “Yeah something like that.”

“I’m sure you’ll make up.” I tapped my pen on the desk, pretending to think. “You could write him a poem or something, expressing your feelings.”

“Reeves,” Anderson breathed, his voice thick with warning. “Not today.”

I backed off, never having heard him annoyed like this. Whatever. Mr. Baker started the lesson and my attention was diverted, thankfully, until halfway through when he issued an assignment that required me to work with Anderson. We pulled out our books and began answering the questions.

“So what’s with all this anyway?” he asked, focused on the paper on the table.

“All what?”

He looked up and his eyes roamed over my body. “This costume. That shit on your neck.”

I faked being affronted, but my hand slipped over the burn mark anyway. “This is not a costume. I just decided to mix it up a little. Shed the hoodie. Lose the Converse. Why look like every other girl in the world?”

“Okay.” I wish I could say sarcasm didn’t suit Anderson, but it would be a lie.

“Do problem eight,” I directed, not wanting to discuss my choice in clothing any further.

Anderson scribbled down his answer and then shifted the paper toward me. “You don’t, you know?”