against his chest
with both hands. His big body barely moved. My strength was puny against his
two hundred pounds, but I slapped at him anyway. The impact on his rock hard
bicep had no more effect than would a gnat wing. "Do I have to
scream?"
His eyes widened
and his mouth opened. Of course Quinn had a slack-jawed expression even at the
best of times, but I detected genuine surprise at my rejection. Why did most of
the girls at school think he was so handsome?
"Wha'sup?"
He demanded. "Riding the red dragon?"
"What?"
"Your
period."
"No, you
jerktard," I shouted.
At the moment I
flung the insult, my eyes collided with a gaze from a few feet away. A guy I'd
never seen at school before was staring at me with a scary intensity, but at
the same time I found his gaze exciting. With furrowed brows, the guy turned an
angry glare on Quinn, which gave me a chance to appraise his looks without
being too obvious.
I couldn't find
anything to criticize. His blond hair had a slight wave to it and when combined
with his high cheekbones and full lips, the effect was definitely hot.
Something about the guy was so familiar, but I couldn't place him.
Just then his eyes
returned to me. The word Holden drifted into my head almost as if I knew his
name. We'd never spoken...had we?
I would have
thought I knew the guy from elementary or middle school but my family had only
moved to Savannah, Georgia, in the last year.
Dragging my
attention from the hottie, I turned back to my date. "I don't have a red
dragon. And I find you extremely gross."
Mrs. Gazardi, the
school's guidance counselor who was chaperoning the dance, approached us and
spoke.
"Everything
okay here, Eve?"
Wanting with every
fiber of my being to rat out Quinn for his bad behavior, I nevertheless said
"I'm fine, Ma'am."
My date examined
his feet and mumbled something unintelligible.
Mrs. Garzardi must
be old— at least fifty by my estimation— and she didn't possess
particularly beautiful features. But she was striking and unusually graceful.
The way she wore her silvery hair pulled back into a chignon and the long
flowing robe dresses she favored, accentuated the fluidity with which she
moved.
For a few moments
she examined me with a penetrating thoroughness. Her perusal gave me the
feeling she could see the handprints on my dress from Quinn's groping. Mrs.
Gazardi's lips compressed in an angry line and her brows knitted as she turned
to cast a disapproving glare on Quinn.
What I saw next
caused me to start in surprise. It was as if a light bulb switched on inside
her, illuminating her skull so that it became faintly visible under her skin.
The spotlights in the otherwise dark gym
must be shining on her face in a funky way to cause such an eerie effect, I
thought.
After a few rapid
blinks, the illusion faded as quickly as it had come.
Mrs. Gazardi
turned back to me with a placid smile. "Have fun you two." Then she
addressed Quinn. "But not too much fun."
She spun on her
heel and started away and as she moved the lighting had more tricks for me.
Along her shoulder blades there seemed to be a ripple of movement under her
dress, as if she'd trapped birds in that voluminous garment and they were
struggling to break free.
Ridiculous. Could someone have slipped
me a roofie? No. Impossible. Not that I'd put it past Quinn, but I hadn't had
anything to drink that night.
Quinn muttered,
"Nosey biddie."
"She's very
nice," I defended. "And if you pull any more crap on me, I'll report
it to her."
"Whatever."
With a pfffffffft sound Quinn waved a hand and rolled his eyes. "I'm gonna
go get some punch and give you time to remember you're here with a star of the
football team. Maybe when I get back you'll be less agro and more with the
gratitude and appreciatin'."
"Starting
your Christmas wish list early, are you?"
"Huh?"
"Never mind.
Go get the punch."
As soon as he
walked away, Lashonda hurried over from across the dance floor. Well, she
hurried as fast as someone could
with both hands. His big body barely moved. My strength was puny against his
two hundred pounds, but I slapped at him anyway. The impact on his rock hard
bicep had no more effect than would a gnat wing. "Do I have to
scream?"
His eyes widened
and his mouth opened. Of course Quinn had a slack-jawed expression even at the
best of times, but I detected genuine surprise at my rejection. Why did most of
the girls at school think he was so handsome?
"Wha'sup?"
He demanded. "Riding the red dragon?"
"What?"
"Your
period."
"No, you
jerktard," I shouted.
At the moment I
flung the insult, my eyes collided with a gaze from a few feet away. A guy I'd
never seen at school before was staring at me with a scary intensity, but at
the same time I found his gaze exciting. With furrowed brows, the guy turned an
angry glare on Quinn, which gave me a chance to appraise his looks without
being too obvious.
I couldn't find
anything to criticize. His blond hair had a slight wave to it and when combined
with his high cheekbones and full lips, the effect was definitely hot.
Something about the guy was so familiar, but I couldn't place him.
Just then his eyes
returned to me. The word Holden drifted into my head almost as if I knew his
name. We'd never spoken...had we?
I would have
thought I knew the guy from elementary or middle school but my family had only
moved to Savannah, Georgia, in the last year.
Dragging my
attention from the hottie, I turned back to my date. "I don't have a red
dragon. And I find you extremely gross."
Mrs. Gazardi, the
school's guidance counselor who was chaperoning the dance, approached us and
spoke.
"Everything
okay here, Eve?"
Wanting with every
fiber of my being to rat out Quinn for his bad behavior, I nevertheless said
"I'm fine, Ma'am."
My date examined
his feet and mumbled something unintelligible.
Mrs. Garzardi must
be old— at least fifty by my estimation— and she didn't possess
particularly beautiful features. But she was striking and unusually graceful.
The way she wore her silvery hair pulled back into a chignon and the long
flowing robe dresses she favored, accentuated the fluidity with which she
moved.
For a few moments
she examined me with a penetrating thoroughness. Her perusal gave me the
feeling she could see the handprints on my dress from Quinn's groping. Mrs.
Gazardi's lips compressed in an angry line and her brows knitted as she turned
to cast a disapproving glare on Quinn.
What I saw next
caused me to start in surprise. It was as if a light bulb switched on inside
her, illuminating her skull so that it became faintly visible under her skin.
The spotlights in the otherwise dark gym
must be shining on her face in a funky way to cause such an eerie effect, I
thought.
After a few rapid
blinks, the illusion faded as quickly as it had come.
Mrs. Gazardi
turned back to me with a placid smile. "Have fun you two." Then she
addressed Quinn. "But not too much fun."
She spun on her
heel and started away and as she moved the lighting had more tricks for me.
Along her shoulder blades there seemed to be a ripple of movement under her
dress, as if she'd trapped birds in that voluminous garment and they were
struggling to break free.
Ridiculous. Could someone have slipped
me a roofie? No. Impossible. Not that I'd put it past Quinn, but I hadn't had
anything to drink that night.
Quinn muttered,
"Nosey biddie."
"She's very
nice," I defended. "And if you pull any more crap on me, I'll report
it to her."
"Whatever."
With a pfffffffft sound Quinn waved a hand and rolled his eyes. "I'm gonna
go get some punch and give you time to remember you're here with a star of the
football team. Maybe when I get back you'll be less agro and more with the
gratitude and appreciatin'."
"Starting
your Christmas wish list early, are you?"
"Huh?"
"Never mind.
Go get the punch."
As soon as he
walked away, Lashonda hurried over from across the dance floor. Well, she
hurried as fast as someone could
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