Slow Burn by Nicole Christie

over a mean girl’s head.
    Well, now that I have my tray, what now?  I quickly scan the crowded cafeteria, looking for an open table, or maybe a friendly face.  I catch the eyes of several guys who smile at me.  But it’s not the “come sit with me, I’d like to get to know you” kind of smile.  It’s the other kind, the “yeah, I’m looking at you, but only ‘cause you’re female” pervert smile.
    I could have stood there like an idiot forever, but then I notice a table in the corner whose occupants look like they’re getting ready to leave .  Gripping my tray tightly, I make a beeline for that table.
    Only to get beat there by an obnoxious group of girls.  And they get there just before I do—which leaves me standing at their table with my tray and a sour expression, while they settle their butts on the chairs, cackling at me.
    At least it’s not the spiteful kind of laughter.  More like, “ha, we beat you!”  One of the girls even looks like she’s going to say something to me, maybe ask me join them (ha).  She looks up—then past me, her eyes growing wide.
    I glance over my shoulder to see what she’s looking at .
    Dean.
    I love how he’s suddenly the center of attention.  How could he not be?  He looks too perfect to be real, tall and beautiful in his crisp school uniform.  Like someone stole him from a sexy cologne ad, and Photoshopped him into a high school cafeteria scene. 
    The table-stealers react as if a celebrity has dropped into their midst.  They blush and giggle, staring up at Dean in awe.  He ignores them, looking down at me with his extraordinary eyes.  They look incandescent under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights.
    I blink up at him.  “Um.  Hi.”
    He grabs my tray while I’m trying not to stare at the thin scar above his mouth.  “Come with me.”
    I haven’t lost m y grip on my tray.  I try to pull it back, but Dean’s a lot stronger than I am, and the tray doesn’t budge.  “No, thanks,” I say firmly, tugging harder.  “I don’t really feel like sitting with everyone today.”
    His expression holds a hint of impatience at our little tug of war .  “We’re not staying here.  Come on.”
    Surprised, I let go.  “Where are we going?”
    He doesn’t answer, and I have to hurry my pace to keep up with him.  The two of us together doesn’t escape the notice of—well, the whole cafeteria.  I hear my name being called.  Mack is waving at me and gesturing for me to come over.  I wave back, but continue to follow Dean toward the exit.  Along the way, he dumps my food in the trash bin and sets the tray on a nearby rack.
    “Hey,” I say, catching up to him as he heads out through the double doors.  “I was going to eat that.”
    Finally, he spares me a glance.  “No, you weren’t.  I’ll take you to get some real food.”
    “What?”  I stop abruptly in the hall.
    With a sigh I sense more than see, Dean slows down, and half turns to face me.  “Do you want to eat, or not?”
    “I was planning to,” I say.  “Until you threw my food away.”
    “You were going to eat five stale rolls and two bowls of lukewarm chili?”
    “Maybe I was.  Why do you care?”  I cross my arms over my chest, and wait for his reply.
    Dean pauses, running a hand quickly over his jaw.  “Johnny told me to look out for you,” he mutters at last, glancing away.  “I owe him a favor.”
    Of course!  I should have known.
    “Ugh!” I exclaim, throwing my hands up in the air.  I start to stomp away, then suddenly stop and whirl around again.  “Look, I appreciate you rescuing me from a potentially awkward situation in there, but I don’t need anyone looking out for me—especially on Johnny’s behalf.  You don’t have to take me out for a pity lunch.  I’ll be fine.”
    A flash of annoyance crosses Dean’s perfect features.  He stares down at the keys in his hand.  “Don’t make a big deal out of this.  It’s a meal, not a