Half the crowd is now standing and shouting. Darius avoids my gaze as I try to fill in the blanks. I’m guessing he got tossed off the team, for fighting or mouthing off at his coach or maybe even drugs. What in the world am I doing? Sure, Darius is a good dancer and has those deep blue eyes and likes my laugh and calls me “Angel” and makes my brain all melty, but clearly he has issues. The last thing I need is a boy with issues.
When the buzzer finally sounds, I stand and hold up my hand for Jaycee. “Ready to do this?”
She gives me a high-five, her eyes wide and bright. “I am so ready.”
“Have fun,” Darius says. “I’ll wait here.”
Jaycee follows me down the steps, clutching the Sharpie and the newspaper article to her chest. The crowd has started to swarm the team. I spot Lexi holding hands with Chris near mid-court, and by the time we reach them, the floor is packed.
“Hey, Lexi. I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
Lexi and Chris both turn. Little Miss Chatterbox holds out her pen and the article, her mouth agape, star-struck and wordless. So adorable.
Lexi squeals. “You want my autograph? Cool! I feel so big-time.” She laughs and tells Chris to turn around so she can lean on his back to write.
Chris starts to pivot, but then turns back to her. “Is that thing going to bleed through to my shirt?”
Lexi shrugs. “Worst-case scenario, it does and you have my autograph on the back of your shirt.”
“Good point.” Chris laughs and gives her a quick kiss before turning back around.
I sigh. Those two have what everyone wants. What I want, and what I once had with Ty. Could I ever have that with someone like Darius? I honestly don’t—
“Hey, watch it!”
All of a sudden, seemingly out of nowhere, Lexi is sprawled on the gym floor with number eighteen from the other team standing over her shouting. What the—? Chris turns around, clearly shocked, but as he tries to help Lexi up, he’s knocked down beside her by a crowd of Lexi’s teammates rushing toward her aggressor.
The next thing I know, players, students, and even a few parents are pushing and kicking and throwing punches. A bunch of cell phones come out as people try to record the melee. As I retreat from the hostile crowd, I reach out to grab Jaycee’s hand. Only she’s not there. Where did she go?
“Jaycee!” My shout barely registers among the stomps and hollers of what has quickly become a mob. I twist left and right, frantically searching the crowd. I have to get her out of here. This is no place for a—“Whoa!” A huge guy in a Panthers letter jacket pushes me on his way to the middle of the action, and I step hard on the foot of a girl with dreads.
“Careful!” She grabs my arm, her eyes blazing.
“Sorry. He pushed me.” I back up, and she lets go with a sneer. I narrowly avoid getting knocked around again as two girls who can’t possibly be older than freshmen go at it, pulling each other’s hair and throwing punches.
One of the referees rushes in, blowing her whistle and shouting for everyone to stop, but this is not a game, and no one listens. Someone slams into my shoulder, and a flash of pain shoots up my neck. I spot a guy a few feet away with a stream of blood pouring from his nose. Black spots circle before my eyes, and my head feels light. I can’t get enough air. I squeeze through the crowd to courtside and collapse to my knees, my head in my hands.
“Alicea. Are you okay?” Darius’s voice sounds as faint as an echo, but it’s enough to help clear the cobwebs.
I peer up at him and take a deep breath, the pain in my neck still sharp. “I’m fine. Did you see which way Jaycee went?”
“I grabbed her.”
It’s then that I notice his sister standing behind him, tears in her eyes, clutching her signed article. “Are you okay?” I ask.
She nods.
“I need to get her out of here,” Darius says.
“Of course.” I stand up, trying to appear as though I’m fine, but Darius notices as I wince.
“You’re hurt.”
“It’s no big deal.” I nod toward the still-growing mob at center court. “Let’s go.”
We pass four sheriff’s deputies on our way down the hall. “This is insane. I can’t believe that b—” I look down at Jaycee and opt not to finish my thought. Instead, I feign a bright tone. “Well, that was an exciting way to get an autograph, wasn’t it?”
She nods. “Just as Lexi handed it back to me, that girl knocked her down. Do you think she’s okay?”
“I’m sure she will be. Lexi’s tough. And her whole team was right there to help.”
Darius and I exchange glances. “How about we get some sundaes at Friendly’s on the way home?” he asks her. “We’ll go through the drive-through.”
Jaycee beams. “That’ll work.”
“Sundaes for everyone, then.” He turns to me, his expression guarded. “Do you mind if I drive her to our mom’s first and then bring you home?”
I blink. I get the feeling he’s trying to turn the end of this bizarre night into an almost, sort of, pseudo, sister-less date.
“Sure, whatever’s easiest,” I say. Because apparently I am going to let him.
I check my social media as we drive. It appears the cops broke up the fighting soon after they arrived. A couple of Potomac Run students were arrested, and one of our players went to the hospital with minor injuries. No news on Lexi, so I assume she made it out in one piece.
The sundaes are amazing. Darius, of course, charms the server into putting extra caramel on his sister’s. When we get to their mom’s house, he bomps her forehead, and we watch as she lets herself into the house.
“She’s so sweet,” I say. “I wish I had sisters.”
“She’s sweet when she wants to be.” He turns and grins. “Thanks for coming tonight. And for taking her to meet Lexi.”
“Of course. A promise is a promise.”
As we drive toward my house, I lean my head back into the seat and close my eyes, exhausted as the events of the night catch up with me. I don’t even realize I’m rubbing my neck until Darius points it out.
“You should probably put some ice on that,” he says.
I drop my hands to my lap. “I’ll be fine. Seriously.”
He scowls. “I’m so sorry you ended up in the middle of that mob. And I’m sorry I didn’t get you out right away. I was just so focused on Jaycee that I—”
“It’s fine. You did the right thing. She’s so little, she could have really gotten hurt. But how did you get there so quickly?”
“I saw number eighteen heading toward Lexi and figured something might go down. I was only a few feet away when she pushed her.”
I steal a glance at his profile as he drives. A small scar snakes along his right jawline, and his usually playful, irreverent expression is replaced by an intensity I’m not used to seeing. How did he get the scar? I’m not sure I want to know, though I must admit, I do kind of like the protective streak. “You really watch out for your sister, don’t you?”
“She’s been through a lot.” He doesn’t elaborate. He never elaborates, so I decide to push.
“You mean, because of your parents’ divorce?”
He shakes his head. “No. She was so little when that happened, she doesn’t really remember.”
We pull onto my street, but Darius stops a few houses away and cuts the engine and the headlights.
Are we … parking? Is he going to try to kiss me?
I bite the inside of my lip, suddenly unsure of what to do with my hands, what to say, or where to look.
“The thing is … Jaycee doesn’t have a lot of friends,” he says.
“What? Why not? She’s so smart and sweet and—”
“I know. It’s stupid, but … sometimes she has seizures. They’re pretty freaky, and you know kids. So mean.”
“Seizures? You mean, like epilepsy?”
He shrugs. “Sort of. It’s not epilepsy, but the doctors aren’t sure what it is. They’re super
random. We never know when they’ll happen.”
“Wow. Poor kid. That must be scary.”
“Basketball is the one thing that makes her happy,” he says. “She’s good at it. Really good. Tonight meant a lot to her.”
I smile at him. “I’m glad I was able to help. And I’m glad you were there to get her out of that mess when you did.”
He nods. “Me too. Are you sure your neck is going to be—”
“Totally. It’s fine.”
Darius says nothing for a long minute. He sinks back into his seat and stares out the windshield. With each passing second, I find myself feeling less and less nervous about the prospect of kissing him, and more and more worried that he might take me home without trying to kiss me.
Finally, without a word, he starts the engine back up and drives toward my house. Shoot. Should I have said something, or … done something? Moved closer to him?
As he pulls up to the curb by our driveway, he turns, and our eyes meet.
“Thanks again.”
“Sure. You’re a great brother, you know that?”
“And you are a true Angel Bright.”
I feel myself blushing. I’m not sure anyone has ever paid me a nicer compliment. It’s almost as nice as a kiss. Almost.
Dewdrop? I blink as I study the list outside Ms. DuBois’s office. Danica Morris has been cast as the Snow Queen and Monique Brown as the Sugar Plum Fairy in our dance school’s annual performance of The Nutcracker. No surprises there. But me? The lead for the “Waltz of the Flowers”?
“Oh my gosh, Alicea!” Maggs tackles me from behind.
“Ow, ow, ow.” I clutch the back of my neck. It’s much better than the other night. It’s healing, thanks to Darius’s suggestion of continuing to ice it, but it definitely cannot withstand a Maggs Maloney tackle.
“Sorry,” Maggs says. “But, a solo! How amazing is that?”
It’s pretty freaking amazing. Each year, our studio performs a few pieces from the Nutcracker Suite at the Leesburg First Night Celebration, a huge New Year’s Eve event where local artists and musicians perform at shops and restaurants throughout town. At midnight, the activities end and everyone gathers on the courthouse lawn to light candles and ring in the New Year.
“You’re going to be fabulous. And you get to wear the Dewdrop tiara. I am so, so, so jealous.” Maggs is jumping up and down, so great is her enthusiasm for my role.
“Thanks. I guess.” My eyes remain trained on the list.
“What do you mean, ‘I guess’?”
“I don’t know. Dewdrop seems so … not me.” Dewdrop is a fairy. She’s light and airy and free. She flutters. I may perform a jete like a boss, but fluttering is not my specialty. Ms. DuBois is forever urging me to work on my vivacité.
“Are you crazy? Dewdrop is totally—”
“Ladies.” Ms. DuBois appears at Maggs’s side.
I straighten and smile and generally try to give the appearance of someone whose neck isn’t throbbing. Surely it will heal up over the next few weeks. I can fake it until then. Can’t I?
“Hello, Ms. DuBois.” Maggs squeezes my arm. “Great choice for Dewdrop. This girl’s going to kill it.”
Ms. DuBois offers a slight nod in my direction. “I have no doubt.” And with that, she disappears into her office.
“See?” Maggs says. “She thinks Dewdrop is you.”
“I don’t know. Maybe she—”
“Congrats.” Brie walks by, barely pausing to acknowledge us as she heads into the studio.
Maggs and I exchange a look. “What was that about?” she asks.
“No idea.” I walk to the door and peer through the window at Brie as she stretches in front of the mirror. “Do you think she wanted Dewdrop?” Brie has never been competitive about dance roles, but maybe she has tiara envy, too.
Maggs shakes her head. “I doubt it. She knows she’s not that good.”
“Maggs!”
She laughs. “Just saying. No offense to Brie. I’m not that good, either. She and I will make awesome flowers.”
I debate whether to go in and ask Brie what’s wrong, but before I can decide, Ms. DuBois emerges, clapping, from her office. “Let’s go, ladies. We have a lot of work to do and only five weeks to do it.”
I spend half the class trying not to show any signs of pain. Luckily, Ms. DuBois starts us off with a simple walk-through of the choreography, so the strain on my neck is minimal. I spend the other half worrying about Brie, who goes out of her way to avoid eye contact with me. At one point, Ms. DuBois sets us in front of each other, face-to-face. We are stuck that way for a solid two minutes as she positions each of our classmates, but Brie stares at the floor the entire time, her expression dark.
Shoot. She is jealous, I know it. We sat next to each other this morning in physics class and she was perfectly fine. She even listened to me rattle on about the latest season of Stranger Things, though I know for a fact she hates the show.
As the hour wraps up and we head to the dressing room, I stop Maggs. “Brie’s definitely mad at me about something. She was weird the whole class.”
“Tell me about it. I felt awkward just being in the same room with you two.”
“Think she’ll go to the Juice Joint with us?”
“I hope so. I’m dying to know what her problem—” But before Maggs can finish her sentence, Brie rushes out of the dressing room, her jeans pulled on over her leotard and her sneakers barely laced, heading toward the door.
“Brie!” Maggs shouts to her, but while she stops, she doesn’t turn around. “We’re heading over for smoothies. Aren’t you coming?”
I hold my breath. Brie hesitates, still facing the door. “Are you sure you want me to?”
“What? Of course we do.”
“Really?” She turns and glares, her hands balled in fists at her side. “Because I’m sure you two have things you want to talk about—secrets that for whatever reason you’ve decided not to share with someone who is supposed to be your best friend.”
“What? What are you … ?” I stop and suck in my breath as the realization strikes. Darius. She knows. “Brie. We weren’t keeping secrets. We were planning to—”
“You lied to me.” She takes a step forward. Girls are streaming out of the dressing room and staring at us as they walk by, but Brie seems not to notice. “You told me you were going to the game with your parents. But this afternoon, during world history, a bunch of us were watching a video of the brawl, and there you were walking out of the gym holding hands with a guy who supposedly you want nothing to do with.”
“We weren’t holding hands.” My cheeks grow warm, though I’m not sure whether it’s because I’m embarrassed that Brie caught me in the lie or because my heart has started pounding at the thought of holding hands with Darius.
“But you were with him. And not your parents.” Brie’s voice wavers as she turns to Maggs. “And I’m sure you knew all about it.”
“Maggs wanted to tell you,” I say. “And I swear, I was about to.”
“Whatever.” Brie dismisses us with a wave of her hand. “I’m over it.” She turns to leave, slamming the door with a bang that makes it clear she most certainly is not over it.
I trudge into the dressing room and slump onto a bench. This sucks. I kept my pseudo date with Darius a secret from Brie because I wanted to avoid her drama. Talk about a plan backfiring.
I’m not sure if it’s all in my imagination or if things have gotten awkward, but the past two days have been a bit weird with Darius. He did ask me about my neck Monday morning, and we’ve smiled at each other a few times in class, but that’s been it. So I’m nervous as I walk into study hall Tuesday afternoon.
I spot his curls above the back carrel and have to fight the urge to grab a desk up front. As I walk toward him, so many thoughts swirl in my head. Why didn’t he kiss me Friday night? Did he even think of our outing as a pseudo date? Maybe he really was just trying to help his sister get Lexi’s autograph, and
maybe he dropped her off first because he wanted to get her home early for bed. Worse, maybe he did think of the whole thing as a date but decided by the end that he had no desire to kiss me.
Or maybe this whole stupid thing is in my head. Well, and in Libby’s almost infallible program.
“Hey.” I tap his shoulder.
He looks up, and his smile chases away all my worries. He simultaneously pulls out his ear bud and the chair next to him so I can sit down. “Hello, Angel Bright.”
I can’t help but grin. I sit and nod toward his notebook. “What are you working on?”
“A report.”
“Duh. For what?”
Darius leans toward me. “Español.”
“Can you read it to me?” I don’t know a word of Spanish, but I like the thought of Darius speaking it to me.
“Sorry,” he says. “No está listo.”
“What? No hablo español.”
He laughs. “It’s a work in progress.”
“That’s okay. I want to hear what you have so far.”
He shakes his head. “Maybe when it’s done.”
“Mmhmm. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that what you said about your mixed media project?”
His eyebrows shoot up. He is clearly surprised that I remember. “So I did. And so I will. When it’s done.”
“Right.” I purse my lips.
“Hey.” His eyes hold mine. “I mean it.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I hold out my pinkie. I haven’t done a pinkie promise since I was, like, eight. I’m not sure if I’m regressing or if this is just an excuse to touch Darius’s hand.
Darius’s eyes never leave mine as he takes my pinkie in his. “Pinkie promise,” he says.
“Okay, then.” I start to pull away, but he tightens his grip and draws my hand in closer toward him, slowly, closer and closer until it is inches from his lips. I hold my breath as he ducks his head, eyes still trained on mine, and kisses my pinkie nail.
Whoa. That was … unexpected. And despite the fact that it was my fingernail and not my lips or my throat or my earlobe or even my cheek, it was one of the most sensual kisses I’ve ever had. I have a serious urge to lean over and kiss his lips—long and hard—but the looming presence of twenty-six of our classmates, not to mention our study hall monitor, keeps me from doing it.
The Boyfriend Whisperer 2.0 Page 9
