“You should write,” she whispered, and considering what was starting to happen below his waist, he thought he’d better, too.
* * *
As Luke bent over the paper writing madly, Aurora was able to look at him without having to look away. He was in a loose tank top that fell away from his shoulders, exposing not just his muscled arms but a lot of his chest. She’d almost forgotten how breathtaking he’d been at eighteen. She’d never seen anyone so perfectly molded; the combination of flawless young skin and a man’s body, bulked up from all the football training.
His thighs were right beside hers and she could feel the heat coming off him, the life force, and she was nearly dizzy with wanting him. It was unbearable, these teenage emotions; she didn’t know how humans could stand it. It felt like she would die if he didn’t kiss her.
* * *
This is great, Luke was thinking. His pen was barely keeping up with his thoughts. He’d never written so easily and quickly before, and he knew, just like when he knew that he was about to throw a perfect pass, that this essay would be a perfect pass. Jenks couldn’t possibly flunk him. He was saved.
He wrote and wrote...and as he wrote, Luke was suddenly aware of some kind of...energy—there was no other word for it—coming off the girl beside him.
He looked up, and saw that she was looking at him in a way that melted all his insides. It was a forever look, and Luke was definitely not into forever, but just at the moment it seemed like exactly where to be.
“Who are you?” he asked, a little breathless. “Where did you come from?”
“You needed help,” she said. She was breathless, too. “I’m here to help you.”
And he looked at her and then leaned forward into the amazing sparkling energy coming off her and kissed her.
She gasped and sighed at the same time, and her mouth opened so sweetly under his. Luke was pretty good at kissing; he’d been doing it since he was ten. But this was a whole other thing entirely, like it wasn’t just his body doing the kissing and feeling, but everything in him responding to everything in her. His hands were on her waist and she was twined into him; he really couldn’t feel his clothes anymore. His whole skin was alive, his blood was pounding, and he knew through all of it that it was her first kiss, that no one had ever touched her the way he was now...
When he finally pulled back, he felt like his whole brain was scrambled.
“Sorry,” he said unsteadily. “I don’t know what...”
“It’s okay...it’s fine,” she said breathlessly.
Luke looked at her flushed cheeks and dreamy eyes, the curve of her mouth...and he tightened his hands on her waist and pulled her forward, leaning in for another kiss.
“Mr. Mars,” a sharp male voice cut through the air. Luke and Aurora broke apart, looking toward the voice. In the middle of the round center desk, Mr. Twitchell glared at them. “Take it outside,” the librarian growled. “Before I write both of you up.”
Luke looked at her. “I guess we better.” He gathered up his books and hers, and stood to pull her chair out for her.
Chapter 6
They escaped the library, walking with dignity past Mr. Twitchell, and then simultaneously bursting through the doors out into the upstairs hall as if they were breaking out of prison. For no reason at all they ran along the empty hallway, past the rows and rows of lockers, laughing, thrilling to the sheer energy and adrenaline rushing through their veins.
Where does all that energy go? Those days that you could run all day and never even feel your muscles? Luke wondered. It was such an odd thought, an old thought, that he stopped in his tracks and Aurora stopped, too, looking at him quizzically.
“What?” she asked, and Luke shook his head.
“I just am having the strangest feeling...”
“What?” she pressed him.
He looked around them in the corridor, then back at her. “That I’ve done this before. That we’ve done this before. But I don’t know you. We just met today. Didn’t we?”
He looked into her eyes, and she dropped her gaze. “Didn’t we?”
She was blushing furiously. “Well... I’ve seen you before. I mean, around. You know.”
She started walking again, as if she were trying to avoid the question, and he walked with her, beside her, keeping his eyes on her steadily as they started down the stairs. “No, I don’t know.”
“Everyone knows you,” she said. She nodded to the side of them, and he realized that students who passed were looking at them, some of them whispering to one another.
He felt proud, and also uncomfortable. “Yeah, the football thing, right?” He shrugged, dismissing it. “Whatever.”
“Don’t you like it?” she asked, and he looked at her, startled. She asked the weirdest questions, this girl.
“Football? Well, sure,” he said, frowning. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Oh...just the way you said it,” she said, and then kept going, cautiously. “Sometimes you—a person—can just go along with what people tell them they should want, or what they think they want, and it doesn’t turn out to be everything they thought it was. Sometimes.”
Now he really stared at her. She’d just said exactly what he’d been thinking, for at least the past six months, anyway. Football was making less and less sense to him.
“That’s funny,” he said aloud. “I mean, just this morning...”
She looked at him quickly. “What?”
“I was thinking I wanted to...maybe be a cop. You know, defend people. Do something that would make a difference.” He paused, self-conscious, and then added, “Maybe a little more like Marcus Aurelius.”
* * *
As he spoke, Aurora felt her heart catch in her throat. He was thinking, she could see it. He’d slowed down enough to think about what he really wanted and he was feeling it, a purpose, a calling.
If he can just hold that thought...not get distracted...
They had reached the bottom of the stairs, and all of a sudden kids were running past them in the hall, shoving out through the back door of the building. It was like a river rising, overflowing. That could only mean one thing in high school: there was a fight, or some other kind of altercation. If there was anything Aurora had noticed about human beings, it was that blood lust; there seemed to be no age limit to it.
Luke was also staring in the direction that people were running. “Some stupid fight,” he said, sounding just as resigned to it as Aurora felt. And then he added, “Probably Tomasson. It’s always Tomasson.”
Tomas Tomasson, that teammate of Luke’s, a blond, hulking, savage halfback. Half-wit, Luke always thought to himself silently. Tomasson was Scandinavian, like Luke, but Luke felt not the slightest kinship with him. Tomasson had anger-management issues, to say the least. The other guys on the team sucked up to him because they were scared of him or steered away from him entirely, as Luke tried to do.
Aurora was looking at him almost expectantly, and Luke frowned. Without knowing why he said it, he said, “Maybe I should go make sure he isn’t killing anyone.”
Strangely, Aurora looked relieved. “That sounds like a good idea,” she said, and they both moved out the door, in the direction that kids were still running, walking quickly and easily in tandem.
This is weird, Luke thought, glancing down at her. It’s so...comfortable.
As it turned out, the fight was just around the corner, in no-man’s-land, the asphalt corridors between the boy’s gym and the tennis and handball courts—an area that was rarely, if ever, patrolled by the faculty. So if bad things were going to happen, they tended to happen in no-man’s-land.
And sure enough, that’s where the mob of students was gathered. Luke towered over most of his classmates so it was easy for him to see over the circle of onlookers to the fight.
Not that you could call it a fight. It wasn’t even really a beating, more like ritual humiliation.
Just as Luke had known it would be, it was Tomas Toma
sson, strutting around in the circle made by the gaping student spectators. There was another boy in front of him, on his knees on the ground, cowering, looking pathetic and tiny compared to the slab of meat that Tomasson was.
Luke recognized the boy with a sick jolt. Marvin Watson. Just a freshman, but from his first day at the school, he’d been the designated crash-test dummy.
What kind of parents name their kid Marvin? Luke thought with disgust. Sadists, that’s who. Like the kid isn’t going to get the shit beaten out of him until the end of time.
Tomasson was jeering something Luke hadn’t heard but he could guess well enough. Faggot, homo—Tomasson’s favorite words. Made no difference if a kid was just small, or young, or quiet—they all got tarred with the homosexual brush. Having shared locker rooms with Tomasson for two years now, Luke had always privately suspected that Tomasson might have some leanings that way himself that he couldn’t bring himself to contemplate, so he took it out on anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. But Luke had never said or done anything about it; Coach was very strict about team loyalty coming first, no matter what. They were supposed to stick together; it was a cornerstone of the game.
Tomasson reached down and pulled Marvin by the scruff of his shirt to half-standing, then slapped him, a casual cuff, but hard enough to make Marvin’s head jerk to the side. Luke could see a red welt of handprint rising on Marvin’s pale, smooth cheek. Beside Luke, Aurora gasped.
“You like that, don’t you?” Tomasson sneered. “Isn’t that what you want, Queenie?” He slapped Marvin again. “Isn’t this what you want?” Tomasson demanded, towering over him. Marvin was crying now, huge gulps of sobs, snot running down his face.
Aurora gasped again and then flushed so red he thought she was going to explode. She looked about to march into the circle herself, and Luke automatically held her back and stepped forward.
“Let the kid go, you stupid ass,” Luke said. Around him the circle of students broke into whispers, talking into their hands, murmuring in anticipation of bloodshed.
Tomasson spun around, hyped on his own rage. His face reddened and his eyes narrowed as he saw Luke.
“Well, if it isn’t Luke Mars to the rescue. Am I stealing your bitch?”
Luke felt adrenaline rush through his body, his fists flexing even as his brain told him to keep his head. He made his voice weary.
“Don’t you get tired of it, Tomasson? Look at you—one-ninety last weigh-in, right? And you have to go beating on freshmen? How pathetic is that?”
Someone in the crowd shouted, “Yeah!”
Tomasson’s face twisted, and he whipped around, staring into the crowd in confusion and rage. Almost comically, everyone around them took a step back, widening the circle. Aurora rushed forward and knelt beside Marvin, reaching to help him up. Automatically Tomasson lunged at her. “What are you doing, bitch?”
Then he stopped, suspended midlunge. Luke had grabbed him by the shoulder. Tomasson twisted back to look.
“Don’t touch her,” Luke said softly.
From her knees, Aurora shot him a dazzling look, and then pulled Marvin up and out of the circle, back into the crowd.
Tomasson turned on Luke. “Oh, so that’s your bitch,” he sneered. “Looks about your speed.”
Luke kept the calm weariness in his voice. “You know what? Show’s over.” Part of it was real weariness, but he also knew he was dealing with an enraged and not entirely sane person; he’d long suspected there was something just broken in Tomasson, broken and dangerous. “Everyone sees what you are, we don’t need more proof.”
“Tell him!” another voice shouted from somewhere in the crowd.
“Go, Mars!” someone else yelled from the other side of the circle.
Luke could actually feel the surge of excitement from the onlookers, the sense of outrage, and he felt a rush of warmth, what might have been pride. And the funny thing was, it felt good. He was suddenly wondering why he hadn’t just confronted this bozo before.
Tomasson looked at him as if he were going to kill him. And that probably was exactly what he was thinking, because his next words were, “You want it, you got it, Mars. Right here. You and me. Or is talk all you can do?”
Luke knew that he should just walk away. But they were faced off in the middle of a riveted crowd, and what happened next would go with him for the rest of the school year. It’s not like he had a choice.
“You got it,” he said, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aurora flinch.
Despite the circumstances Luke couldn’t help noticing that a redheaded kid that he couldn’t remember seeing before had appeared next to Aurora. Spiky-haired, piercings and bizarre clothes: Converse high-tops and baggy cutoff pants, like a skatepunk. He seemed to know Aurora very well; in fact, he was leaning his elbow on her shoulder as if she were some kind of mantelpiece. Luke felt a stab of what felt almost like...
Jealousy? Really? What the hell is going on with this girl?
* * *
As she looked on from the circle, Aurora was feeling a rush of emotions: pride and fear and anxiety. Did I make him do this? Maybe I am interfering. What if he gets hurt?
She must have said some of it aloud because beside her Loki, in his skatepunk form, made an exasperated sound.
“Oh, for Odin’s sake. You’ve been through all of this before. Like you don’t know how it’s going to end.”
“There’s always a choice,” Aurora said, her heart beating so hard she could barely breathe.
* * *
Inside the gathered crowd, Tomas circled Luke slowly. “You always have to get into it, don’t you, Mars? Always the big hero. Let’s just see what kind of hero you are.”
Luke watched him circle, debating what to do. It was all incredibly stupid, but he couldn’t not fight Tomas by now, not with everyone watching. At least he wanted everyone to see that Tomasson had started it. “It’s your move, Tomasson. I don’t want this.”
“Backing out?” Tomas jeered.
“Nothing to back out of,” Luke pointed out.
That caused a ripple of laughter in the crowd. Tomas reacted with sheer rage. He suddenly barreled forward at Luke.
Used to evading a whole string of linebackers, Luke easily dodged right, and before Tomasson could recover he raised his leg and planted a kick squarely in the middle of Tomasson’s ass, sending him flying forward. Tomasson landed on his hands and knees, dazed—and then furious. He scrambled to his feet, bellowing like an enraged bull, and charged. This time Luke caught him in a headlock, and pushed Tomasson to his knees. There was a cheer from the crowd, and Tomas exploded, jerking and flailing his body. Caught off balance, Luke stumbled, and Tomas grabbed his legs, toppling him.
They were grappling on the ground now. And then Tomas pulled back and Luke caught a glint of metal and his thoughts froze. Tomasson had a knife.
Luke stared into Tomas’s face—he was red with rage but his eyes were black and expressionless...
Then his gaze shifted to Luke’s neck...and he lunged forward with the blade. Luke had a split second of dazed incomprehension, and then used every bit of strength in his body to buck upward and roll the other boy onto his back. Luke shoved down hard on Tomas’s shoulders and used the impact to spring up to his feet. He kicked Tomas’s hand and heard the other boy howl, saw the knife flying. His body was responding automatically, survival mode, but his mind was in shock.
He wanted to kill me. He was trying to kill me.
Suddenly hands were grabbing him, hauling him backward. Two security guards were on him; the other two were wrestling Tomasson up from the ground.
Here goes, Luke thought. Trouble. He let himself be shoved forward toward the principal’s office.
* * *
It was worse than he thought. The principal, the VP, Coach Kroger...everyone yelling. Coach could usually get around the principal, but this time Luke had broken the cardinal rule of the team: players don’t fight players. And he had taken sides with a kid t
hat Coach himself despised. He was out to teach Luke a lesson.
By the time all the yelling had stopped Luke was suspended and off the field for the night, the night the scout from Stanford was coming just to see him. And the thing that really burned Luke was that he’d walked right into it. He could see it so clearly now. Tomasson had picked the fight because he wanted him suspended. Luke felt like an idiot.
Try to help someone and all I get is grief. So much for the hero bit.
He pushed through the doors of the Admin building, walked heavily down the steps into the courtyard.
He saw her hair first, shimmering fire in the afternoon sun.
Aurora was waiting for him, sitting on a brick planter.
She started, seeing him, and stood. Her hair was tumbled down her back and in her white dress she looked like some kind of angel. He walked over and stood with her, looking down at her; he could smell the roses from the nearby planter and her own scent, sweet as honey, and the look she gave him was so dazzling he felt his heart twist and then sort of melt.
“How’d it go?” she asked carefully.
“Suspended,” Luke said, his voice tight. “The Stanford scout is going to be at the game tonight and I’m not going to be playing. There goes my scholarship, my college career, everything. And I bet that was the plan all along, and I fell for it.” He felt a wave of anger and sorrow again. “He totally played me.”
And let’s not forget, the guy was trying to kill you, a voice in his head said, shocking him. In the whole humiliation of the past hour, he’d almost forgotten the intent he’d seen on Tomasson’s face to kill him.
“Is there something else?” Aurora asked tentatively. He looked at her, startled.
Weird. It’s like she just read my mind.
“Why would you say that?” he countered.
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