by Box Set
“Who do you think let me into his class?” He smiled at me. “He’d let anyone in if they asked, actually.”
That confirmed things. If Victor’s schedule was altered, the others were most likely done as well. Did that mean Mr. Blackbourne and Dr. Green wanted me in the same classes as the boys? “Where did you learn Japanese?”
“My parents travel a lot. They like to stop in Japan.”
My eyes widened. “I’m jealous,” I said. “Can you say something in Japanese?” It wasn’t a challenge, but genuine curiosity in his ability.
A smile touched his lips. “Kirei-na hitomidane.” The way he said it in his baritone voice made it almost sound like a song lyric.
“Kirei...” My lips moved to try to mimic what he said but I lost it half way through. “What does it mean?”
That fire lit up in his eyes and his cheeks tinged red. “I’ll tell you later.”
I smoothed my fingers over the lower hem of my shorts in a nervous reflex. Did I ask something embarrassing? Did it sound like I didn’t believe him? I went with changing the topic since I didn’t want to say anything else wrong. “At least we’ve all got classes together or similar classes. Studying should be easy. Except for Kota.”
“Are you going to be okay, Kota?” North asked from behind me. He was on his side, a cushion pillow propped up under his head. He looked half asleep. “There’s periods where we won’t see you for several hours.”
Kota shrugged and waved his hand in the air, dismissing his words. “Most of these classes are close together on the second floor. I won’t be in the hallways for very long.”
Silas had been completely quiet for a long time, concentrating on his schedule. While the others were busy talking about how to get from one class to another with the trailers being a problem, I crawled over to him. He caught my eye and he patted the spot next to him, indicating I could move in closer.
“We’ve only got one class together,” I said, sitting next to him, holding my paper near his.
He inched over, putting an arm behind me with his palm to the floor. He was close enough that his arm touched my back. “At least I get you to myself,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifted up.
My fingers shook because of his touch. I put my paper down so I could hide my hands in my lap. “In a class full of people,” I said.
He put his paper in his lap and leaned back on his hands. “It won’t matter if they’re there. I don’t really talk much.”
“Why?”
“Not a lot to say.”
“You talk to me.”
He reached over, moving a lock of my hair that had slipped away from my clip, tucking it behind my ear. His big fingers brushed across my cheek and against the lobe of my ear. “You talk to me, too.”
My heart did flips in my chest.
There was a knock at Kota’s door. All of us looked up at the same time toward one another.
“It can’t be the mailman,” Kota said, his brows creasing. He got up off the floor. As he walked around me toward the door, he dropped a palm on top of my head, pushing slightly to make my head bob down. I looked up just in time to catch his grin before he left the living room. I grinned back. It was nice to feel wanted. I tried to tell myself again that touching was normal among friends. They might be friends with a lot of secrets, but they were normal in their behavior, right? Having missed out on this for so long, I was simply unused to the attention. Did anyone ever get over this feeling or was this fluttering nervousness something they felt all the time?
It was only a minute before Kota returned, we all looked up at him expectantly. He looked pale.
“Kota?” Luke said. “What? Who was it?”
“It’s your sister,” Kota said, turning to me. “Your older sister. She’s asking for you.”
My heart stopped. How did she find out? How did she know I was here? My hand fluttered to the base of my throat and I leapt up. I didn’t want her coming in. It would be bad enough she knew I was at Kota’s. It would be worse if she knew there were seven guys here.
Silas caught my other hand, looking up at me from the floor. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.
I shrugged my shoulders and tried to keep my expression calm. I squeezed his hand back. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.” After the last time when my mother had reacted badly when Silas called, I didn’t want to scare him with my worry over what she would do to me. I was too terrified now to be nervous that he was holding my hand.
“Would your sister say you were here?” Kota asked, pushing his glasses up on his face again even after they were already adjusted. I had the feeling it was what he did when he was thinking.
“Maybe,” I said. “It might require negotiations.” They all looked confused and I waved my hand to them, taking the paper that had my schedule and putting it in my pocket. “I have to go calm the waters. I might not be back today.”
“Be careful,” Silas said. He squeezed my hand again before letting go. The others looked like they wanted to say something, but no one did. North was sitting up on the couch, his hands clenched. Nathan stared at the floor. Gabriel, Luke and Victor looked between Kota and I, as if waiting for either of us to tell them what to do.
Kota walked with me to the door and the others stayed behind. I wanted to say something more to them, but there wasn’t much else to say. This was far beyond what I was prepared to handle at the moment.
Outside, Marie was waiting on the steps. Her hands were in her jean pockets and she was looking impatient and sweating. I stepped out onto the porch. Kota had his hand gently rubbing my back on the way out and pulled it away before Marie could catch it. The instant his hand moved, I felt a loss. His touch was helping me to feel brave.
I stepped away from the door and gave Kota a small wave. He waved back, looking sympathetic. He said nothing but gave me a look that for once I understood. He wanted a word from me the moment I could find a way.
“Mom wants you to go home,” Marie said after Kota closed the front door. “She’s been asking for you for a couple of hours now.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“I took a guess,” she said.
I was fuming inside, angry at myself for being so reckless. She must have seen me from the house. “Does mom know I was here?”
Marie shrugged. That didn’t mean she didn’t know. It was her way of saying she wasn’t going to tell me. This was bad. If Marie had gotten into trouble with something, she could have used her knowledge of where I was to try to get herself out of a punishment. It often worked.
We got back to the house and entered through the side garage door. As soon as we were standing in the living room, I heard my mom’s voice ringing through the house.
“Sang! Come here now!” The anger and power radiated through her tone and it felt like the house was shaking around me. It was all I needed to hear. She knew everything.
Marie filed off past me and headed toward the stairs. She was getting out of the way. I was going to face this part alone.
* * *
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Books by C. L. Stone
The Academy Ghost Bird Series
Introductions
First Days
Friends vs. Family
Forgiveness and Permission
Drop of Doubt
Push and Shove
House of Korba
The Other Side of Envy
The Healing Power of Sugar (Fall 2015)
* * *<
br />
The Academy Scarab Beetle Series
Thief
Liar
Fake
Accessory
Other C. L. Stone Books:
Spice God
Smoking Gun
About C. L. Stone
USA Today Bestselling Author, C. L. Stone once lived in Charleston, SC, and currently lives among Cajuns. She writes about cute boys and uncomfortable situations, usually mixed together.
Something About Love
by
Elana Johnson
Copyright
Copyright © 2014 by Elana Johnson
Published by AEJ Creative Works
All Rights Reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Cover Design by AEJ Creative Works
Interior Design by AEJ Creative Works
Fonts used: Windsong - Fontsquirrel.com
Cover photograph © Andrekart Photography - Shutterstock.com
1
“I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU,”
Are words I do not understand.
* * *
How can a person be
In love
With someone who doesn’t love them back?
* * *
Is there a magical space
Labeled “love”
Where people meet?
* * *
Like,
“I am at Wal-mart with you.”
* * *
Now if Harris Jacobsen would’ve said,
“I love being at Wal-mart with you,”
I would’ve understood.
* * *
But he hadn’t.
He’d said,
“I am in love with you.”
* * *
I shook my head,
Tried to make the words align,
All while wondering where this
Cloud-floaty place called love was, and
If I would ever wake up, and
Find myself there.
2
“WINGS,”
A boy says,
Pulls me from my memory
Of Harris’s confusing statement.
* * *
Harris had said it at lunch,
After leading me to his car
Like he usually did.
* * *
This time, instead of
Ham and cheese,
Capri-sun and laughter,
He’d kissed me (not new)
And said, “Livvy, I am in love with you.”
* * *
I shake the words away,
Focus on the boy in front of me now.
* * *
“Don’t call me Wings,” I say to Trevor Youngblood.
He wears his hair too long—
Longer than mine,
But that’s not hard.
* * *
Ninety-seven percent of Copper Hills High
Has hair longer than mine.
* * *
I move to step past Trevor,
The old flame in my stomach
Slowly igniting
As if he’d cupped his hand around it and blew.
* * *
“Come on, Olivia,” he says,
His voice low,
His fingers closing on my forearm.
* * *
His touch burns,
The way I thought it would
When I was in ninth grade.
* * *
I am not in ninth grade now, and
Trevor has muscled into a man
More so than he was as a freshman,
When I first felt the fires of lust.
* * *
“What do you want?” I ask,
Staring at his hand on my arm.
* * *
He releases me at the same time
He exhales.
His breath,
My arm,
No longer his prisoners.
* * *
“You infuriate me, Olivia Winging,” he says,
Rifling one hand through his bag.
He wears his over his shoulder,
A look I’ve always found feminine—
Unless you’re Trevor Youngblood.
* * *
“Because I’m not swooning at your mere presence?”
If only he could x-ray my stomach.
Then he’d see swoon.
* * *
I’ve simply learned to school my feelings,
Stuff them tight,
Ribbon them like Christmas presents
That I won’t give away.
* * *
“That’s only part of the reason.”
His mouth kicks up, and
I hate that I’ll lay awake tonight re-envisioning it.
“But really, it’s because of this.”
* * *
He thrusts a newspaper at me
Forcefully enough that I have no choice
But to take it.
* * *
I feel the other seniors watch us
As they jostle by,
Text their significant others,
Head for their cars.
The last bell rang four minutes ago,
Signaling freedom for the day.
* * *
The paper feels dirty,
Dry,
Crinkly
In my hand.
* * *
I smooth it against his chest,
Notice his muscles,
The amused set of his lips,
The teasing sparkle in his eye.
* * *
I find myself looking at
Myself.
“Crap,” I whisper.
3
“THAT’S YOUR EXPLANATION?”
Trevor cocks his hip out,
His left eyebrow up.
“Does your mother know you swear?”
* * *
“Shut up,” I say,
My only comeback.
Trevor knows my mother, and
Though he’s not interested,
She likes attractive males of all ages.
* * *
Except, apparently, nearly-fifty-year-olds,
As she left Dad last year
In search of a better house,
A better car,
A better husband,
A better life.
* * *
I visit her on weekends.
Which is why,
“I’m not entering.”
* * *
I shove the paper back at Trevor,
Succeed in maneuvering around him to my locker.
* * *
“What?”
The paper protests as he fists it.
I silently protest as he follows me.
“You have to go, Win—Liv.
You’re the only one good enough to win.”
* * *
“So what?
So Copper Hills will only have ninety-four trophies
Instead of ninety-five?”
I spin my locker open,
Drown out his exasperated sighs
And muttered complaints
By dropping my books
Against the metal.
* * *
Finished, I lean my forehead against my closed locker.
I draw a deep breath, and
Clear my head.
Going home requires such things.
* * *
I turn,
Find Trevor standing there, watching.
“Leave me alone,” I say.
* * *
“You’re really not going to enter.”
* * *
“Really, really.”
* * *
“Unbelievable.”
Trevor shakes his head,
Sends that shaggy hair swinging.
His eyes harbor anger now,
His shoulders tension.
“You are something…unbelievable.”
* * *
“You enter,” I snap. “If you’re so worried about the trophy count.”
I stride away from him before
I abandon all reason.
* * *
“That’s not it at all.”
He matches my gait,
That newspaper crackling with every movement.
It sends annoyance through my bloodstream.
* * *
“You’re good, Liv.”
Trevor’s voice has a whine in it.
“No one can capture the soul through a lens like you can.”
He shakes the paper as if strangling it.
