Ordinary Girl (The Dark Dragon Chronicles Book 1)

by Ripley Harper

  A shiver of ice runs down my spine. “Are you serious?”

  He groans, then falls back to pound his head against the grass. “Of course I’m not serious! For God’s sake, Jess. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  I laugh in spite of myself. “I can’t believe you just did that!” I lean over to slap the side of his head. “You are dead to me, Rodriguez!”

  “Pero sí que te lo merecías.”

  “Cierra la boca. Te odio.”

  “No, no me odias. Muy dentro de ti sabes que tengo razón.”

  “Look, I know this sounds crazy,” I tell him when he finally stops laughing. “But something weird has been going on with me lately.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” He flips his thick brown hair, which he always wears slightly too long, out of his eyes. “He’s about six-four and looks like a Viking.”

  Maddeningly, I feel myself blushing. “What has Gunn got to do with this?”

  “Simple.” Daniel takes a last drag and then puts out his cigarette. “Those ‘self-defense’ classes he’s been teaching you?”

  “Yeah?”

  “They’re messing with your head.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “No, listen.” Daniel leans forward, his soft, dark, Bambi-like eyes unusually serious. “It was fine at the beginning, when it was all about the kicking and the punching. But lately you never stop talking about your ‘inner strength’ and the ‘deep pools of your will’ and all the rest of that hippie shit.”

  “Gunn says self-defense is about more than just knowing how to handle a physical attack. It’s also about knowing how to deal with the normal battles we face every day.”

  Daniel rolls his eyes. “Look, I know you’ve got the biggest crush on the guy—whatever, not judging. But when you start taking that stuff seriously, I mean, really seriously, like believing you’ve got superpowers… It’s becoming a problem, okay?”

  “I don’t get why you’re being such a hater—you know how much those classes have helped me.”

  “It helped,” he admits. “It’s kind of ironic though; since you learned all those cool ninja moves, you haven’t been in a single fight.”

  “Well, actually, Gunn says the most basic rule of all classic martial art forms is to avoid a fight in the first place. He says—”

  Daniel groans. “Do you even realize how many of your sentences start with ‘Gunn says’?”

  “I’m just trying to—”

  “No, actually you’re making my point for me. The guy has clearly put all kinds of weird ideas into your head, and mixed up with all the sex hormones he’s shaken loose in your body…” He shrugs. “It’s a lethal combination.”

  “Are you saying I’m crazy, Dr. Phil?”

  Something flickers in his eyes, and suddenly I wish the earth would swallow me up.

  Dammit! How could I have forgotten?

  I feel myself blushing right to my roots, but fortunately he doesn’t notice because he’s frowning at something behind me. I turn to look, grateful for the distraction, until I see who’s crossing the parking lot toward us.

  Ugh. It’s Ty, Jonathan, and Amanda—your basic nightmare.

  I glance at Daniel, who pulls a quick face at me.

  Now, Jonathan Pendragon is real trouble: the kind you only get to be when you live in a small town and your dad owns the factory that employs just about everyone else who lives there. In our town, Jonathan wields roughly the same kind of power as a medieval prince: the teachers are respectful toward him, the sheriff lets him drive as fast as he wants, the principal shakes his hand whenever he sees him, and most girls do everything but curtsy whenever he comes near. It’s painful to watch, to be honest.

  So far, Jonathan and I have pretty much stayed out of each other’s way, but I’m also pretty sure he’s been behind many of the pranks that have been pulled on me—Jonathan Pendragon is exactly the type to get other people to do his dirty work.

  Jonathan and his long-time girlfriend, Chloe Fischer (the prettiest girl in school, obviously), broke up after he cheated on her at Cayden’s party last weekend. Since then he’s been hanging out with Amanda Roberts, a dull-eyed, busty, fish-lipped airhead whose greatest, openly stated ambition is to become one of the Real Housewives. The two of us have had a lot of issues—mainly because she likes to make fun of my hair and my unconventional upbringing—but I’ve never been careful with her the way I am with Jonathan.

  As they get closer, I stand up; I always feel vulnerable when people are towering over me. Daniel is made of sterner stuff though; he remains lying on the grass, staring up at the sky as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  Ty is the first to speak. “Listen, Applehead, um, I mean, Jess…” He rubs his neck, looks down at the grass. “About this morning…”

  Jonathan is standing next to Ty, looking cool and arrogant as always in his expensive clothes and designer sunglasses. He has a loose arm draped around Amanda, whose loud gum-chewing is the only sound in the long, awkward silence that follows.

  “What do you want, Ty?” I ask impatiently.

  “Nothing,” he says, still not meeting my eyes. “I mean, I guess I wanted, um, you know. Like, I’m sorry and all that…”

  “Is this some kind of apology?”

  He grins, looking relieved, as if I’ve solved a difficult riddle for him. “Yeah. That’s it. An apology.”

  I look from him to Jonathan, whose face isn’t giving anything away. Amanda blows a pink bubble and then pops it with a long red fingernail.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to apologize this time?”

  Ty looks genuinely confused.

  “I mean, you never apologized for the time you decorated my locker with tampons. Or the time you put superglue all over my desk. Or the time you stuck toilet paper—” I stop when I see that Ty’s trying his best not to laugh.

  Whatever. I’m wasting my breath here.

  I’m about to walk away when Jonathan turns to me. His smile is blindingly white and surprisingly charming. “I think what Ty is trying to say,” he says in that lazy, unhurried way of his, “is he never meant for this to get so out of hand. It was really just a stupid joke. Nobody meant for you to get suspended.”

  My heart begins to race. “I’ve been suspended?”

  “Yeah,” Ty says, “for the rest of the week.” For the second time today, he hands me a piece of paper. “Sweeney said I should give you this for your guardian to sign. You must hand it in to Miss Anderson when you return on Monday.”

  I take the form from him. It’s a suspension form alright (I know what they look like by now), signed by the principal.

  “When did he give this to you?”

  “After you walked out.” He frowns at me. “Why did you do that anyway? I think that made him madder than anything.”

  I’m so irritated by him suggesting this was somehow my fault that I tell the truth without thinking. “I walked out because Sweeney went all—” I demonstrate the way the principal froze, his mouth open and his finger suspended in mid-air. “I mean, it was weird, don’t you think? What was I supposed to do, sit there and stare at him?”

  Ty’s frown deepens. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about Sweeney freezing up like that.” I roll my eyes at Ty’s puzzled face. “Oh, come on. Don’t pretend it didn’t happen. You even tried to help him!”

  He shakes his head slowly. “Did you maybe smoke something this morning?”

  “I don’t do drugs,” I say indignantly, ignoring Daniel’s amused little snort.

  Then I decide to drop it; if Ty wants to pretend nothing strange happened in Sweeney’s office, that’s fine with me. I’m sure as hell not going to argue with this idiot.

  But Jonathan takes his arm off Amanda’s shoulder and steps closer to me. “What exactly happened in there?” he asks, giving me his full attention for the first time in his life.

  “Nothing. Forget it.�
��

  He takes off his sunglasses and gives me a strangely intent look. “No, really, I want to know.”

  Wow.

  With him standing so close to me, I notice for the first time that Jonathan has the most amazing eyes, emerald green and glittering and piercing, and as I look into them my head begins to spin and suddenly I have the oddest feeling. That I know him from somewhere. That we’re the same. That all my problems will disappear if I just reach out, knot my fingers into his glossy black hair and pull his face close enough to—

  “Baby.” Fortunately, Amanda picks this moment to make it clear that she’s tired of being ignored. “I’m thirsty. Can’t we go get a Coke or something?”

  “Later.”

  I blink, try to look away. But it’s difficult, because for the first time I’m beginning to realize that Jonathan is gorgeous. As in, absolutely drop-dead freaking gorgeous. How the hell did I never notice it before?

  Sure, I’ve always known he’s good-looking—it’s part of the whole Prince-of-this-town myth he’s got going—but I’ve always thought him too slick and too shallow and too mainstream to be really attractive. Only now…

  Now I realize he’s so mesmerizingly beautiful that I simply cannot stop staring. There’s something about his eyes, those glittering emerald pools, and about the way he—

  “Jess.” Daniel has gotten up from the grass to stand next to me. “Are you okay?” He touches my shoulder, and immediately it’s as if I’m released from some kind of spell.

  “Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “Of course I am.”

  “But I’m thirsty now,” Amanda whines, glaring at me. “Let’s just go.”

  Jonathan doesn’t even look at her. “I’m talking to Jess,” he says, taking a small step closer to me.

  “You can talk to her later,” Amanda says. “I want to get out of here. C’mon, baby. Only losers hang out at the back of the parking lot.” She sends a killing look in Daniel’s direction. “And Mexicans.”

  Oh boy.

  For a moment I literally see red, so angry I want to slap her. See, Daniel was born here, but his parents are originally from Puerto Rico. And while there might be large parts of this country where this would be nothing but an unremarkable piece of personal history, in a town like ours it’s something that just about everyone remarks on just about all the time.

  I’m about to lay into Amanda when Daniel gives my shoulder a warning squeeze. When I glance at him, he gives a quick, barely perceptible shake of his head. Not now.

  I take a deep breath, try to reign in my temper. Because he’s probably right: Amanda’s not worth it, and neither of us wants to start anything with Jonathan Pendragon.

  “I’m sure Amanda didn’t mean—” Jonathan begins, scowling in her direction.

  But I’ve had just about enough of this lot for one day.

  “Yes, she did,” I snap. “Whatever. We’re leaving.” As I pick up my bag, I suddenly understand something. “By the way,” I say as I get up, looking Jonathan straight in the eye. “The next time you put Ty up to something like this, do your own apologizing.”

  Then I grab Daniel’s arm, and we walk away without looking back.

  Chapter 5

  Do not extend the hand of friendship to such a one, and in its company do not go, lest thou allow it close enough to snare thy soul.

  For its kind can know no friendship; its heart can know no trust. Pity those who would befriend the Horror. Yea, pity them!

  The Old Words: Verse 9:13-14

  I became friends with Daniel for reasons that are sad and kind of difficult to explain, but it basically boils down to the fact that I lost my mom to cancer at about the same time that he lost his brother in a shooting accident. Our friendship started out as something narrow and desperate and a bit claustrophobic: we clung to each other like shipwrecked sailors sharing a piece of driftwood at first, not letting anyone else in, especially after things spiralled out of control at Daniel’s home and he couldn’t bear to have his old friends around anymore.

  Eventually though, things changed, and as we learned to cope with our new, broken lives, Daniel slowly managed to convince me to let a few other people into my life.

  Henry, who’d been Daniel’s best friend since kindergarten, was the first person I really got to know. I expected him to resent me for having hijacked so much of his friend’s time and attention, but by the time I met him he’d fallen so hard for Eve (aka Third Wave) that he didn’t mind. I found him to be just as laid back and almost as much fun as Daniel, and the four of us started hanging out together more and more as the months went by, especially once I realized that Eve shared my (secret and shameful) addiction to reality TV shows.

  Maggie, Henry’s twin sister, was the next friend I made. Which just goes to show how strange life can be. If anyone had told me, a couple of years ago, that I’d become friends with a deeply religious, completely boy-crazy computer geek, I’d probably have told them to stay away from the chocolate brownies. But there you go. It took me a while to really start liking Maggie, mainly because it took me a while to realize that she’s exactly what she seems: a warm, kind, decent, well-mannered, optimistic little ball of energy, who also just happens to be a genius.

  But to get back to the present.

  It’s late afternoon, and we’re hanging out at Third Wave’s house. Maggie, Henry and Eve are sharing the couch, and Daniel and I are lying on the floor in front of the TV. We’re eating popcorn and hate-watching a random reality show involving a bunch of super-tan guys on steroids and long-haired girls in bikinis who are sharing a house on a tropical island for some unconvincing reason. I suspect both Maggie and Daniel would rather be doing something else, so I appreciate the fact that they’re here, trying to cheer me up after my latest suspension.

  “I’m not sure I understand the basic premise of this show,” Maggie says after frowning at the TV for about half an hour. “Are the contestants trying to leave the island or are they trying to stay?”

  “Who cares?” Eve says. “Just enjoy it for what it is. I mean, Redneck Guy has just decided to go to the elimination dinner in edible man panties. That’s quality television right there.”

  “Is Redneck Guy the one with the bandana?” Daniel asks, trying to make sense of the nicknames Third Wave and I always come up with to make our (secret and shameful) reality-show watching sessions more fun.

  “No,” I say, “although I can see how you could make that mistake. Redneck Guy is the one with the long blond hair who’s always flirting with Trashtalking Woman.”

  Maggie groans. “I don’t know how you two can watch this. Simply sitting here with my eyes open for the last thirty minutes has made me a worse person in almost every aspect. And Eve, aren’t you betraying the feminist cause by watching a show that’s so clearly anti-women?”

  Third Wave throws a handful of popcorn at her. “Yeah. Because feminists are only allowed to watch shows about female brain surgeons.” She rolls her eyes. “Like Grey’s Anatomy.”

  They both start giggling.

  As usual, Eve is wearing an oddly mismatched “vintage” outfit that, together with her square black-rimmed glasses and short bangs, makes it abundantly clear that she’s “not dressing for the male gaze” (her actual words). Maggie, in spectacular contrast, is wearing a short, pink, super-girly dress that should look terrible with her red hair and pale skin, but somehow doesn’t. (Which is typical: Maggie’s sweet freckled face and healthy, solidly built body may not be conventionally beautiful, but there’s something so wholesome and fresh about her that she always looks great. Henry, who has similar looks, shares the knack.)

  “I’m with Maggie on this one,” Daniel says. “I just don’t get this show. People keep laughing and crying and fighting but I can’t make out why. And why does everyone have their mouths open all the time?”

  “They also seem unusually lacking in good judgment and basic people skills,” Maggie adds. “The producers should really have chosen people who are a bi
t more grounded.”

  Third Wave and I share a look.

  “They’re supposed to be like this, you hopeless pair of geeks,” Eve says, exasperated. “Just how much fun do you think a show about decent, rational people living together in harmony—”

  “Oh my goodness!” Maggie interrupts her. “That guy looks almost exactly like Ty!”

  “No wonder we call him Unlikeable Douchebag,” I mutter.

  “Ty’s not so bad,” Daniel says. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s true.”

  “Did you even see that picture?” I ask. “What kind of person would do such a thing?”

  “Most guys, actually,” Daniel smirks. But then he sees my murderous expression and puts his hands up in surrender. “Okay—so they might not go as far as actually photoshopping an image, but guys picture girls without their clothes on all the time.” He shrugs. “Just saying.”

  “Really?” Maggie gapes. “But that’s—”

  “It’s disgusting!” I finish for her. “Not to mention disrespectful.”

  “Oh, come on,” Daniel says. “Are you really going to tell me that you’ve never pictured a certain guy without his clothes on?”

  I pull a face at him.

  “It was a stupid thing to do,” Maggie says, “but I got the idea he was genuinely sorry for the way it turned out. For an Alpha, Ty’s actually pretty okay—I suspect he’s keeping the others in check more often than we know.”

  “Oh my God! Have I just fallen through a porthole into an alternate universe where Ty Sampson is suddenly a hero?”

  “Please don’t use the Lord’s name in vain,” Maggie says gently. “And I didn’t say he’s a hero. I just think he’s not really the enemy.”

  Her words are a sudden, uncomfortable reminder of what happened in the principal’s office earlier today.

  Ty is not the enemy.

  I shiver when I remember those long, strange seconds: how clearly I suddenly saw everything and how I judged everyone around me so differently. Why was I so convinced that the principal wanted to kick me out of school? And why was I so certain that Ty was on my side?