Ordinary Girl (The Dark Dragon Chronicles Book 1)

by Ripley Harper

  It’s a good thing I’m sitting down, because I literally feel my knees weaken as he gives a husky laugh. “You’re serious? You’d change your hair just because it’s against the rules?” He looks genuinely puzzled, as if I’m being difficult on purpose.

  I force myself to look away from that glittering gaze and focus on my food instead. “I told you,” I say, picking up my fork. “I’m on my last warning.”

  “Would it help if I got them to change the rules?”

  My eyes fly back to his. “You can do that?”

  He raises a lazy shoulder. “Sure.”

  I blink at him, astonished. Then I remember that our school has the Pendragon Library, the Pendragon Laboratory, the Pendragon Athletics Track …

  “Yeah, it would help.” I give him a wry smile. “I’m not even sure how to fix it, to be honest. Nothing ever worked for that green sheen I used to have.”

  “Your hair doesn’t need to be ‘fixed,’ Jess. It’s gorgeous. Absolutely perfect.”

  I feel myself blushing.

  “Can I touch it?”

  With his emerald-green eyes smoldering into mine, I simply can’t think straight. Before I can stop myself, I give a slight nod.

  He reaches out his hand slowly, touches my scalp lightly, runs his fingers through my hair.

  I drop my fork with a loud clang.

  Oh. My. God.

  My brain switches off as my entire body surges to his touch, fireworks igniting and exploding inside me until I’m little more than a puddle of confused longing. It’s as if his fingers, moving with such delicious, gentle slowness, are touching more than just my hair, and within seconds my entire body starts to burn with a slow, deep ache. I feel light-headed and dizzy, breathless, shivering with sensation and—

  “Jonathan! Is this girl bothering you?”

  Principal Sweeney’s blustering voice shocks me out of my lust coma.

  Jonathan lets go of my hair, and for a moment I feel abandoned, empty… bereft.

  “No sir,” he says, getting up and shaking hands with the principal. “We were just talking, but I’m very glad to see you. I was hoping you’ve got time to discuss an issue…”

  Jonathan and the principal walk away, chatting like old friends. He doesn’t as much as glance around again.

  I, on the other hand, feel so shaky and breathless and shell-shocked that for about a minute afterwards I can’t do anything but stare at his receding back.

  “Holy smackballs!” Eve shrieks as soon as they’re out of earshot. “What the hell was that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  When I finally drag my eyes away from Jonathan, I find that Hendry and Eve are staring at me, their mouths hanging open. Actually, the entire cafeteria is staring at me, and no freaking wonder.

  “I think that might have been the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Eve says, her eyes round with surprise.

  “I know,” Henry agrees reluctantly. “I feel like I’ve been scorched by the sun.”

  For a moment the three of us stare at each other and then we all burst out laughing.

  Henry is the first to sober. “I must admit though, I don’t really get it.”

  “Get what?” Eve asks, still giggling.

  “What all that was about. He’s never even noticed Jess before, and now this?”

  His words pull me back to reality the way a fish is pulled out of the water.

  What am I thinking? What am I doing?

  I remember Gunn telling me never to trust a Pendragon, a family famous for their bloodmagic. I remember Ingrid telling Jack Pendragon not to use his son against me. I remember that I did not exactly part with Jack Pendragon on the best of terms. I remember that I’m being watched, perhaps even right now in this cafeteria, by people who have hated the Pendragons for centuries. I remember that Gunn asked me to be careful, more careful than I’ve ever been.

  And what do I do?

  Jonathan flashes his pretty green eyes at me, and I simply melt.

  I shake my head, disorientated and confused, feeling as if I’ve just woken from a dream.

  “It was just weird, is all,” Henry says.

  “Nah,” Eve says. “You’re overthinking it. If you ask me, that guy is so hot for Jess he can’t even feel himself sweat.”

  A second later the bell goes and we all get up. And although I spend the rest of the day hating myself for my weakness, I do notice that nobody says another nasty word about my hair.

  Chapter 20

  Of all the deep forms of magic, Foresight, the core skill of Seamagic, might be the rarest and least understood. For how can one predict the future even while changing the course of the future by that very prediction? It is for this reason that the warnings of the Seaprophets are so often ignored, to the peril of us all.

  Particularly the White Clan, whose magic is of Mind, tends to mistrust this most mysterious of magics, born of Intuition, which at first manifests as nothing more than a vague feeling of unease, or an impending sense of doom.

  From Orations of Aelius (1st Century CE); translated from the original Latin by Sofia Rodriguez (1999)

  I’m on my way to my car when someone grabs me from behind. I swing around to see Chloe glaring at me, her pretty face flushed with indignation.

  “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I blink at her, feeling strangely guilty and wrong-footed. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I know exactly what you’re up to!”

  “Look,” I sigh. “I don’t know what you heard, but the truth is I didn’t do anything. He came over to our table and said he liked my hair and wanted to touch it. That’s all.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Um… What are you talking about?”

  She waves my question away, frowning. “Who came over to your table? Wait a minute. Are you talking about Jonathan?”

  I nod.

  “And he said—” her eyebrows shoot up as she seems to notice my new hair color for the first time “—that he liked your hair?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then what?”

  “He asked if he could touch it, and then he, like, stroked it.”

  She bursts out laughing, a rich, deep, bubbling sound. “Oh no, this is too good. Don’t tell me.” She holds up one hand, laughing so hard she can barely speak. “You are now convinced that he likes you. That he’s secretly in lurve with you.”

  “No, I’m not!”

  “Oh yes, you are. You think you must be special to him,” she splutters, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

  “I’m not that stupid, okay? I thought you knew that by now.”

  She pulls a wry face. “Jonathan can be pretty persuasive when he wants to be.”

  “I’m not easily persuaded,” I say firmly. “Especially not by arrogant douchebags with nothing going for them except their dad’s money and their pretty green eyes.”

  “Noticed the eyes though, didn’t you?”

  “I’m not blind.”

  “No,” she says, sobering a little. “You’re not.” She slowly looks me up and down. “I’d watch my back if I were you, Sarkany.”

  “You think he’s out to get me?”

  An unamused little laugh. “Look. No offense, but your hair looks really weird. And Jonathan’s not exactly known for going out of his way to make people feel good about themselves.”

  “I know,” I say, remembering Gunn’s words from the other night: Jonathan Pendragon may be young, but make no mistake: he is your enemy, and he’s dangerous. More dangerous than you can imagine.

  “Oh, puh-lease.” Some of what I’m thinking must show on my face, because Chloe rolls her eyes. “There’s no need to look so damn tragic. If anyone in the world can handle Jonathan, it’s you; you’re as tough as nails.” She glares at me. “We have far bigger problems anyway. Where have you been? I couldn’t get hold of you.”

  “In bed. I’ve been sick with the flu.”

  “And I’m
supposed to believe that?”

  I shrug. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “Because… look at you.”

  I narrow my eyes. “If you’re about to say that I look fantastic and you want to stroke my hair, I’m going to slap you.”

  “I’m not talking about your hair.” She scowls at me. “Your hair looks ridiculous—it’s bright green, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  She frowns. “But it’s also really shiny. And your skin is glowing, and your eyes are really white and you look really healthy.”

  “Okay,” I say uncertainly. “Thanks?”

  “It’s not a compliment. My point is there’s no way in hell you’ve been sick in bed all week, so don’t even try to lie to me.” She purses her lips scornfully. “I know what you’re trying to do—you’re trying to dissociate from this whole trainwreck. But you can’t, okay? You’re as much a part of this as I am, whether you like it or not.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She puts her hands on her hips. “We need to deal with Jeffrey Black.”

  Ah. Of course. Funny how quickly I’ve forgotten that whole mess now that I have more serious problems to worry about.

  “You think he lied to us?” I ask, remembering my conversation with Ty on Saturday morning.

  She nods. “I spoke to Jonathan. It’s all a total fantasy. Jeffrey made it all up.”

  “Ty gave me that idea too.”

  She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow but doesn’t ask any questions. “I’m going to Jeffrey’s house now. You coming?”

  I blow out my breath in a long whoosh. So, I can either go back to Ingrid’s creepy bugged house, knowing that people are spying on me, or confront that sad, strange boy in his own home.

  To be honest, I’m not sure which option is less appealing.

  Jeffrey Black’s house is small but well kept. The tiny lawn is so perfectly manicured it looks like Astroturf, the three vigorously pruned rose bushes are all the exact same size, and the one small flower bed looks as if it’s been measured out with a ruler. The steps to the front door are covered in a thick layer of polish and the doormat is printed with the words: A Stranger Is Just A Friend You Haven’t Met!

  “Well, that’s just plain delusional,” Chloe says, looking at it with a frown.

  The door swings open before I can ring the bell.

  “Girls! What a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  The woman in the doorway must be somewhere in her sixties and looks like a granny in a storybook: sensible shoes, sensible skirt, loose cardigan, ugly glasses. She welcomes us into the house with a cheerful flutter.

  “I’m Jeffrey’s grandmother, and you must be Chloe and Jess. Jeffrey has told me so much about you. Please come in. He should be home any second now.”

  I smile at her politely, a bit thrown by the familiarity of her greeting. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this woman before in my life. Chloe gives her an unsmiling nod.

  “You can wait for Jeffrey in his den,” his grandmother says, pointing to some stairs going down on our right. “Please excuse the mess down there; I haven’t had time to clean up behind him yet.” A conspiratorial wink. “Boys! They’re always so messy. Would you girls like some refreshments?”

  “No, thanks,” I say, smiling stiffly. “We won’t be long.”

  Jeffrey’s “den” is a basement room with bare white walls and a painted cement floor. The furniture consists of two ugly purple couches, a TV against the wall, and three computers, an Xbox and two speakers on a desk in the corner. The place is meticulously neat apart from two empty Pepsi cans on the desk.

  I take a seat on one of the couches. “Did you know Jeffrey lived with his grandmother?”

  Chloe gives me an irritated look. “Everybody knows that.”

  “Did his parents pass away?” I ask, struck by the idea that he might be an orphan too.

  She shakes her head. “Some people say they’re in jail. Some say they died when their meth lab exploded. Some say they’re on the run from the police.”

  I feel my eyebrows shooting up. “His parents were meth dealers?”

  “Probably not. But that story’s been going around for years.” Chloe sits down, unconsciously posing even now: her body twisted to the side, her legs crossed, her head just so. “They both disappeared overnight, and nobody ever explained what happened to them so people were bound to make up some crazy stories.”

  “Poor guy.” I’m suddenly struck by how little I know about him. “Is that how the bullying started?”

  “Nah. It started long before that.”

  “Why?”

  “You know what he’s like. Weird. Different.” She starts playing with one glossy lock of hair, as if bored by the conversation. “My guess is that he falls somewhere on the lower edges of the autism spectrum, maybe with borderline personality issues thrown into the mix. Someone like that was always going to have problems in a town like this.”

  “That’s a really specific diagnosis,” I say skeptically. “Considering you’re not a doctor.”

  She shrugs. “My mom used to be a psychiatrist in the city before she gave up her career to join my stepfather here in Hicksville.”

  “Still doesn’t make you one.”

  A bitter look crosses her face. “Maybe not. But over the years I must’ve listened to her psychoanalyze this whole damn town after her second bottle of wine in the evenings.”

  I’m so surprised by this unexpected glimpse into Chloe’s life that I stare at her blankly. And she must regret saying anything because she changes the topic immediately.

  “So, what did Ty tell you?”

  “Nothing. But when I confronted him about this whole thing, he didn’t even know what I was talking about.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “He’s too stupid to act that convincingly.”

  “Ty’s not stupid. But you were right when you told Jeffrey this isn’t his kind of stunt.”

  “Why do you say that?” Despite myself, I’m kind of interested in hearing how Chloe would psychoanalyze Ty Sampson. But her answer surprises me.

  “Everybody knows you’re on borrowed time at school. One more scandal and Sweeney will throw you out on your ear. Ty would never let that happen.”

  “You think so?”

  “He’s always looked out for you, even when it cost him.”

  I snort. “Please. That guy’s been making my life a misery for years.”

  “Really?” She pouts her glossy lips sarcastically. “Your life is a misery? And just when exactly was the last time anybody pushed you around?”

  “People don’t push me around because they know what will happen.”

  “They don’t push you around because they know Ty will kill them.”

  I frown. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the way Ty looks out for you.”

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “Oh, God.” She looks heavenwards, as if praying for strength. “Have you any idea how annoying you are? How abrasive? How clueless? But when has anyone tried to cut you down to size these last couple of years?”

  “They wouldn’t dare after what happened to Ty.”

  “Oh, get over yourself. Everyone knows he allowed himself to be beaten up because he felt sorry for you.”

  “He did not!”

  “Of course he did,” she says impatiently, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “In what universe can a skinny girl like you do any damage to someone like Ty? Apparently, he only found out that morning that your mom was sick, and he felt so guilty for having given you a hard time, he didn’t even try to defend himself.”

  “That’s not true,” I say, a bit uncertainly.

  Because it can’t be true. Can it? And yet…

  Gunn always says never to fight anyone who’s a lot bigger and stronger than you; there’s only so much that speed and technique can do when the other person is three times your size. And the tr
uth is I didn’t even have any technique back then—I just went for the guy like a crazed animal in pain.

  “Of course it’s true. And after that, he wouldn’t let anybody do anything to you either.” She gives a bored little sigh when she notices my mystified expression. “Do you have any idea what would’ve happened to you on your way home from school if you’d tried to beat up someone like Josh or Ethan? But Ty wouldn’t let anyone touch you, and Jonathan backed him up, so that was the end of that.”

  My frown deepens. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Who did you think’s been looking out for you and your freaky little friends all this time?”

  “We look after ourselves.”

  “Please.” She starts counting on her fingers. “One: You’ve got your own table at lunch where nobody’s ever bothered you, like, ever. Two: You’re always invited to parties even though you’re all so weird and boring. Three: You’ve got your own place to hang out, a prime spot right next to the parking lot.” She gives me a pitying look. “You think that stuff just happened?”

  I bite my lip. Could it be possible that I’ve gotten everything wrong all these years?

  “If that’s true,” I say slowly, trying to decide what to believe, “why did Ty give me that dumb nickname, and why’s he always playing stupid pranks on me?”

  She rolls her eyes. “How the hell should I know? He probably thinks it’s funny. You’re hilarious when you get mad: all that yelling and hissing and spitting.” She grins slyly. “I said he looks out for you; I didn’t say he’s a freaking knight in shining armor.”

  We both look up when we hear the door close. Jeffrey is standing at the top of the stairs, looking a bit ill.

  “What are you talking about?” he says, not bothering to greet either of us. “Tyrone is a disgusting animal. How can you pretend he’s a good guy?”

  “Yeah,” I say as Jeffrey walks down the stairs. “I’m having some trouble believing it too.”

  “Believe what you want,” Chloe tells me. Then she turns to Jeffrey, looking him up and down in exactly the same way you’d stare at an exotic but disgusting insect. Under her cool gaze, his hands start twitching although he tries to hide it by leaning against the side of the purple couch.