by Kelly Oram
by Kelly Oram
Also by Kelly Oram
Being Jamie Baker
Serial Hottie
V is for Virgin
The Avery Shaw Experiment
Chameleon (Supernaturals #1)
Published by Bluefields Creative
Copyright © 2013 by Kelly Oram
Edited by Jennifer Henkes (www.literallyjen.com)
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN 978-0-9856277-5-1
For all the Jamie and Ryan fans out there.
Without your encouragement, this book wouldn’t have been written. Thank you!
Hello, my name is Jamie Baker—and I am not a superhero.
I repeat: I am not a superhero.
Sure, I may have more in common with your friendly neighborhood Spiderman than, say, anyone else on the entire planet, but having superpowers doesn’t make you a hero. Superheroes use their powers for the good of mankind. I only use mine to score excellent takeout and eavesdrop on entertaining conversations.
Oh, I tried to do the right thing once. I saved a guy’s life, even. But in the end, all that got me was a bruised up shoulder and a lot of unwanted attention from an obsessed scientist who nearly killed my boyfriend. So yeah, that was the end of my superhero career. At least, it was—until I was involved in the third accident of my life. Well, I should say I wasn’t involved this time, but for me that’s basically the same thing.
Oddly enough, this story starts with Mike Driscoll, the same moron who started all the trouble last time when he bet my now-boyfriend, Ryan Miller, that he couldn’t get the school outcast—me—to kiss him.
Granted, that bet turned out to be the best thing that has ever happened to me. Not that I’d ever admit that to Mike, because for all the joy he has indirectly caused in my life, he is also directly responsible for all of my best friend’s pain and suffering—pain and suffering we were coincidently talking about when we ran into the jerk a couple of weeks into our first semester of college.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” Becky tugged on the hem of her skirt as if she could magically make it grow another six inches in length.
“Beck, we’ve been over this a million times. Cheering is in your blood. You’d be miserable if you didn’t do it.”
“But you said you would do it with me.”
“That was before I decided to go pre-law. There’s no way I’ll have the time for cheering with as much reading as I’m going to have.”
This wasn’t exactly true. You know that bit about superspeed? Yeah, it so works with reading. Can we say awesome? The not-awesome part about it is that I have to keep up the pretense of being normal, which means that Becky has to think I’m still spending all my time studying.
“Everybody’s looking at me,” Becky whined, giving her skirt another tug.
“As they should be. You look hot in that outfit! In fact, maybe we should use this opportunity to land you a date tonight.”
I held my breath as I waited for Becky’s response to my statement. Just about a year ago, she’d gone to homecoming with Mike Driscoll and he’d taken advantage of her after the dance in the worst possible way. She hadn’t been on a date since then, but I knew she was ready to move on. She just needed a little push.
She rolled her eyes as if I were being ridiculous, but she couldn’t quite hide the light tremble in her voice when she said, “A date? You sound like my therapist.”
“Really? Your doctor must be a genius.”
Becky snorted.
“Seriously, Becky, it’s time to put yourself out there again. You’re ready.”
Becky let out a long, heavy sigh. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I want to, but then I try to talk to some of the guys on the team and I freak out.” She sounded sad, defeated. “Maybe I’ll never be ready.”
“Maybe you’re just looking at it from the wrong perspective,” I said. “What if instead of talking to football players we find you a nice, lovable, nonthreatening geek?”
I scanned the quad and found what I was looking for leaning against the side of the admin building. “Someone like him, for example. I mean, look at that guy. You could totally take him if he tried anything.”
“Jamie!” Becky gasped, horrified. “Don’t point at him!” She practically ripped my arm off trying to remove the offending finger. “Oh my gosh, he saw you! He’s…is he laughing at us?”
I looked over and, sure enough, he was laughing at us. Well, and why not? Becky was only spazzing out.
“What? It’s fine,” I said. “So what if he knows we’re talking about him? He’s probably flattered that a couple of girls like us are checking him out. Look—he’s kind of adorable. Let’s go ask him out. What guy could say no to a college girl in a cheer skirt?”
I turned in the direction of the guy in question and Becky went into full panic mode. “No! Wait!” she pleaded, grinding her feet into the ground. “Please don’t. I can’t!”
She wasn’t kidding. Her heart rate had skyrocketed and she was starting to sweat.
I was torn between feeling bad for her and wanting to kill the jerk responsible for making her this way.
Becky misunderstood my frown and got defensive. “It’s a statistical fact that one out of every four girls will be sexually assaulted in college,” she said. “One out of eight, raped.”
I was familiar with the statistics. “I know,” I said gently. “But it’s also true that ninety percent of all campus rapes occur while the victim is under the influence of drugs or alcohol. You don’t drink anymore. Nor do you do drugs. You also know all the party safety rules, you carry mace with you everywhere, and we took self-defense classes all summer long. There is no way it will ever happen to you again. You know it won’t. That’s why we’ve been doing all of this.”
Becky didn’t argue because she knew I was right. She’d loved the self-defense classes and spent the entire summer telling me how much stronger and safer they made her feel.
“I know it’s scary getting back out there for the first time,” I said. “Remember that I’ve been exactly where you are.” I smiled and nudged her with my elbow. “Except I didn’t have an awesome best friend willing to kill anyone who looked at me wrong.”
Becky couldn’t hold her pout. The twitch of her lips gave away her amusement. She knew she was busted, so she said, “If I do start dating again, you aren’t allowed to scare off anyone unless I give you permission first.”
I grinned. “No promises.”
Becky gave me a dry look, but she finally cracked a smile. I was happy to see it. It was proof that she really was ready. “I’ve got your back,” I said. “You’re not in this alone. And I’m telling you, you should start by asking out Mr. Adorkable over there. He looks like the kind of guy that would hero worship his hot cheerleader girlfriend. You know, geeky-but-cute? He’d probably treat you like a princess—and come on—with dimples like those, how could you refuse?”
We reached the edge of campus and headed toward the main intersection that separated the school from the football stadium. Becky squinted at the boy across the quad and asked, “Dimples? How can you possibly see them?”
Oops. I’m usually so cautious about no
t spilling the beans about my abilities, but ever since Ryan discovered them I’ve spent a lot more time being myself. It’s making me careless.
I’m a little worried about rooming with Becky. My parents suggested I get a single room, but Becky needed me and I couldn’t bail on her. I’m just going to have to be more careful. Or tell her. Honestly, that’s a possibility I’ve been thinking about a lot.
It’s been drilled into me since the day I realized I was different that rule number one is: do not tell people about your superpowers. Not just from my parents. Watch any superhero movie. Read any comic book. Secret keeping is Superhero Safety 101.
But Ryan knows about me and that’s turned out okay. Well, except for that one time when someone almost killed him in order to get to me. But come on. How often can supervillains really plague your life?
Instead of explaining my excellent eyesight, I gave Becky a dismissive shrug. I might want to tell her about me, but right before her first appearance as a college cheerleader was not the time to drop that kind of bomb on her.
“Maybe the dimples were more noticeable when he was laughing. So adorable, though. He’s still watching us. Let’s go say hi. We can just talk to him. Baby steps. You don’t have to ask him out unless you feel comfortable, and even then we can invite him to some kind of group thing. You know, the whole he’d-be-there-and-you’d-be-there-but-it-wouldn’t-really-be-a-date thing.”
I tugged on Becky’s arm and she actually managed a few steps before putting on the breaks this time.
“Seriously, Becky, what are you so afraid of?”
“Mike,” she breathed.
I had to hold back a groan. I understood this was hard for her, but I’m not exactly known for my patience. “Did we not just go through all this like five seconds ago?”
“No!” Becky insisted. She tugged on my arm and pointed across the street. “It’s Mike!”
She was right. Mike Driscoll was entering the crosswalk, heading right toward us.
I didn’t need supersight to see the way he stumbled, and I definitely didn’t need heightened senses to smell the alcohol seeping out of his pores. The guy was wasted.
He reached the street corner at the same time we did and blinked twice when he recognized us. “Well, well, well,” he slurred. “If it isn’t the Prom Queen and her best friend, the Ice Queen.”
Just so you’re aware, I may have been dating the Prom King, but I was not the one given a crown at the school dance. Becky’s the Prom Queen. My royalty status comes from my tendency to be cold-hearted, aloof, and temperamental.
Not that I enjoyed being a social outcast in high school, but I hadn’t had control of my powers yet. In order not to kill or be killed, I was forced to exile myself. My classmates translated my behavior into the nickname Ice Queen.
But thanks to Ryan I have control now, so I’m totally turning over a new leaf. Which I proved when I didn’t automatically hit Mike or zap him to death. I didn’t even sneer. Much. “What are you doing here?”
“I was trying to go to my econ lecture,” Mike said, “but apparently the school has a No Learning While Drunk policy, so now I am on my way to my dorm to sleep it off.”
Becky gasped in dread. “You go here?”
I have to admit I found this news highly disturbing as well. “I thought you were going to Connecticut?”
Mike tried to shrug. It threw off his impaired equilibrium enough to make him stumble back a step. “Blew out my knee over the summer. Lost my scholarship. Bye-bye, UConn. Hello, ‘Suckramento’ State.”
For a split second, Mike’s face crumpled with pure regret before he plastered his trademark hard smirk back on it. The devastation, along with the public drunkenness, was almost enough to make me feel some sort of pity.
Almost.
Apparently Becky wasn’t as conflicted as I was. She folded her arms tightly across her chest and gave Mike a glare that could destroy a person’s soul. I know, because she used to glare at me like that. It was nice not to be on the receiving end of it now.
Mike attempted to sober up. “Beck.”
I don’t know what pissed me off the most: the soft tone of his voice, the use of her nickname, or the fact that he reached his hand out to her. I reacted on instinct. A fistful of his shirt and a sweep of his feet, and I had him on the ground before he got within an inch of her.
“Whoa,” came an unfamiliar male voice from over my shoulder.
I didn’t bother to see who was behind me since my eyes were glued to my target, but I heard Becky’s explanation. “We took self-defense classes this summer.”
“Must have had quite the instructor,” the stranger muttered.
I heard Becky’s nervous laugh at the same time that Mike groaned. “Geez, Baker. Take it easy!”
If he could still talk, I was being too nice. I applied the tiniest bit of pressure to his chest—enough to make him feel discomfort despite the numbing effect of all the alcohol in his system.
Okay, so some old habits die hard. My temper wasn’t perfect yet. But at least I hadn’t done any permanent damage. Even though I really wanted to.
“Uh, should I call the police or something?” the stranger, who was starting to get on my nerves, asked.
I answered the stranger’s question but never took my eyes off of Mike. “We don’t need the police, do we Mike?”
I smiled down at him, but I’m not sure he appreciated the gesture. We’d been in this position before, Mike and I. Judging from the way his eyes widened, he recalled that moment as perfectly as I did.
“What did I promise you if you so much as touched her again?”
I believe I’d sworn to end him if he ever laid another finger on Becky. Maybe not in those exact words, but that was definitely the sentiment of our last face to face.
I felt a hand come down on my shoulder and Becky whispered, “It’s okay, Jamie. I’m all right. I can handle this.”
I glanced up at Becky, then grudgingly let go of Mike. Our little spectacle had drawn a small crowd, so when I got to my feet I tugged Becky’s hand and said, “Come on, let’s just go.”
Becky nodded and hit the crosswalk button on the streetlight. As we waited for the signal to change, a guy tapped me on the shoulder and flashed a devastating smile. It was the guy Becky and I had been talking about before we’d seen Mike. He was around the same height as me and a little scrawny. His look screamed computer nerd, but he was still sort of adorable with a mop of dark-brown wavy hair and rich chocolate-brown eyes that were hooded with enviously long lashes. Not to mention he had a set of dimples the size of craters.
“I was ready to step in on your behalf,” he said, chuckling, “but clearly you didn’t need the help.”
“Clearly.” I had to choke back a laugh. Him? Assist us with a drunk, unruly linebacker like Mike Driscoll? It would have been like watching a six-week-old kitten going up against a full-grown pit bull.
The guy flashed a dimpled smile and thrust his hand at me. “Teodoro Vivenzio,” he announced proudly.
Now I did laugh. “Tay-oh-what? You want to run that one by me again?”
“Teodoro Vivenzio. It’s Italian.”
The light finally changed, and I was torn between wanting to make Becky talk to this guy and getting her away from Mike as quickly as possible. I glanced at Becky and she nodded toward the street. She wanted to bolt. That was fine, but she wasn’t getting out of this meet and greet that easily.
“Walk with us, Italy,” I said to Mr. Adorkable. “We’re going to the football game. Becky here is a cheerleader for the team.”
“You don’t say,” our new friend said. His sarcasm rivaled my own, but he happily stepped off the curb with us.
Before we could get anywhere, Mike grabbed Becky’s arm and pulled her back onto the sidewalk. I think it was the first time he’d touched her since that night. I was ready to lay him out, but Becky shook her head at me. She was shaken up and doing her best to be brave.
“Becky, wait,” Mike pleaded.
“Will you just talk to me? Please?”
His “please” did nothing to calm Becky’s anger. She yanked her arm out of his grip and in a trembling voice said, “You and I have nothing to talk about.”
“We used to be friends.” Mike’s face took on that pitiful quality again, and he reached out as if to grab her hand.
Becky’s pulse exploded, but through her panic she reacted exactly as they taught us in self-defense class. She grabbed Mike’s outstretched hand and twisted his arm back at a highly painful angle.
“Ow!” Mike hollered. For some reason he glared at me. “Damn, Baker. What did you do to her?”
“Me?” I scoffed.
“What did Jamie do?” Becky shouted. The adrenaline pumping through her system had quelled her fear enough to unleash a year’s worth of suppressed anger. “Jamie didn’t do anything! Jamie is not the reason I have nightmares! You’re the one who made me this way!”
Mike frowned. “We were both drunk that night. We got carried away, but don’t you think you’re blowing things out of proportion? It’s been a year!” He’d raised his voice to a frustrated shout. He sounded surprisingly desperate as he begged her forgiveness. “Can’t you get over it and let me apologize?”
“Get over it?” Becky screamed. “You raped me!”
For a moment, the entire world paused as if the universe itself were gasping for breath.
Mike flinched as if Becky had slapped him. She’d never used that word out loud before—at least not outside of her shrink’s office. Not even to me.
“You can keep denying it all you want,” Becky screamed, “but we both know that’s what happened! It’s not something you just ‘get over’!”
Angry tears poured down her face and her entire body shook. This confrontation was hard for her, but it was also necessary. I just wished, for her sake, it could have happened in a more private setting than a busy street corner in front of half the student population of Sacramento State University.
“Becky,” I whispered, and gestured with my eyes at the crowd of people.
