Don’t crowd me—why’d he say that?
“Well, I’m going to go,” he said at last, his voice sounding strained.
I watched him walk out of the room, out of my life. I was bleeding all over the floor.
CHAPTER 8
Sunday, I had a plan. Not about Gage. Gage thoughts were taboo. They made me cry. So, I made myself a pact—no more Gage thoughts. Any time I started to think about him I would pinch myself—really hard.
You want to cry? I’ll give you something to cry about.
So, my plan wasn’t about Gage. It was about Logan. I formulated it when I got to Pikes Sunday and Logan was there. He was playing pool with some guy at the back of the room. But when I came in, he smiled at me, as though he had really come to see me—which was crazy and I knew wasn’t true. But still, it had me disconcerted. Like it was true.
I tried ignoring him, and followed Izzie over to a booth. I hadn’t told Izzie about Logan’s blackmail-thing. I guess because it involved her. I didn’t want her to feel guilty. But also I didn’t tell her because the whole thing was too weird. Unbelievable. I needed time to digest and let it sink in, ‘cause so far, I was choking on it.
I mean, Logan was popular. And he hung out with the “beautiful” crowd. So I didn’t get it. What was up? Why me? The whole thing had my stomach in knots and my head full of questions.
But finally, I had an idea. A way out. Because I knew I couldn’t go through with it—go to the dance with Logan. Like I said, Logan was popular. And he was expected to show up at the dance with one of his own kind—if not Chloe, then someone like Chloe. Someone popular and beautiful—in the magazine-cover sense of the word.
If I showed up at the dance with Logan it would get everyone talking—speculating. And I didn’t want people speculating about me. I just wanted to quietly lick my Gage-wounds. Be left alone.
Besides, I didn’t trust Logan—was he expecting more than just a date to the dance? I clenched my fists. He wasn’t going to get it. I didn’t want to have to fight with him about it, though. I wanted to somehow have the whole thing just go away. And suddenly I had a plan. A way to make that happen. And it didn’t involve magic.
See, that was the dilemma of my life these days: Dealing with crap—without using magic. Way harder than it seems. But paybacks for using my powers—lately they were brutal. Ever since I saved Gage. They were killer. But finally my nightmares were easing up, a little. Maybe the Cloaked People stumbled sort of, got off track. I just needed to lay low, not use my powers, since they seemed to somehow call to the demons. I just needed to blend.
“Izzie, I have to do something,” I told her, getting up from the table.
Swallowing, I clumped over to Logan and took a cue from the wall. “Play me,” I told him.
He smiled. “Hi Michaela.”
“Play me,” I told him again, ignoring his gaze. “If I win the deals off.”
He raised his eyebrows. “And what if I win?”
I started racking the balls. “Not gonna to happen.”
Logan seemed amused. “Okay,” he said. “You’re on.”
Remember what I said about not wanting to make a spectacle of myself? Well, that being the case, it was a mistake to challenge Logan to a pool match. I mean, our match quickly became a spectacle. We had a whole crowd gathered around us in a matter of moments. And before long, I was sweating, realizing Logan was a lot better at pool than I had expected. I started to worry he might actually win.
“Okay,” Logan said when I was about to make a crucial shot, “I decided what I want if I win.”
I looked up at him, waiting for him to go on.
“I want you to wear that red dress to the dance.”
I feigned quizzical-al-la-Michaela. “What red dress?”
He looked at me, like, Do you really want me to say? And I didn’t. No way did I want the crowd to suddenly be abuzz. Logan bought her a dress? Her?! Why?! It would be all over school by tomorrow, everyone speculating. Nope. Didn’t want that.
“Whatever,” I said, like it made no difference to me. Like I wasn’t concerned ‘cause I wasn’t going to lose.
But if he mentioned the dress to blow my concentration, it worked. Mission accomplished. I blew my shot big time. And after that, I couldn’t get my game back. In the end, though the score was close, Logan won.
His friends all cheered. So did most of the crowd. I felt lame, especially when Logan came over while I was putting away my cue. “You’re good,” he smiled.
“Yeah. I’m a real champ,” I said through gritted teeth.
He smiled, all high on his victory. “Don’t take it so hard,” he said. “Maybe I’m not such a bad guy. Maybe you’ll like me—once you get to know me.”
As I started to walk away, he said, “Don’t forget to wear the red dress.”
Which ended up being weird. When I got to my car, the dress was inside. And I’m not like Logan. I don’t leave my door unlocked.
“How’d he do that?” I asked, staring at the box in amazement.
“Do what?” Izzie eyed the box. “What’s that?”
I shoved the box onto the backseat, making room for Izzie in the passenger seat. “It’s nothing. It’s a bad joke.”
Izzie was still looking at it—way too interested. I had to change the subject—fast. “Want a donut? My treat.”
“Sure!” She rubbed her hands in anticipation. “You know, the calories don’t count if you don’t pay for them.”
She started contemplating what kind of donut to get—naming them aloud—intent on maximizing her none-caloric opportunity.
“Double chocolate glaze,” she decided, completely forgetting about the box and making me hungry.
***
Over donuts and hot chocolate I explained about the Logan-blackmail-thing...sort of. I left out the part about him using her as the key to his evil scheme. Instead, I told her that he caught me cheating on a test.
“You cheated?” She opened her mouth wide, like No way. “Wow. That’s so unlike you.”
Now I felt bad, like I let her down. And she went on, making me feel sort of like a creep, ‘cause she was all sympathetic and everything, “I guess it’s because you’ve been sleeping in all your classes lately, huh?”
Gah!
“You’re missing the point,” I huffed. “He’s making me go. I don’t want to.”
She popped a donut hole in her mouth. “Oh, come on. Why not? He’s gorgeous!”
“But he’s blackmailing me.”
“Look, you’re going to the dance with a gorgeous guy. You are not getting sympathy from me.” She grabbed the last donut hole and waved it in front of my face. “This is mine. This is my date. Feel sorry for me.” She popped it into her mouth and downed the rest of her hot chocolate. “Look, it’s just the dance, right? Not something lewd and swarmy?”
I shrugged. “That’s what he said.”
“Then, obviously he just side-stepped your playing-hard-to-get crap. He should get points for that.”
“I’m not playing hard to get,” I grumbled.
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
In the car I mulled over what Izzie had said. She made the whole thing sound almost natural, like guys blackmail girls for dates all the time. I wasn’t exactly in our school’s social scene, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t true. Pretty sure.
Still, Izzie was totally cool with the arrangement. And not sympathetic. And never mind my feelings, she was excited that I was going to the dance with Logan.
“I bet he’s an awesome kisser.” She was practically drooling. “The minute you get home, you have to call me. I want details.”
The thought of Logan kissing me wasn’t exactly a bad thought. In fact, I suddenly had tingles.
I brought Izzie home because she made me feel better, but up in my room, I was still moaning about the pool game. Summer overheard us—but I guess only partially. She barged into the room.
“Wait!” she said, apparently needin
g to get things straight, “a guy is going to the dance with you because he won a bet?” She raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure he didn’t lose?” Then she laughed, like that was hilarious. Izzie and I just looked at each other, like bleck. “Just kidding. Who are we talking about anyway?”
“Just a guy,” I said quickly, before Izzie could explode the answer. “But the thing is—it’s a big joke. I mean, if the guy really likes me, he’d just ask me out, right?”
Summer shrugged. “Maybe he’s shy. Is it Dillon McPherson?”
Dillon McPherson is dork. Of course Summer would think it was him. Who else would like me, right?
I shook my head, trying not to be offended. Summer was Summer. “It’s not Dillon. And the guy’s not shy. He’s cute and popular and—”
“Good at pool,” Izzie added.
“Anyway,” I said miserably, “I don’t want to go.”
Summer didn’t seem too concerned. She’s one of the “beautiful” people—like Chloe and Addison. She has no clue what it’s like to be self-conscious.
“Maybe you’ll surprise yourself and have a good time,” Summer said, primping in the mirror. “And maybe you’ll find there’s more guys in the world than just Gage Michaels.”
Izzie bit her lip, saying nothing, but I got the feeling she was thinking the same thing. It made me feel picked on and sort of grumpy. But so did the whole blackmail thing. Why was this happening to me?
CHAPTER 9
Today in third period Mrs. Woodland was doing something weird. “Experimental.” She does junk like that all of the time. Today she was going around the room, asking each of us these embarrassingly personal questions she pulled from a box, questions we had to answer. Aloud.
“I want you to answer them honestly,” she said. “So take your time. Really think about your answers.”
Mrs. Woodland pulled out the first question, assigning it to Sara, since Sara sat at the front of the class. It made me glad I was sort of toward the back.
Mrs. Woodland read, “If you were the president of the United States, what policy, big or small, would you change?”
I slunk down in my seat only half-listening, thinking maybe I should ask to go to the nurse’s office or something. This kind of stuff made me sort of sick, and just thinking about answering personal questions in front of the whole class made me want to barf. Only, in order to go to the nurse’s office I’d need to raise my hand. And I don’t do that. Couldn’t do that.
When it was my turn to answer a question, I slumped down, trying to be invisible. “Michaela,” Mrs. Woodland said, “If you could be anyone in the world, who would you be?”
I answered with the first person that came to my mind: “Sinister Gates.” I felt dumb now though, because everyone was looking at me like, “Who?” So, turning red, I babbled that he’s this awesome guitar player, and that I was working on a song of his, and that it was giving me a lot of trouble. I rambled on and on and through my whole, big, involved explanation I kept wishing I’d just said Megan Fox.
When it was Gage’s turn, he was reading a magazine. I don’t think he had a clue what was going on. Mrs. Woodland asked him, “Gage, who is the most important person in your life?”
Gage looked up at me, straight into my eyes. He answered, “Michaela Tolley.” Then he went back to reading his magazine.
I sat ridged in my seat, shocked. Everyone else seemed shocked too. They made shocked noises, like ooooh and awww. You know, shocked noises.
Izzie gave me her right-on-girl smile and I rolled my eyes. But inside, my heart was thumping out of control. Why was he doing this to me?
“Michaela?” Mrs. Woodland sounded pleasantly surprised. “Well …”
Just then the bell rang. Mrs. Woodland didn’t get to go on with her sentence, thank goodness. It saved me from further torment. But as it was, my heart stopped beating. Just stopped, frozen. Then it got a jump-start, and took off, thumping spastic and wild. I hurried out of class, ignoring everyone’s continuing oohs and awws.
At lunch Addison stormed over to my locker. “Hope you didn’t take Gage seriously this morning,” she said.
I eyed her, like I didn’t take her seriously. It was sort of funny that she was here all outraged. Obviously she took it seriously.
Geez, word traveled fast at our school. Addison wasn’t even in our third period class. Gage’s answer obviously made the rounds in record speed.
“He just feels sorry for you,” Addison said.
Izzie and I headed for the cafeteria. “Whatever helps you get through the night,” I replied over my shoulder.
When we were away from Addison, Izzie unleashed her excitement. “I can’t believe Gage said that. He had to know it would get back to Addison. What was he thinking?”
I shrugged, not intending to answer, but I didn’t even get a chance. Suddenly, Emma Chimes came trotting up to me all excited. She grabbed my hands, jumping up and down. “Finally Gage professed his love,” she exclaimed. “And in front of everyone. How romantic!”
I gritted my teeth, shaking my hands free. Emma was a spaz. “He didn’t profess his love.”
“Well, practically,” she said. “And there was Addison’s wrath to think about—yet he said you.”
“Yeah, I was just saying that,” Izzie exclaimed.
Emma looked at me all let’s-have-a-serious-talk like. “Don’t you think you should talk to him? Forgive him? Michaela, you should hear him in pre-calc. He’s so sad. And he feels so bad.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t feel so good myself,” I said dryly.
“Michaela, you know Gage,” Emma said sternly. “He loves you. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you—not on purpose.”
“You don’t know,” I told her. “You weren’t there.”
She widened her eyes. “Yes, I was.”
I gritted my teeth. “Great. The whole school was there.”
“And the whole school knows that something else must have been going on in Gage’s brain. Because he wouldn’t hurt you and you know it.”
Emma had lived down the street from us since grade school. She thought she knew Gage and me so well. But there were things she didn’t know—like’s Gage’s kiss. She didn’t know about that. She had no idea he kissed me. No one did, ’cause I had told no one, not even Izzie.
Still, Izzie and Emma went on talking as though they knew something. Saying how Gage “wants” me but he’s afraid of ruining our friendship. That kind of crap. The same psycho-babble Jade was always trying to feed me. I just let them talk. What was the point of stopping them? They’d been talking that way for years.
When I got home from school, I paced around the house—I had two disturbing things on my mind. First of all, there was Gage and the fact everyone was talking about us at school as though we were Romeo and Juliet, despite the tiny little fact that Gage had a girlfriend. And I hated him.
The other disturbing thing was Logan. He was coming over today to “hang out.” That was part of the blackmail. I had to “get to know him.” Like I didn’t know enough about him already—he was blackmailing me. What else did I need to know?
As I paced around, waiting for him to show, anger built up inside me. The whole thing was weird. If he hadn’t done this blackmail thing I would have been thrilled to go to the dance with him...maybe. Then again, maybe he was right, maybe I wouldn’t have gone. After all, I was still kind of gun shy after the Seth massacre. He totally destroyed my trust in guys. But no matter what, I would have been thrilled that Logan had asked me. If he had just asked me. But now, this way, I was forced. And it made me mad.
Anyway, I was going crazy stressing Logan’s pending “visit.” I just wanted him to show up and get it over with.
I’d chewed every one of my fingernails down to the skin before I finally decided to stop pacing and actually do something. I had a paper due tomorrow and even though it felt as though my world was falling apart, I doubted Mrs. Woodland would accept “dance blackmail” as an acceptable excuse for ditch
ing the assignment.
At first I didn’t think I would be able to concentrate on anything but Logan and what we were going to do once he finally got here and worrying about how it would go, but then I tried to print my paper (I’d been working on it all week) only to find my computer refused to do it. It kept displaying the same frustrating message over and over: PRINTER DRIVER NOT FOUND. PRINTER DRIVER NOT FOUND. I actually forgot about Logan and the blackmail—that’s how intent I was on trying to fix the problem.
The week before I’d installed a new operating system. I guess I hadn’t printed since then. I read the new system’s manual, but it was no help. At all. I closed some files, and tried to print again: PRINTER DRIVER NOT FOUND.
I was ready to rip my hair out.
Or use my magic.
Without thinking, I almost did it. But caught myself just in time. Whoa girl. Flunking is better than meeting the Cloak People. Any day.
And they were near. I could feel it. They’d never been this close before. Never, ever. Not even close to this close. I didn’t dare call attention to myself. And using my magic—it called them.
I didn’t feel as doomed as I had a few weeks ago, though. At least I hadn’t gotten anymore dead roses, no gifts at all. That was something...wasn’t it?
“I need to just lay low,” I reminded myself, for the hundredth time. Then added under my breath, “Forever.”
In frustration, I flung the printer manual across the room. Just then, there was a knock at the door. I scrambled to get it. The first words out of my mouth were, “Do you know anything about computers?”
A Demon's Kiss (Young Adult Romance) Page 6
