Wicked Sense Page 13

  “It may be. But making out is a gateway drug to sex, you know?” In between spoon licks, she asks me, matter-of-factly, “Aren’t you guys doing it?”

  I giggle—what’s wrong with me? “I just got back,” I say, trying to deflect her question. “We’re not even dating.”

  Priscilla leans over and whispers, “You have done it, right?”

  I don’t answer. She senses something is wrong. She lays her spoon down on the table and turns to face me. I know my expression has darkened.

  “I’ve done it,” I say, with a cold voice that isn’t mine.

  Priscilla’s response is to scan the cafeteria for prying eyes. Then she stands up, pulling me by the arm. I don’t move. She tries again, now with surprising strength for a girl her size. I let myself be hoisted up. She holds my hand and commands, “Follow me.”

  She takes me outside, to this lonely picnic table behind the school. I didn’t even know this part of the school existed. No windows face us; not even the cafeteria noises can reach us.

  “Good place to make out,” she says, as an explanation, while we sit side-by-side. “Sorry,” she adds, realizing her faux-pas. “What happened?” she asks. Her voice is soft.

  I’ve never talked about this.

  Don’t feel sorry for yourself, Skye.

  Cleansed by my morning ritual, I feel safe. Free. Unafraid.

  I take a deep breath and look into her understanding eyes. I say, “I did it. In London with Connor, my ex. He is two years older. We’d been dating, and I knew he had hooked up with other girls, even when we were together. Finally, we did it.”

  I pause, not for effect, but because I never spoke the next words aloud. “But I didn’t want to,” I add.

  Priscilla’s eyebrows go up and her lips go down in a concerned expression. Her eyes are pools of sorrow. She rests her hand over mine.

  “Did he…?” She can’t finish the sentence.

  I shake my head. “No. No, it wasn’t like that. But he did force me in other ways. He knew I was unsure, that I wasn’t ready. I thought the only way I could make us exclusive was by going along. He could have stopped; he could have waited. It’s like this invisible force, this pressure…” I stop. Putting it into words is harder than I imagined.

  She just taps my hand. I’m glad she doesn’t feel the need to say something. May the Goddess bless silent friends.

  After a while, I’m ready to continue. “It was an ugly, negative, bitter thing. I didn’t know… I didn’t realize I could have stopped him—us. It was all my fault.”

  This stirs Priscilla’s indignation. “It wasn’t your fault at all. He manipulated you. He was older, in a position of power; he knew he had influence over you.”

  I shake my head. “It was my responsibility too. I should’ve been strong. But what I can’t forget is that when I didn’t enjoy it as much as him, he said it was all my fault, that I was empty inside. And after I made it clear I didn’t want to do it again, he dumped me.”

  Priscilla’s jaw drops. I know the feeling; I’ve had it for the last two years.

  I can’t stop talking. “While I traveled with Mum, he strayed. I was afraid of losing him. How can you share your life with someone for so long, and then it’s over?” Empty, yes, but only after he left.

  “Jerk!” she says, unnecessarily. “Actually, he’s beyond jerk level, now he’s been officially promoted to douche bag,” she says, maybe trying to make me feel better.

  Priscilla hugs me. I welcome her embrace. For a long time I believed it was my fault, only mine. Her gesture is an acknowledgment that I’m not insane, that he’s indeed a jerk.

  During our hug I try to forget that even after he left me, I was stupid enough to pine for him, to fantasize about us together again. Connor used to take me out around London, but after he dumped me I never returned to those places: not only did I worry I would run into him, but to me it was as if the places belonged to him.

  I’ve been afraid for too long.

  I’m so grateful to Priscilla. She realized something was wrong with me and made me spill my guts, which was exactly what I needed. To put it into words. To vent. I don’t know, to have some closure.

  We disengage, and I just nod at her. I feel lighter. She smiles and I realize I have a true friend.

  To my credit, I don’t cry. This new Skye is already stronger than I expected.

  Chapter 35: Drake

  After school, I go to the pool building. We didn’t report anything to the school, and I want to know what people think about the mess we left.

  In a way, it’s like returning to a crime scene. Not my crime, but still.

  Coach Summers is in there, alongside Bill, the janitor. Bill doesn’t look happy.

  When Coach sees me, he beckons me to join them.

  “Hey, Mr. Hunter,” Coach says. “Did you do a few laps on Monday?”

  “No. Concussion, remember?” I point to my head. I really recommend getting a concussion; it’s an excuse for all times. “Why?”

  Bill’s annoyed voice answers me. “Some funny guy came over and spilled paint into the pool, on the stands, even in the lobby. It’s all clean now. Damn tough to get rid of it.” He shakes his head, and I get the feeling he’d like nothing more than get those imaginary vandals alone. “We should have locks on the doors.”

  “As I asked you two years ago,” Coach says.

  Bill ignores the jab. “Anyway, Summers, I’m done here. See you at the league tonight? A pint later?”

  Coach and Bill do an awkward handshake thing. Bill leaves and Coach turns to me.

  “Are you going back to swimming?” he asks.

  “Sure thing,” I say.

  “Any chance the hit on your head made you see things clearly? Do you want to be part of the team?” Coach crosses his arms, his standard posture.

  “I’m afraid not,” I reply.

  “But you’re a good swimmer; you wouldn’t be embarrassed. You could even be JV, if you prefer. Come on, Drake. It would improve your standing with the girls.”

  No, it wouldn’t. But I say, “That’s not a good enough reason, Coach.”

  “Or the boys,” he says, raising his hands. “I don’t judge, as long as you keep it away from the locker room.”

  I need to parade around with a girl soon, so these gay rumors don’t leave the joke realm. “I’m unsure if what you just said violates some code of conduct,” I say.

  “It actually does. Go report me.” Coach makes a dismissive gesture.

  I shrug. “Nah. Too much trouble.”

  “As always, a kid’s laziness helps me keep my job.”

  He gives me a little punch on the arm and leaves. I stare at the pool, sighing. The school has no idea what happened. Skye and Jane dodged a bullet.

  I go into the locker room, change into my manly swimming trunks, and get back to the pool. While I stretch, I wonder if I’ll be able to feel Skye’s blood in the water.

  Without a previous agreement, we avoided each other at school. We’re back to that are-we-or-aren’t-we place. Weird place to be.

  Every time I saw her today, I wished I could do something. Scream to the whole school we’re together. Run to her and kiss her. Dance.

  “Wow! Why have you been hiding this six pack, Drake?” A voice echoes in the building.

  I turn and see Priscilla with her hands on her hips, looking at me admiringly. At her side, Skye suppresses a giggle.

  Priscilla turns to Skye and says, “Seriously? Look at him! He should walk around shirtless!”

  “I know!” Skye says.

  Okay, this is going from flattering to embarrassing real fast. “Don’t you girls have Prince Charming to dream about?” I yell.

  “Oh, but we do,” says Priscilla. After Skye slaps her softly on the arm, Priscilla adds, “Okay, okay. I’ll leave.” She kisses Skye on both cheeks and walks away.

  I approach Skye. Self-conscious, I cross my arms around my midriff. I’m not used to this type of attention. “I think I just s
aw a live demonstration of what a BFF is,” I say when I get close to her.

  “Isn’t it nice?” Skye asks, then she mutters, “We’re going to the mall tomorrow.”

  I fake a shocked expression. “Don’t turn into…” But words fail me.

  “Into what?”

  “Someone else.”

  She smirks. “Don’t worry.”

  We stand in front of each other. I don’t know how to act, and I bet she doesn’t either. Something crosses my mind. “Are you okay? I mean, being back here.”

  She nods a few times while scanning the pool area, as if reassuring herself. “I guess so. Besides, you’re here with me.”

  All right, even I know I can’t pass that up. I lean forward and kiss her. She takes my face into her hands and prolongs our entanglement.

  I’m about to embrace her, when I become suddenly aware of my attire. I gently break the lip lock, hating myself for it.

  “So, I wasn’t sure if I should pick you up this morning,” I say, trying to disguise the awkward moment and failing epically. “You told me you’d cast a spell on me.”

  Her eyes dart around us, but we’re alone. She smiles. “I already did that.”

  “I’ll say.”

  Skye chuckles. “No, I mean, the protection spell. Even if you’re not there, I can do a weak one. But you’re right. You should drop by in the morning so I can do a proper one. Would you mind giving me a ride every morning?”

  “I’d love to.”

  She looks at me obliquely for a moment. “Okay. We have to talk.”

  Uh-oh. “Yeah…”

  “Don’t worry. It’s not the talk. But I need to know. Are we a thing?”

  “A thing?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I mean…” She looks away.

  This is hard! “I guess we’re a thing. I just don’t know which thing.”

  “Okay.”

  “Is that what you were asking?”

  She nods. “Pretty much.”

  I put on my mischievous face. “You know, being a thing brings some responsibilities.”

  “Really?” She smirks. “Like what? Do we have to hang out more often?”

  I nod. “And for longer. And make out. Making out is essential. Don’t forget that.”

  “Hard to forget. And maybe… flaunt it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She does a deliberate cutesy shrug. “Let’s not hide anymore.”

  This is serious. Our thing is now an official thing. I’m all for it.

  “I’m all for it,” I say, agreeing with myself. I lean forward for another kiss, wardrobe be damned, but she puts a finger on my chest.

  “Later,” she says. “Now I want to watch you in the water.” She nods in the pool’s direction.

  “Really?” I ask.

  She slides her finger down to my abs. “Come on, put on a show for me.”

  When she wants, she can melt a stone statue. “Sure,” I say, turning and starting my strut to the pool. Before I get away from her, though, she slaps my butt. Softly, but still.

  I hear her giggle, but I don’t turn to face her. She does know how to turn me on. I just walk faster to the pool and dive in, welcoming the cold water.

  Chapter 36: Skye

  I’m glad my Jane alarm isn’t going off. She left right after the bell, but I still asked Priscilla to come with me to the pool. Despite what I said to Drake, coming here does make me uncomfortable. How could it not?

  But I don’t regret coming. Priscilla is right. Drake should never wear tops! Ever. I have no idea why he doesn’t show it off, but his upper body is yummy. He’s not buff like those gym rat guys, but lean—skinny and muscular at the same time. He looks a bit stronger and taller with his shirt off. And his abs, Goddess! What is that?

  Why do you hide it, Drake? Of all of Greenwood High’s secrets, you are the most delicious.

  Watching him swimming soothes me. Maybe it’s the repetitive movements, the cadence, the metronomic splashing sounds, but it gives me a center. I see his sinuous underwater figure do the same movements over and over, in a leisurely pace, never tiring or slowing down.

  It gives me peace. I bet it does the same to him.

  The minutes pass without me noticing, and soon he’s out of the water. His heaving chest and the water glistening on his body make him look even hotter.

  He smiles at me, and I wonder if he’s aware of his effect on me. Either he’s a gentleman or the most oblivious guy I’ve ever met.

  “An athlete,” I say. “Who knew? I had you pegged as the couch-and-video-game type.”

  “Why can’t I be both?” he says, shrugging, his words difficult as he catches his breath. He comes closer and shakes his head a few times, raining water everywhere, including on me.

  “Stop it!” I say.

  “Come on! You’ve been drenched yesterday and the day before. A few drops of water won’t hurt you.” He thinks he’s made a bad joke, because he stops smiling and says, “Sorry.”

  Before I can say anything, he adds, “Do you think you’d be okay going into the pool soon? I just thought it would be nice if we could enjoy the pool together.”

  “I don’t swim,” I say.

  He stares at me and then bursts out laughing.

  “What?”

  “A witch who doesn’t swim,” he says between laughs.

  “Witches drown…” I say when I realize what he means.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, raising his hand apologetically. “I just can’t stop.”

  I chuckle. “That’s not the worst thing,” I say. “I’m also allergic to cats.”

  I love laughing with him.

  ***

  Somehow I end up in the men’s locker room. Drake wouldn’t let me wait alone for him in the lobby or in his car. We agreed I’d be close to the showers, talking to him the whole time so he knew I was around. The jury is still out on whether he’s overly concerned or just being naughty.

  “It smells worse than the women’s locker room,” I say, my voice loud so he can hear me over the shower running.

  “I bet the women’s locker smells like flowers, and honey, and… angel’s breath or whatever.”

  “Not really,” I reply.

  I’ve not been a half of a couple for a while. It’ll be interesting to see how I mesh with a personality so different from Connor’s.

  It doesn’t frighten me. Being in a relationship, I mean. I thought I’d be scared, but the reality is, I’m tired of being scared.

  I’m looking forward to this. And to those abs.

  Chapter 37: Drake

  This is my first official “dating situation.” Of all the ways I imagined this, I’ve never expected the first thing in the morning would be participating in spell casting.

  The one she chooses is a howler. I have to lie down—on her bed, no less—while she does this cleansing thing all over my body. She never lays her hands on me, but knowing her touch is less than an inch above my skin is pleasuring and torturing at the same time.

  I try to focus on other things, like the incense burning (sandalwood, she told me) that washes away the slightly moldy odor of the house. Skye’s bed sheets are soft and smell like her.

  But then I hear and feel her breath close to me, and my heart pounds hard again.

  The possibility that she’s teasing me crosses my mind.

  “You can open your eyes,” she says. “We’re done.” It’s both a relief and a disappointment. She takes care of the disappointment part by leaning over me and giving me a gooooood kiss. I want more, but she breaks it up and says, “We’re going to be late.”

  While I leave the bed, Skye snuffs out her incense, and a brief flashback of my house fire comes to me.

  “Magic feels awfully normal,” I say.

  She shrugs while putting her things away. “If you think about it, it’s not magic. It’s just knowledge that most of the world hasn’t gained yet.”

  “Who discovered it? And how?”

  “I’m not giving
you a history lesson. But it was noticed by accident a long time ago. A happy accident. Like discovering gunpowder or penicillin. You know what? It’s like science.”

  I chuckle. “Way to remove anything magical from magic.”

  “No, seriously. Magic is science. Imagine that centuries ago, if you were sick, you’d go to a witch doctor or shaman, who would poke and probe you. He’d give you a mysterious substance, tell you to drink it up at dawn and dusk, and to rest. Is that any different from a visit to the doctor today?”

  I ponder her claim while she stuffs her backpack. When she reaches to the top shelf to get a book, her shirt goes up, and I see the tattoo the guys mentioned. It’s a bird that resembles an eagle, only it has a crown, and its feathers look different. A phoenix, I guess. The drawing is silver with a black outline. It begins waist-high on her right side and continues down her hip, the rest of the design hidden by her jeans.

  “Hey, nice tat,” I say.

  Skye turns, startled, touching her side instinctively, but she recovers soon. “Oh, that. Haven’t you seen this before?”

  I’m about to point out I was the only one at school who didn’t see it, but I don’t want to be indelicate. I didn’t even notice it when I was performing CPR on her.

  Instead, I move my hands close to her and say, “May I?”

  She nods, but her eyes are trained on me. I raise her shirt a bit and caress her tattoo with my fingertips. It gives her goose bumps. “It’s silver. Isn’t it rare?”

  “It’s a tradition amongst my kind,” she says.

  With my index finger, I lower the hem of her jeans just an inch. The bird’s tail continues even further down.

  “Is it a phoenix?” I ask, prolonging the moment. I won’t lie: I enjoy touching her skin.

  “Yes,” she answers.

  “Love the artwork. I’d love to see the whole design,” I whisper, half-joking.

  She squints playfully and delicately brushes my hand away. “Sure you would. Come on, we have to go.”

  I let out a deep, theatrical sigh and give the tattoo one last longing stare.

  When I open the bedroom door for her, we find out that Aunt Gemma is waiting for us at the end of the stairs. And she doesn’t look happy.