Trust Page 5

  Guess I still had some vanity.

  Georgia had taught me how to do some of the trickier braids after watching YouTube videos. We'd learned how to perfect winged eyeliner the same way. My braids weren't as good as hers, but I didn't do too badly. Most of the ugly on my forehead was covered.

  "My folks came over from Vietnam during the war and settled in this area," said Hang. "What about you, born and bred or an out-of-towner?"

  "Um, yeah, I grew up around here."

  "Cool," she said.

  A sudden bang echoed through the hall. I jumped, spinning around, searching for the cause. My heart pounded, my throat shut tight. Some kid slamming his locker door shut. Nothing more. Crap.

  "You okay?" asked Hang.

  Awkward. I nodded. "Sorry. First-day nerves."

  "Don't worry." She grinned, leading me into our classroom. I kept my head down and followed Hang to a seat near the back, dumping my bag on the vacant desk next to hers. "Any questions, I'll be right here. I can introduce you to some of my friends at lunch in the cafeteria, too."

  "Thanks."

  "No problem."

  I sat and pulled out a notebook and pen, hiding a yawn behind my hand. Systems were not fully functioning; more coffee was required. Too big a chunk of last night had been spent stargazing instead of sleeping. Some nights, it seemed like Chris perpetually lay in wait, ready for me to close my eyes so he could pounce. I didn't want to think about him, but falling asleep let my guard down. Funny, I hadn't shot him, and he wasn't dead, but he haunted me anyway.

  Curious looks were being thrown my way. I ignored them one and all. As per usual, my rear overfilled the seat and that crappy thought could get lost. Now it was the whole new-kid, first-day-of-school thing making me nervous.

  Along with the latest panic attack and my general surfeit of crazy these days, of course.

  They were brought on by anything that I associated with that night, or he who shall not be named. I'd Doctor Googled the symptoms: anxiety, nausea, sweating, shortness of breath, heart going crazy, etcetera. I could control it all on my own. Who said I needed a therapist? Mom should be grateful about all the money I'd saved her. Honestly.

  Grandma, on the other hand, had been beside herself at the news of me changing to a public school and saving her all that money. She'd insisted Mom deport me to Arizona so that she herself could deal with me immediately. Happily for me, Mom had said no. Threats had been made, removal from her will, us giving Grandma a stroke. Dramatics ran in the family.

  An older woman walked into the room, taking everyone in with an iron glance. Silence fell hard.

  "Good morning," she said, then turned toward the door. "Welcome back, Mr. Cole. Take a seat."

  Agitated whispers circled the room at his entrance. Excellent. Someone to divert attention from the new girl. I couldn't have planned this better.

  He strolled in, face down and backpack half hanging off his shoulder. Light brown hair had been tied back with a rubber band. He was tall, lean but not lanky. You could see it in the way his T-shirt stretched slightly over his shoulders, the muscles in his arms. He headed for the vacant seat at my back. Like me, his jeans had a hole in the knee, some fraying along the stitches. Unlike me, I'd bet his came from actual wear.

  Holy shit. It was John. My fellow hostage and eventual savior from the Drop Stop. The familiar green Converse (happily minus the blood) were a big clue, along with the bandage peeking out from beneath his sleeve.

  Mouth open, I gaped at him.

  His bored gaze swept past me, then swiftly doubled back, eyes narrowing. He had blue eyes and the expression in them didn't seem particularly happy. I guess a Drop Stop reunion hadn't been on anyone's wish list. No other indication of recognition was given. He didn't say hi, I didn't wave, and the moment passed.

  Without a word, he slid into the seat behind me and I wrestled my attention back to the front of the class. I was probably just being paranoid, but it felt like his gaze was glued to my back. Bet he hated me after all the shit Georgia had said on TV. A couple of people were watching us with interest, but I ignored it, staring at my desktop.

  The teacher started talking, but I had no idea what she said. My mind was a mess, all of my attention on him. Of course he had to go to school somewhere. And presumably somewhere local. And with his friend Isaac. Duh. It just hadn't occurred to me it would be here. But then, I hadn't wanted to think about him at all, or anything else to do with that night.

  John. Wow.

  We'd probably continue to ignore each other, pretend we'd never met. It would be for the best. Maybe.

  Christ, the cafeteria was loud. I doubt Green's had been any quieter; my nerves were just closer to the surface these days. A book sat open on the table in front of me, along with a can of soda. I looked at no one. I needed no one. Alone was best.

  "You made actual sustained eye contact with John Cole." Hang slid her tray onto the table, her smile wide. "You realize that's my lifelong dream."

  I just shrugged, feeling all kinds of awkward. Again.

  Behind her followed two others, a Latin girl with curls I'd kill for and a redhead gnawing on an apple.

  "Oh," said Hang. "Edie, this is Carrie and Sophia."

  "Hi." I smiled.

  Both girls smiled back, taking seats at the table. Instead of eating alone, reading my book, I was suddenly surrounded. No cause for alarm. I could handle their curiosity; it was perfectly normal for people to wonder about a new kid in school.

  "Back to John Cole, king of the hotties," said Hang, poking a finger at her less-than-crisp-looking salad. She settled for picking out the tomato and cheese. "Honestly, that face of his is just made for sitting--"

  "And staring at?" finished Carrie.

  Hang didn't even blink. "Exactly. Yes, that's what I was going to say."

  "Thought so."

  "John who?" I slid a bookmark in to flag where I'd been up to, because only an ignorant, soulless monster doomed to burn in hell for all eternity would dog-ear a page.

  "Don't even try," Hang groaned. "You nearly fell off your chair when he walked in. Which is a totally fine response to his manly beauty, no shame in it at all."

  "My chair was wonky," I said, surprised to find myself smiling and genuinely enjoying myself. "I've broken chairs before. There's a lot of joy weighing me down."

  Carrie laughed, taking another bite of apple. "Bullshit," she said. "Hang said he looked at you."

  "You're probably mistaken," said Sophia. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not kicking puppies or being mean. None of us are cool or hot enough to get his attention."

  "Or vapid enough," said Carrie.

  "Or easy enough," threw in Sophia.

  "Speak for yourself," said Hang. "I'd be easy for that."

  "There's nothing wrong with liking sex," said Carrie. "Don't slut-shame."

  Sophia bowed her head. "Amen. My bad."

  "Holy shit. I've got it," said Carrie, interrupting their banter and staring at me with an almost comical look of surprise. "You're that girl. The one from the robbery he was involved in."

  "Oh," said Hang, finally seeing the tension on my face. "Shit, Edie . . . I got John-fixated and didn't think."

  "It's okay. John wasn't involved in the robbery," I said, voice a touch sharp. "He was just there by coincidence, like me."

  "Still, no wonder he looked at you."

  I frowned and kept my face down, hoping no one nearby had heard.

  "The girl . . ." Sophia's mouth fell open. "Oh my God."

  "I thought you went to Green? You know, you're much prettier in real life," said Carrie. "That photo the news was showing didn't do you justice at all."

  "Thanks," I said, avoiding explaining the change in schools.

  "Sorry," mouthed Hang.

  Carrie and Sophia stared at me in stunned silence. Which made it time for me to run and hide.

  "You might as well relax and deal with it," said Sophia. "It hasn't been that long. We're not going to be the only on
es to recognize you."

  She probably had a point. Didn't mean I had to like it.

  "Word will definitely get around," confirmed Hang, sipping on a soda. "John Cole is infamous around here."

  "Infamous?" I asked.

  "Oh, yeah." Hang pushed her tray aside, giving up on the salad. "He's the go-to local greenery guy. Best weed available, if you're into that. Even the jocks respect him. They need him for the weed, and apparently he's got connections to a great grower. Plus he's badass. His brother, too. Dangerous guys. They live together; the parents are out of the picture."

  "You know a lot about him," I said, mildly perturbed. "And I thought marijuana had been legalized in California."

  "I may have once had a small crush on him. Don't judge me. As for the marijuana," Hang shrugged, "everyone's underage, so it might as well still be illegal."

  "I heard John's closed up shop," said Sophia. "Pretty much dropped out of school society. Just spends all his time out at the old skate park."

  Carrie nodded, twirling a strand of her long hair around her finger. "Yeah, I heard he's stopped selling too. Ever since the robbery."

  "All the police attention, probably," said Hang.

  Of course, the fact that he'd even vaguely known Chris had made him dubious. But if he hadn't talked to Chris, kept him calm, I might not be alive today. At the very least, I owed the guy a huge thank you.

  "I'd appreciate it if you kept me being part of the robbery on the down low, for now," I said, trying out a smile. It didn't quite hold, didn't fit right. "I just . . . I can do without the attention, you know?"

  "Of course," said Hang, giving my hand a reassuring pat.

  Carrie and Sophia both nodded, though their eyes were skeptical, with a touch of excitement. Whatever. Besides wearing a paper bag over my head, there wasn't much I could do if someone recognized me. Hopefully other people in the local area were busy doing stupid newsworthy things and all memories of the Drop Stop would soon be forgotten.

  "Thank you." I sighed, doing my best to relax, to trust.

  He never made an appearance in the cafeteria. Not that I was waiting.

  Either someone talked or someone recognized me. Whatever. It was beyond my control.

  The first person who approached me after lunch was my new lab partner in Biology. Caleb drummed on the table with two pens, putting on quite the skilled performance. Beside him had been one of the only spare seats in the room.

  "Hear you're tight with John," he said. "Could you do me a favor?"

  I stopped fussing with my stuff. "No, I'm not, and no, I can't. Sorry."

  "Don't be like that." He gave me a slimy smile. "What was your name again?"

  Groan. "I'm telling you the truth. I don't really know him and I can't help you."

  At that, he mumbled, "bitch," picked up his stuff, and moved to a different table. Funny, just like what had happened with Kara, the words didn't carry the usual sting. Having a gun held to your head helped sort out the big things in life from the little. So, some stranger's opinion of me given in the form an uninspired insult? Not a big deal.

  Fact was, lacking mutant mind-control powers, I couldn't affect people's behavior or what they chose to talk about. If I was doomed to infamy for a while, so be it. New school, new mantra, new me--and I had no fucks to give.

  A moment later, a tall black girl climbed into the seat at my side, giving me a friendly smile. She introduced herself as Marie, and at no time during the class did she mention John or hit me up for drugs. Much better.

  The next John Cole-related encounter came at my locker at the end of the day.

  "The natives are restless," said Hang, a wary look in her eye. "People have been talking about you."

  "Yeah. I noticed," I said.

  "With the whole John thing, you're too interesting to be ignored right now. Sorry."

  I shrugged.

  "I swear it wasn't me, Carrie, or Sophia. I threatened them both with physical violence if they said a word to anyone."

  "Thanks." I smiled. "It's okay. Probably inevitable."

  A boy on a skateboard pulled up alongside us with a hopeful smile.

  "No," said Hang, going into beast mode. "She doesn't know him. Go away. That stuff kills brain cells, don't you know? Ask yourself, can you really afford to lose any? No, I don't think you can. Good-bye."

  The smile fell from his face and he got gone.

  "John was the guy with the connections around here." Hang sighed. "But they'll get the message eventually that you can't help them with getting weed out of him."

  I nodded.

  "You don't talk much, do you?" Hang hugged a Trig textbook against her body. "I guess I wouldn't either if I'd been through something like that. It'd seriously have to mess with your head. Not to say that you're unstable or anything. Just being exposed to that kind of violence right there in front of your face must really screw up the way you look at the world, right? I've never seen a dead body. I mean, my grandfather died at home, but my mom wouldn't let me go into the room and then the paramedics arrived and he was gone. So . . ."

  I didn't want to think about her words, so I said nothing, concentrating on closing my locker. No blood, no bodies, no nothing. I was fine.

  "Right, well. Good first day," Hang said, getting the message and backing up a bit.

  "See you tomorrow." I attempted a smile, hefting my bag over my shoulder. "And thanks for showing me around and everything."

  She gave me two thumbs up. "Later."

  Like any sane school population, most of the students took the first opportunity to flee the premises. The parking lot was two-thirds empty by the time I wandered out. Someone had stuck a flyer under one of the wipers on my car. No, it was a piece of paper ripped out of a notebook. My shoulders tensed, preparing for the usual round of "you're fat and ugly, we don't want you here, blah, blah, blah." Oddly enough, there was none of that. Instead, I had an invitation to a party that weekend. A girl by the name of Sabrina really, truly wanted me there and if I could bring John, all would be great.

  Yeah, no.

  I scrunched up the paper, throwing it onto the passenger seat. The mid-afternoon sun felt good on my face, a warm breeze blowing. Someone was staring at me from a couple of rows over. More eyes were directed my way from among a group hanging by the front stairs.

  The ones on the steps, I could do without. But the boy standing beside the black chunk of old American metal held my attention. God, what a car. It looked like a baby-making machine, an environmental disaster, a threat on four wheels. Any money it was a Charger, a GTO, or one of those. No way could my sensible, economical white hatchback compete.

  Sunglasses covered half his face, but I knew it was John. I'd known it before I turned around. Seemed there was something inevitable about his presence, as if we were bound somehow. I don't know. It might have just been more of the weirdness I'd caught from the Drop Stop. A braver girl would have gone over and explained about the Georgia-on-TV debacle. But my feet stayed put.

  John's sun-glassed gaze passed over me without the merest hint of recognition, apparently more interested in the couple of other students loitering near us.

  "JC!" A tall boy jogged out, bouncing a basketball. "Save me, JC. Deliver me from this evil."

  They bundled into the black car of doom, engine rumbling to life, and off they went.

  So much for inevitability.

  I got in my car, went home, and told Mom how great my first day had been. How much more relaxed I felt there and how I'd already made a couple of new friends. She was hugely relieved, ecstatic even. Making Mom smile was its own reward. We made dinner together and watched some TV before she had to go to work. On the whole, not a bad first day.

  Though it wasn't over yet.

  I was lying on my bed listening to Lorde, doing my best to think of nothing and mostly succeeding. Right up until a face appeared in my open bedroom window. Screaming, I bolted upright, yanking out my earbuds. Yet again preparing for death, or whatever.
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  "Hey," said John.

  "Holy shit," I said, hand pressed against my chest, trying to catch my breath. Just as well I hadn't thought to reach for the knife I now kept in my bedside dresser. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

  "Knocked at the door but you didn't answer." He made himself comfortable on the window ledge, coiling his legs against the frame in an easy mix of flexibility and balance. But a hint of a frown creased his forehead.

  "I didn't hear."

  A nod.

  Slowly, my bodily functions returned to almost normal. There remained the issue of John Cole sitting on my windowsill, however.

  I turned off the music and sat there in front of him in a black tank top with a shelf bra and loose cotton sleep shorts covered in little rainbows. Way too much skin on display.

  What was it about this guy always catching me in my pajamas?

  In my defense, the clock read almost midnight. I grabbed a pillow and placed it across my lap, reducing the amount of thigh exposed. Next, I smoothed a chunk of hair across my forehead, tucking it in place behind my ear. Hopefully covering the ugly scar.

  He, of course, despite the unusually warm night, looked cool. Blue jeans, a gray shirt, long hair hanging loose. I'd never had the opportunity to really observe him up close before. The man/boy was intimidating. Hang had been right about his face. It was something special with the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones, the smooth high forehead, and those damn perfect lips. John Cole was stupidly beautiful, in that he was so beautiful it made me stupid. Not that I was staring or anything.

  "Sorry about not going to Isaac's funeral," I blurted out. "And the stuff my ex-best friend said on TV about you, if you heard it. We both know things didn't happen like that. I never said--"

  "Ex?" His voice cut across my babble of an apology.

  "Yes."

  Leaning his head back against the window frame, he nodded thoughtfully. "Sorry if I surprised you," he said. "Showing up like this. I wasn't going to come, but . . ." His voice broke off and his eyes flitted around my room. Thankfully, I'd insisted the hot-pink walls and matching lacy princess bedspread go a few years back. I'd painted my room a pale blue-gray and begged a fancy old-style white iron bed out of Grandma. Books were still everywhere; some things would never change. But Barbie's mansion was long gone and only my favorite soft toy remained on display, a battered old bear called Sugar. I refused to be embarrassed. In my younger days, Sugar had seen me through all sorts of trials and tribulations.