Jek/Hyde. Amy Ross

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СКАЧАТЬ railing. “That explains a lot, really. But in that case, Lulu, you should really give it up and focus on the fine-looking boys in front of you.” She gestures at the throng inside the party.

      “But how can you be so sure? He’s never shown any interest in me, but he’s never shown interest in anyone else, either. Of any gender. I think his brain just doesn’t work like that.”

      Camila gives me a sidelong glance. “It’s not the brain I’m talking about.”

      “Shut up. What I mean is, yeah, I’ve known him for ages and yeah I kind of like him, but all he cares about is science.”

      “Science and getting high.”

      I ignore her. “He’s not like the other boys in this town. Doesn’t have his mind in the gutter all the time. He’s got other interests.” Camila wraps her arms around herself, looking dubious, but I don’t let that stop me. “Chemistry is his one true love,” I explain, “and nothing else will ever compare for him. You want to know why I’m interested in him, well...that’s why. I love his passion.”

      “Lulu, honey,” says Camila with something like pity. “Wouldn’t you rather have a boy who’s passionate about you?”

      I shrug and she shakes her head.

      “You’re hopeless, you know that?” She hoists herself up on the porch rail.

      I don’t give her an answer, but the fact is, I do know it. My feelings for Jek are just as hopeless as Camila says. I’ve done everything I can think of to get him to notice me, and Jek’s not an idiot. He’s got to know how I feel, and if he hasn’t shown any interest yet, he isn’t going to. The only rational response is to move on.

      But I’m not quite ready to be rational yet. Maybe he needs a little more time. Maybe he just needs some encouragement. Maybe if I’m patient, he’ll wake up one day and realize I’m the one he’s wanted all along.

      I squeeze my eyes shut, disgusted with my own thoughts. If I said any of that out loud, Camila would be the first to tell me how I’ve had my mind addled by too many rom-coms and fairy tales. I don’t need the lecture, so I keep my thoughts to myself.

      Lucky for me, Camila has stopped watching my face and moved on to more exciting spectator activities, like narrating all the town gossip while a dozen little soap operas play out through the window, as if it’s our own personal flat-screen TV.

      “Hmm, looks like Val and Erik are still together. Guess she never told him what she did to his car. And Brandon is way too drunk again. Third time this week, from what I heard.”

      “Quit it, Camila,” I grumble.

      “Come on... Don’t you want to know what’s going on in this sad little town?”

      “I don’t like gossip. People are entitled to their secrets.”

      “Oooh,” she says, ignoring me. “Natalie Martinez, returning to the scene of the crime.”

      “Camila, I said—”

      “Shh, I know, but this is different. It’s not about what she did, it’s what got done to her. If some sleazebag attacked her, don’t you think it’s my duty to let everyone know? For the safety of future potential victims, I mean.”

      I cast her a doubtful look. Camila’s been known to exaggerate. “Did some sleazebag attack her?”

      She shrugs. “Hard to say, really. It was last Saturday night, at Matt Klein’s kegger. I got there late because I was...” She trails off. “Well, never mind what I was doing. The point is, when I got there, she was slipping into one of the bedrooms with this half-Asian guy. Floyd or something. Lloyd? Hyde. I’d never seen him before.”

      “That’s your story? People do that all the time, Camila. You do that all the time.”

      “I’m not judging, and I’m not done! As far as anyone can tell, she went in perfectly happy and willing, but she came out twenty minutes later looking like she’d seen the devil himself. She started yelling at this guy in front of everyone, calling him a freak, saying she’d never agreed to that.”

      “To what?”

      “Oh, so now you want to know,” Camila teases.

      I turn away from her, annoyed that she caught me in her trap. “So don’t tell me,” I huff. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

      “Yeah, well...whatever it was, it was apparently too kinky for Natalie to say out loud. She did say she was going to call the cops on him, though.”

      “Shit,” I say, interested again in spite of myself. “What happened?”

      “Somehow it all died out. Natalie left the kegger in tears with a friend, and I expected to hear sirens within minutes, but no one ever came. As far as the gossip mill is concerned, she never told anyone what happened. No one official, at least. But then again, Natalie’s gotten around a lot since her dad got sick last year. Maybe she’s afraid no one would believe her story.”

      “What about the guy? Hyde?”

      “Beats me. At that point, no one wanted to admit to knowing him, let alone inviting him. I don’t blame them... There’s something funny about that guy. Something off.”

      “What do you mean?” I say, no longer bothering to hide my interest. Camila’s too deep into her story to give me a hard time about it.

      “I don’t know...” she says, staring off at nothing as if she’s replaying the scene in her mind. “He’s sort of weird-looking.” She shivers. “Something about his face.”

      “What, like a scar?”

      Camila squinches up her forehead, like she’s trying to remember, but after a second she shakes her head. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She shivers again and slides off the porch rail. “Come on, it’s freezing out here. Come back inside with me and at least try to have fun?”

      I heave a long-suffering sigh, but a few minutes later we are giggling uncontrollably at the sight of Dracula, Frankenstein and Sherlock Holmes trading keg stands, and I have to admit I am having a pretty good time—at least until Camila decides to join them, and ends our evening early by getting spectacularly drunk and puking all over Kilpatrick’s kitchen table. After that, I don’t have much choice but to get her as cleaned up as I can, then tug and shove her toward the front door, through a crowd that seems to have only gotten bigger and rowdier in the past couple of hours.

      Once I’ve gotten a weakly protesting Camila through the door, I turn and give one last glance around the party on the off chance that my eyes will land on Jek. Camila’s right—it’s pretty unlikely that Jek would show up to a kegger, but he did say he might. But before I get a good look, I’m knocked off balance by some guy shoving his way into the house. I tip backward into Camila, and she goes stumbling down the front steps, where she wobbles a moment before pitching heavily to the ground.

      “Watch it, asshole,” I call over my shoulder as I hurry to her side. In return, the guy spits back a slur so vile that I spin around to face him, shock and fury pulsing through me. “What did you call me?”

      The dark-eyed boy tosses СКАЧАТЬ