Crave. Melissa Darnell

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СКАЧАТЬ braided daisies into each other’s hair,” Hope whispered, almost smiling.

      She remembered. I nodded, daring a small smile of my own, and eased away from the lockers.

      Vanessa’s eyes softened for a few seconds, transforming her into the girl I used to know, like she was remembering our former friendship, too. But then her expression darkened again, twisting with hatred. “That day was a huge mistake. Your mistake, for thinking a freak like you could actually be friends with anyone in the Clann. And especially for thinking you could even pretend to marry someone like Tristan.”

      “Yeah. The Clann does not hang out with freaks like you,” Hope added.

      So much for remembering the good old days.

      I sighed, defeat making me even more tired. “I don’t get you two. Or Tristan. You guys used to be my best friends. What did I ever do to—”

      Vanessa closed the distance between us so fast I didn’t have time to react, her nose nearly touching mine. “You were born, freak. That’s more than enough reason to make every member of the Clann hate you for the rest of our lives. Now get. Out. Of our. Way!” Using both hands, she slammed me against the lockers then stalked off, Hope tagging along in her footsteps.

      I shouldn’t have been stunned. I should have known the past was over and done with and there was no going back. But still, it took a few seconds before I could make my feet move again. My throat and eyes burning, I tried to ignore the way everyone was staring at me and headed for my locker at the other end of the hallway, my chin lifted, as if the encounter had been no big deal.

      Three hours later, I flopped into my seat at my friends’ table in the cafeteria.

      Carrie Calvin’s eyebrows shot up beneath her long blond bangs. “A little early in the day to be so tired, don’t you think?” She flicked her shoulder-length hair behind her.

      I managed a grunt and focused on unscrewing the cap of my tea thermos. Time for another dose of homegrown medicine. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long to kick in this time. Or maybe I should open a vein in my arm and pour it in directly.

      As promised, Nanna’s special tea had helped during first-period English. But climbing the sports and art building’s two flights of stairs to second period pre-drill class, followed by an hour and a half of dancing, had set back my recovery. I felt worse than ever.

      “Oh, she’s just worn-out from all that dancing she’s taken up,” Anne Albright said. “You know, twirling with the froufrou tutus at Miss Catherine’s Dance Studio. Kicking it in pre-drill with all those sad Charmer wannabes.” She tightened her thick, chestnut-brown ponytail and grinned, apparently unable to resist stirring up a little excitement for lunch.

      I chucked a French fry at her. She was lucky she was my best friend, or I’d be tempted to dump her soda over her head instead. She knew Carrie and Michelle were still annoyed that I’d picked dance lessons instead of playing volleyball again with them this year. To them, even sucking at volleyball was better than dancing.

      Michelle Wilson turned her big hazel eyes toward me. “Are you going to try out for the Charmers, Sav?”

      It took me a few seconds to understand. Then I remembered. Most students only took pre-drill as a required class so they could audition for the JHS Cherokee Charmers Dance/Drill Team in May.

      “Of course she isn’t,” Anne jumped in before I could reply. “Pre-drill is just her mom’s idea of fulfilling her P.E. credit without embarrassing herself again like last year.”

      “Gee, thanks,” I said. But I couldn’t really be mad. Anne was only saying the truth, as usual. I had taken pre-drill for the P.E. credit, and because it had no audience or competitions for me to doom a team at. Trying out for the Charmers was the last thing on my mind.

      “Sorry,” Anne muttered, both looking and sounding sincere.

      Between desperate gulps of tea, I gave her a half grin to show I wasn’t really upset. She’d been my best friend for over two years now, and I’d gotten used to her blunt style. In a way, it was even comforting. At least I could always count on her to be honest, no matter what.

      A new wave of pain rose up to slam into my stomach and chest, wiping the smile right off my face. This was an ache I knew far too well. It hit me every time he came within a hundred yards of me, usually before I even saw or heard him.

      Michelle, who sat across from me, let out a dreamy sigh, confirming what my body already knew.

      “Please let me trip him,” Anne muttered once she’d glanced over her shoulder and spotted him, too.

      I kept my gaze on Michelle, though the tiny blonde’s moonstruck expression was tough to watch. Anything to keep me facing forward. Tristan had to either walk along the outer wall of the cafeteria or cut across the center by our table on his way to the food lines. Most people cut across. No doubt he would, too.

      Just a few more seconds and he’d pass right behind me. I told myself I didn’t care, even as my skin tingled with some secret knowledge all its own that he was drawing closer.

      And then I heard it … a low whistling, the notes so quiet I could almost have believed I’d imagined them if not for my sensitive hearing. Sugarplum music, as plain as if he’d whistled the notes right against my ear.

      Ever since he’d seen my ballet slippers fall out of my backpack during algebra earlier this year, Tristan had started whistling The Nutcracker’s “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” song every time he saw me. I remembered his sense of humor, how his mind worked. This was his wordless way of teasing me about wanting to be a ballerina, without having to actually bother to talk to me. Because of course a klutz like me couldn’t ever become a decent dancer, right?

      I felt a blush flood my cheeks and neck with heat, adding to my frustration. I must look like a strawberry … red face, red hair, red ears. But no way would I duck my head. I would not give him the satisfaction of any reaction I could control, at least.

      “Oh, I am so gonna trip him,” Anne hissed, turning her chair toward him. Apparently she got his sense of humor, too, even if she didn’t approve of it.

      “No, you can’t!” Michelle reached over the edge of the round table, grabbed Anne’s arm and yanked her sideways half out of her seat. By the time Anne recovered, he was past our table.

      “He’s a member of the Clann. You know how all those witches treat Savannah,” Anne said.

      “Tristan Coleman isn’t like them. He’s nice,” Michelle said. “The whole witchcraft thing is just a rumor. And a stupid one, at that.”

      Carrie, Anne and I all shared a look.

      Michelle sighed. “Tristan is so not a witch! Or warlock, or whatever they’re called. His family goes to my church. And he’s too nice to sacrifice small animals. Remember how he saved me last summer at that track meet? None of the others would have done that, but he did.”

      Carrie and Anne both groaned out loud. We’d heard this story countless times this year, until Anne had finally threatened to beat Michelle to death if she told it one more time.

      I just groaned inside my head. I was too busy forcing air in and out of my lungs past the tightness in my chest. How did СКАЧАТЬ