Slow Burn (14 page)

Laundry Room Girl seems scared
to death of me.  Does she think I’m going to call her out in front of everyone?  She can’t possibly be worried I’ll beat the crap out of her. 
I
know I’m vicious, but to the unknowing, I look more likely to bite someone on the ankle than punch them in the face.  I would need a chair to reach Laundry Room Girl.  If it came to that, I wouldn’t be ashamed to drag one up to her lanky ass. 

I kind of wish she
was blatantly bitchy to me, you know?  Her face plays a very active role in one of my worst memories, and I would kind of like to mess it up.  No, I don’t really have anger issues, and I don’t have some kind of past trauma that makes me so violent.  I’m passionate—it’s in my blood.  On the Somers side, all the men are laidback and somewhat meek, but the women are a wild bunch, and a wee temperamental.  I’ve heard stories about my grandmother chasing my grandfather around the house with a knife over a disagreement regarding a television series.  My great great grandmother shot her cheating husband in bed; and Michelle famously took down a cheerleading squad for bullying a friend in high school.

That’s another reason why I don’t think Johnny and I belong together.  I’m bad for him.  What he needs is someone to talk him down when he gets riled—
not try to piss him off even more.  We fight just as much as we get along, and we enjoyed both activities equally.  What kind of relationship is that?

A bad one, obviously.

Lunch time.

It’s a completely different experience from yesterday.  Tanya catches me in line, and tries to get me to sit with her and her group—on the outermost ring of tables, next to the trash cans.  I might have said yes, but the she tells me she wants to hook me up with her friend, Bobo.1              `don’t want to hook up with a Bobo.

A couple of other girls ask me to eat with them.  Since I have no idea who they are, I politely decline.  I’m thinking I’ll just
go eat in my car, when Mack comes along, and picks me—and my tray—up and carries me to the elite tables.  He places me across from Johnny and Nick, who are both smirking like little boys.  I glare at Johnny.  He shrugs and grins, then quickly turns to Nick and starts talking about their Call of Duty game.  I’m about to leave—just for the principle of the matter—but then I notice at the other table, I’ve ruined Kara’s appetite.  She puts her fork down, and grimaces at me before leaning over to whisper something to Sloane, sitting on the other side of her.  I’ve never met someone so physically repulsed by my presence.  On one hand, I’m really offended; on the other—I’m kind of impressed that I have such a strong effect on someone.  I wonder what she would do if I sat down next to her, and started taking bites of her salad?

If Arianna weren’t so busy mauling Ben’s face, she’d probably be
disgusted by me, too.  Gross, she just fed him a carrot—from her mouth.  Speaking of gross, what are Ryan and Jason doing?  It looks like they’re trying to spit in each other’s ears.  I look away quickly, glad they’re sitting at the other table.

Laundry Room Girl is conspicuously absent—not that I’m complaining.  Maybe Johnny banished her from the table, knowin
g I would never sit so close to her?  Hm.  I notice someone else is missing from the group.

“Where is Dean?” I ask
Mack, who is about to devour what appears to be half a cow.

“Dean never eats in the caf,”
Mack says, before taking a huge bite of his burger.  “He ofweyz gumph erp deep.”

“Huh?”  Holy crap, how can one mouth hold so much food?

Mack swallows in one big gulp.  He takes big drink from his milk before answering.  “He always goes out to eat.”

I frown, remembering Dean’s
lunch offer just yesterday.  “Are we allowed to go off campus for lunch?”

“We’re not, but who’s gonna tell Dean no?”
  He raises an eyebrow at me.  “Now are you gonna eat those fries?”

“I’ll give you my fries if you give me your cookie.”

“Huh.  How ‘bout half?”

“Deal.”

We make the exchange, and Mack happily devours my fries.  “Hey,” he says.  “When are you going to bring me that Mexican lasagna you promised me?”

“Uh…”  I smooth a ha
nd over my long hair, mentally going over my schedule.  “I could probably do it late Sunday afternoon, after I get back from my dad’s.”

He brightens.  “That’s perfect.  You could come over after I get back from church, and we could go swimming in my pool afterwards!”

“That sounds fun,” I say with a smile.  Then I stare at him, eyes wide.  “You go to church?”

“Absolutely,”
Mack replies with a serious look.  He thumps his right fist over his chest.  “I love me some Jesus.”

“Oh.  Yeah, me too
.”

I grin at
Mack, and he grins back, his  teeth dazzling white against the darkness of his skin.  I notice Johnny watching us out of the corner of his eye.  He looks pleased that Mack and I are getting along so well.  He could never understand why I didn’t like his stepbrother as much as I liked the others.  Yeah, well, I don’t care for Ryan and Jason all that much, either.  They really are trying to spit in each other’s ears.

Don’t even get me started on the sea harpies.

I manage to ignore Johnny for the rest of lunch, and he lets me.  He and Nick appear to be having an intense conversation, and from the way they both occasionally glance at me, I can guess what the subject is.  Nick gestures a lot with his hands while Johnny frowns down at his food.  If they’re scheming about something, I don’t want to know.

I’m sleepy during AP Lit.  Mr. Shannon engages the class in a discussion on “The Scarlet Letter” regarding adultery, and should the government be allowed to regulate personal behavior.  Somehow it turns into a heated debate on whether the school should install video surveillance in the halls and classrooms.

“When it becomes a matter of safety, then yes, I believe we can suffer the indignity,” a short-haired girl speaks up, pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose.  “
Installing video cameras inside the school would create a huge deterrence for the arsonist, as well as prevent student-on-student harassment—such as bullying.”

“That’s a bullshit excuse to invade our privacy,”
Ben says, balancing a pencil between his fingers.  “Liddell’s using the fires as an excuse to push the surveillance issue, and ride her power trip all over our civil rights.  Think about it—we’d all be under her thumb.  Students
and
teachers.”

“A thought that has been on several minds,” Mr. Shannon mutters dispiritedly.  Then he jerks his head up.  “I didn’t just say that.”

Hm.  Note to self:  never call Aunt Jo “Aunt Jo” in front of anyone.  She is not well liked.

“Come on
,” Ben continues, leaning forward in his seat, his dark eyes intense.  “This is the same violation of privacy shit as online monitoring.  It’s insane that I have to watch what I write on my personal profile—on my own time, at home—out of fear that I’ll get penalized for stating an opinion.  Now I have to tiptoe through the school, on my best behavior—hoping some depraved school official isn’t zooming in on my tight little butt?”

“Funny you should say
that, Ben,” Sloane says in a smooth cultured voice.  “Wasn’t it you who got busted last month for posting the ‘Guess that Ass’ game on your profile?”

“Yes, thanks for bringing that up, Sloane.  I’d like to point out that those girls were willing participants whose names and faces were not shown to protect their identities.
”

Oh, my
god, I saw that!  Some of the comments were so mean, and funny.  Like the one ass who had guesses like “some kind of large forest-dweller” and “Mom?!”  I wondered why he took it down.

“That’s so degrading,”
Glasses Girl is muttering.  Ben flashes a kissy face in her direction, and her fair skin flushes a bright red.

“Uh…”  Mr. Shannon rumples his curly hair, clearly at a loss for words.  My heart sinks a little when his gaze lands on me.  “Mis
s Juliet!  Why don’t you weigh in on this debate?  Do you think Leclare would benefit from having cameras installed within its hallowed halls?”

Ugh.  What does this have to do with “The Scarlet Letter?”  I had some really scathing things to say about adultery.

I sit up unenthusiastically.  “Even if they installed their surveillance system in every nook and cranny of this school, I’d still have more privacy here than when I leave school grounds.  Out there, I could walk into the glass doors of my favorite ice cream shop, and be an internet star in a matter of hours.  You have to accept you live in an age of social media, and anything you do or say could be documented for anyone to see—and you will be held accountable for it.  The issue of privacy is a moot point in a society where there are cameras everywhere.  So, why not have them in schools, where they could help to create a safe environment for kids?”

“So, basically, you’re saying my privacy is going to be violated, anyway, so why the hell not at school, too?” Ben says, pointing his pencil at me.

I lift my gaze to the ceiling, and my shoulders move in a half-hearted shrug.  “Basically…yeah.  You go to most any public place, and you’re on surveillance.  What’s the difference?”

“The difference is Liddell will use it to bust u
s for every little infraction she catches us doing.  You’re new here, Juliet, so you don’t know—the woman is a Nazi.  She’ll be glued to the monitors, just…waiting for one of us to start up some shit.”

“Well, then the obvious answ
er is don’t do anything out of line,” Glasses Girl says snootily.  She’s still red from the kissy face incident.  “We do have a code of conduct, you know.  You follow the rules, you don’t get in trouble.”

Ben smirks, sprawling back in his chair in an insouciant pose .  “Well, my good friend, Thoreau once said, ‘Disobedience is the true foundation of liberty.  The obedient must be slaves.’”

“Anarchist!”

He
throws a plaintive look in Dean’s direction.  “Help me out here, man.  Feed me an epic quote.  No one seems to get that this is just another step toward complete control.”

“‘They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, des
erve neither liberty nor safety,’” Dean quotes without looking up.

I stare at him, intrigued
.  “Is that from Benjamin Franklin?”

He
glances up at me.  “Yeah.”

“Is that what you believe?”

Dean shrugs.  Then a ghost of a smile lifts his sulky mouth.  “Hell, I really don’t care.  They could put cameras in the showers, and it wouldn’t bother me.”

Several giggles erupt at that, and it’s not only the girls who are blushing.  Apparently, imagining Dean Youngblood in the shower is a fantasy that transcends gender.

I find myself watching Dean curiously.  He can quote a Founding Father, yet he really doesn’t seem to care about the video surveillance issue.  Maybe he’s used to a lack of privacy at the military school he attended.  Aren’t they constantly monitored?  Or am I thinking of prison?

God, he really is beautiful.  His face belongs on the cover of a magazine, or on a movie screen. 
Does he realize he’s a work of art?  Does he stare into mirrors, and fall a little in love with his reflection each time?  His short, no-nonsense hair cut has me thinking no, he probably doesn’t waste time being vain.  Those long thick eyelashes, though.  As if his eyes weren’t striking enough.  I can’t decide which eye color is prettier:  the tropical turquoise left eye, or the jade surrounded by smoke right eye.  What a professional photographer and an expensive camera could do with those gorgeous colors.

I hope Dean never gets sent to prison.  He’d be really pop
ular, especially with that purty mouth.  If we ever had kids together, the poor things would have to have lip reductions,  or have careers in the porn industry.  Do they do lip reductions?  He would have to cut someone on his first day behind bars.  I mean, he’s big and has an incredible body, but that face of his does not inspire fear.  Awe, maybe…

These random thoughts just flit through my head like ditzy blonde butterflies.  It takes me a while to realize that I’m staring at Dean—and he’s staring back.

Uh-oh.

Suddenly we’re in a staring contest.  Our gazes lock, and it’s too late to look away.  It’s like that for three, maybe four seconds.  Then I
casually let my eyes drift over him.  They land on the boy sitting across from me, and I make sure to ogle at him with the same intensity and concentration.  I do it to three or four other people, in case Dean’s watching me.  Maybe he’ll think staring holes into people is just my thing.  I really freak out the short-haired Glasses Girl when I do it to her.  It’s worse when I try to smile reassuringly after.

I keep kicking Dean’s foot by accident!  The third time it happens, I cringe down in my seat
, keeping my legs locked together in front of me.  By the time class is over, they’re so stiff from tension that when I stand up, I stagger and trip over the strap of my bag on the floor.  My face smashes against Dean’s arm, leaving a smear of shimmery peach lip gloss along the sleeve of his shirt.