Author: Cheryl McIntyre

“Ah, but I’m part of it.”

She shrugs, smirking. “You were. I’m trying to get over it.”

I don’t fight the grin, but I don’t push my luck either. I keep my mouth shut and work on my project.

*******

Kellin made me late this morning and I missed Hope before school started. I nearly run to Biology in my hurry to see her. I drop a pack of Skittles in front of her. Her gaze lowers to the candy and she pushes herself up straighter, dropping her feet from my chair. I chose this particular candy purposely; wanting to remind her of that moment she decided she liked me. I see it in her eyes—she’s thinking about it as she reluctantly tears the package open and puts one in her mouth. A purple one. She doesn’t thank me or even acknowledge me, but it’s a start.

I take my seat and sigh. I swear her eyes are burning a hole in the back of my head. Good. I turn around and catch her gaze. “Do you have an extra pencil I can borrow?” I have about ten pencils in my backpack, but it’s a reasonable excuse to talk to her.

She places another purple Skittle on her tongue, holding my gaze. “Yeah.” She rolls her pencil across the table to me.

“Thanks,” I say and turn back around.

The pencil smells like raspberry lotion. I have absolutely no intentions of returning it now. Not when a part of her is so clearly on it. I hold it under my nose knowing I look stupid as hell, but I don’t give a shit. The girl next to me glances over and giggles. Yeah, she giggles. I can’t freaking stand gigglers. I just look at her.

“Are you smelling your pencil?” she asks with another annoying giggle.

“It smells like raspberries,” I say loud enough for Hope to hear me.

“Let me smell,” the girl, Carly, I think, says. She moves as if to take it and I pull back. And then I realize I’m protecting a pencil. Seriously? I have got issues. And Hope thinks she’s fucked up? She cuts herself because it’s her way of dealing with the messed up shit she went through when she was a little kid. All things considered, I don’t think that’s all too crazy. But sitting here sniffing a pencil, refusing to share it as if this girl could alter the scent somehow, that’s just...insane.

Carly scrunches her brows, obviously thinking the same damn thing. I’m still not willing to share, though. She rolls her eyes and turns her attention to the front of class. “Whatever then.”

Hope snorts behind me and I smile. A yellow Skittle lands on my book in front of me and I slap my hand down on it before it can roll away. I glance back at her as I pop it into my mouth. She leans forward, so I lean back.

“It’s black raspberry vanilla,” she says quietly.

I grin wider. “I like it.”

“I’ll remember that,” she states, and the tone of her voice sends a pleasant chill down my back. I let my head fall back on her table and stare up at her. She puts a Skittle in my mouth and pushes my head away. When I sit up, I catch another eye roll from Carly. I smile at her, chewing on what I assume is Hope’s peace offering, or at least acceptance of mine. Finally.

“Are you, like, with her?”

My smile falters and I raise an eyebrow. “What?”

Carly huffs and rolls her eyes yet again. “Are you dating Hope Love?”

I glance over my shoulder. Hope’s head is down as she scribbles in her notebook, but I’m fairly certain she heard the question. I look back at Carly. “No, but I’m working really hard on it,” I admit. “First I have to get her to forgive me for being an asshole.”

Carly’s eyes go wide in surprise, then disgust. And I have never, ever wanted to hit a girl, but I kind of want to at least trip this one. “Gr-oss.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Actually, she’s delicious, but I have a very selective taste pallet.” And clearly I lose Carly. English is apparently a difficult language for her to understand. Her eyes squint in confusion and Hope snorts again. I almost want to thank Carly for being such a pretentious bitch, but Mr. Roberts walks into the room and begins class. Doesn’t matter. I got Hope to laugh twice and very possibly forgive me.

Best day in over a week.

Chapter 22

Hope

Carly Reeves is a bitch.

I want to punch her in her stupid face. I would do it too if it weren’t for the little detail that I just came back to school last week. Of course, if she glares at me over her bony shoulder one more time, I don’t think it will matter much to me.

Mason shifts in his seat, blocking my view of Carly. Purposely, I’m sure. I throw another Skittle at him. It hits him in the head and he turns around to look at me. That adorable dimple is out and I bite down on my lip. I’m still mad at him for how he acted at Alec’s party, but he was right. How can I be mad at him for not trusting me when I obviously don’t deserve it? And to be completely honest, I’m actually kind of glad he knows my secret. We are definitely having a discussion about his overpowering me. I don’t like that shit and I won’t put up with it.

His eyes focus on my mouth, take in the way I’m biting my lip, and like he knows what I’m thinking, he licks his own lips slowly. I drop dead. Well, not really, but damn. Our first kiss flashes in my mind and I want to do it again. Like right now.

He turns back, trying to pay attention, I guess. I keep staring at him. His dark hair is shiny. Remembering how it felt to run my fingers through it… I clear my throat to cover the sound I involuntarily make. Why am I lusting over him in the middle of Biology? I’m mad at him. I mean, I think I am. I was.

He leans back and stretches his arms over his head and my eyes run over his nicely shaped, sun-kissed arms. A piece of paper falls from his fingers right in front of me. He did not just do the 90’s stretch and note drop. I’m smiling. He is so cheesy.

I unfold the paper and feel my cheeks rise higher.

I HOPE I DON’T PISS YOU OFF MORE, BUT I’M GOING TO FAIL THIS CLASS. AFTER YOU TORTURED ME FOR OVER A WEEK, ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT IS HOW CLOSE YOU ARE AND HOW MUCH I WANT YOU TO ASK ME TO KISS YOU AGAIN. PLEASE TELL ME THAT WILL HAPPEN EVENTUALLY.

I don’t write him back. Instead, I tuck the note into my book—I’m keeping that shit. He doesn’t need confirmation that we’re in the same state of mind. I shove a handful of candy in my mouth and attempt to listen to the lecture.

I went to the cafeteria yesterday. Mason sat at Bailey Grove’s table with Annie and the other cheerleaders. I wasn’t exactly jealous. I was just—jealous. Dear Buddha, I was so ridiculously jealous and I had no idea how to handle it.

I still don’t. All I do know is that I miss him, and I can’t stop thinking about him. Guy’s talking to Park again like nothing ever happened. Maybe I should take a cue from him.

Maybe.

Like yesterday, Biology is filled with playful flirting. He makes it way too difficult to concentrate in this class.

The bell finally rings and I put my things in my backpack. Mason does the same before looking back at me. “Can I sit with you at lunch?” He says it carefully, like he’s afraid of spooking me.

“Abandoning your pom-poms already?” He quirks a brow and I laugh. “It’s your table too.”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me there since I told you I’d move.”

I shoulder my bag. “I want you there.” He smiles at me, but it falls as his eyes lower to my lips.

I usher us into the hallway and head toward my locker. Mason follows, stopping beside me as I dump what I can. “Are we all right?”

My hand pauses on my Algebra book. “Yeah,” I say. “Pretty much. But I swear to whatever god you believe in, if you ever use your superior strength on me again, I will cut off your nuts.” His eyebrows rise, hiding under his hair. “And I obviously don’t want you to tell anybody about, you know, the thing.” I shake my head and sigh. “Not that that means anything. Park wasn’t supposed to tell and we know how that ended.”

“I’m not Park,” Mason says firmly. “I won’t do that shit to you. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to use my super strength against you.”

“Superior strength,” I correct.

“Potato, patato.” He grins at me for a second before getting serious again. “I wouldn’t ever hurt you. Not physically and not on purpose. I need you to know that. You can trust me.”

“I want to,” I say. I want to so badly.

He smiles and that urge to kiss him is back and it’s strong. The bell rings, but I’m motionless, caught in his gaze. Mason knows my secret. He knows one of worst things about me and he’s still here.

I slip my hand behind his neck and pull him into me. He leans in easily and our lips meet. I nearly sigh into his mouth. It feels so good. He presses against me gently, a soft murmur sounding in his throat. I drop whatever book I was holding and grip him with both hands, arching my body into his.

“Mm. Hope,” he utters against my mouth. I pull back and look at him, gasping for air. “I really like the way you forgive me. We don’t need to go to lunch. Do we?”

I touch my fingertips to my lips. “I don’t need to eat,” I say softly. Mason leans slowly toward me again.

“Mason.” He and I both flinch at the intrusive voice. “Are you going to sit with us today?” Bailey Grove. Ugh. I hate the way she says his name and the way she looks at him. Like he’s her property. Bailey is the embodiment of evil, popular cheerleader. I don’t know how Annie can stand her. She’s hated me from the moment I started school here. The feeling is mutual, but only because she decided I was the equivalent of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

Bailey flips her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder and smiles up at Mason. I bend and pluck up my book, shoving it into my locker. I suddenly have an overwhelming desire to not be in the general vicinity.

“Uh, no, thanks,” Mason says slowly. “I’m sitting with Hope and Guy.”

Bailey’s eyes slide over to me as if just now noticing I’m here. She arches one thin brow and looks me up and down. “Oh.” Her nose scrunches up like she smells something bad and she blinks. Once. Twice. Three times.

I slam my locker door.

“Tomorrow, then,” she says, turning her devouring gaze on Mason.

He shakes his head, smiling apologetically. “They have me all week. Sorry. I’ll see you later.” He pulls me toward the cafeteria and I look back in time to catch the appalled expression on her face. I can’t help it, I laugh, which isn’t the smartest thing to do.

Bailey glares venomously at me. I stop walking and turn all the way around. Mason gives me a quizzical glance before following my line of sight. “Do you have something to say to me?” I ask.

“Nope,” Bailey says through her teeth. “I don’t associate with trash.” I glower back at her. She did not just call me trash.

“Did you just call her trash?” Mason grinds out. He marches deliberately back to her. “People that sling insults are trash. I don’t know what made you such an ugly person, but trying to hurt people isn’t going to make you any prettier.”

“I am not ugly,” Bailey seethes.

“Oh, trust me. You are.”

“Fuck you, Mason! You don’t know me!”

He turns around and stalks away. “I’m lucky like that,” he throws over his shoulder. He pulls me along and all I can do is grin stupidly at him. Give the man another ten—no—twenty cool points.

“I really wish I could’ve met your dad,” I say. Some people might not be so quick to jump to another’s defense after their dad was killed for doing just that, but not him.

Mason tilts his head, eyebrows drawn together. “I do too.”

“You turned out to be a pretty amazing person.” He stops abruptly and hauls me into a hug.