The Bad Boy's Dance by Vera Calloway Page B

the turmoil behind his honey eyes, the overwhelming need that swallowed me in its greed.
                  But I didn’t.
    “I promise.”
     
    “He stopped sending me letters. Even when he did, I threw them away, Paul. Stop worrying. It’s in the past, okay?” I insisted. The dark fist of despair that his name always evoked was tight in my chest.
    Paul looked conflicted, but he finally nodded. “If you say so. I just worry, you know? It’s a big brother’s job.”
    I snorted. “You and Spencer must be getting instructions from different books.” For the most part, Spencer was chill and relaxed.
    “Since when has Spencer read ?” Paul asked with mock puzzlement. Shoving his shoulder, I laughed and fell into an easier pattern, chatting with him.
    Dinner was fun, and Spencer and Paul’s antics were almost too much to bear. Spencer tore off a few strands of his hair and mixed them into Paul’s soup, resulting in Paul’s retaliation by mashing a meatball into Spencer’s ear.
    Mom went ballistic and sent them both up to their rooms moping. She didn’t give a flip if both of them were in college, her house meant her rules.
    Settling into bed later that night, I was anticipating Monday with a mixture of dread and excitement. Rooting in my inner psyche- what a fun word, psyche - I located the reason for both emotions.
    Oh jeez. I was thinking about Asher. What was wrong with me? I could not let him get under my skin, for many reasons. Anyway, it wasn’t like Asher Grayson gave a flying fig about women. He was the ultimate player. The sad thing was, some girl’s knew that but chose to give him what he wanted anyway, in hopes of taming him. No one could ever tame someone as wild as Asher Grayson.
    I flipped onto my front and burrowed into my pillow. Hmm, what non-Asher related topic could I think of? Oh yeah, that cliffhanger episode of favorite detective show . Was Beckett dead? Obviously not; they couldn’t kill off the female protagonist. Or could they? Movie producers were smoking all types of new weed nowadays, who knew what they were thinking?
    I fell asleep to the image of a bunch of hippies discussing who killed the surgeon.
     
     
    Monday was always evil, but it was easier to handle once we were actually in school. Poor Monday, so abandoned and unloved. If it were a person, I’d give it a hug.
    Dana was giving me the silent treatment, sulking in the backseat while Caleb fiddled with the radio up front. “How’s soccer practice?” I asked him, more to divert Dana’s annoyance than anything.
    He shrugged. Caleb was the definition of bulky. He had large shoulders, wide hands, and he was muscled like a steam engine. I’m pretty sure if he, Dana, and I hadn’t clung to him like seaweed junior year, he wouldn’t be hanging with us.
    Then again, he was as weird as we were.
    We were a bit early, so we lounged on the front steps of the school. It wasn’t five minutes before I felt someone kick my backpack, scattering my papers all over the ground.
    Sigh. And here I’d hoped Klein had transferred to another school. Or been abducted by a UFO. Maybe the aliens could find his mother planet, because it sure wasn’t Earth.
    Klein towered over us, six feet of undiluted bully. He’d had it out for me since I’d whipped his derriere in the contest for top five students with the highest GPA in middle school. Then again, when I’d made him look like an idiot by refuting a thesis he’d developed on the definition of infinity.
    He’d taken the burdensome task of picking on me as revenge.
    Usually he didn’t bother me when Caleb was near, since Caleb could easily crush him, but he’d missed a week of bullying. He must be in withdrawal.
    Dana helped me gather my things while Caleb stood, poking Klein in the chest hard enough to make him wince.
    “Move off, man,” Klein whined. “This isn’t about you. Robello and I are just playing, isn’t that right?”
    Oh how I longed to smack that slimy grin