He grinned and shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“Okay, then,” she said. “Prove it.”
The gleam behind his eyes said he welcomed the challenge. “How?”
“Touch me.” That gleam died real fast, just as she’d expected. She was obviously right, so why wouldn’t he admit it? “Go on.” She leaned closer and held her palm forward. “What’re you afraid of?”
He hesitated and then reached out for her with a tentative hand. But instead of lacing his fingers among hers, he wove them through her hair. Chills danced across the back of her neck, and she closed her eyes automatically.
“I admit physical affection is foreign to me,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean every contact is torturous. See? I’m touching you right now.”
“Not quite.” Hair didn’t count. She wanted to feel him on her skin. But when Cara opened her eyes and geared up to tell him, she saw a tall shadow move in her periphery. She flinched back with a gasp.
“What’s wrong?” Aelyx’s gaze followed hers to the wooded area opposite the field.
“Someone’s out there.”
“Are you sure?” His body tensed visibly as he scanned the vacant landscape.
“Positive.” She pointed to the woods, where a group of low branches stirred.
The shadowy figure was gone, but she’d seen him. The chills from her neck spread downward, raising goose bumps on her arms. Someone was still watching them. She could sense it.
“Let’s go,” Aelyx said, wasting no time in standing and gathering his things.
“Yeah.” Cara pushed to her feet and started in the other direction. She tried telling herself it was probably just a hiker out there, but that didn’t stop her from quickening the pace.
Chapter Twelve
Monday, November 15
Of Mud and Men: it’s Culture Clash Monday.
Ever wonder what L’eihrs do for fun? How they say good-bye? Which hand gestures offend them most? Actually, I’m not answering that last one. Based on the spirited e-mails I’ve been getting (by the way, calling me a ginger whore is totally unoriginal), many of you would use such information for evil, not for good.
So instead, let’s talk about a rite of passage. Forget Bar Mitzvahs. On L’eihr you become a man (or woman) during Sh’ovah. When the elders decide you’re ready, which happens between thirteen and seventeen, you swear an oath to the “Sacred Mother” (the planet itself), and then all your peers stand in line and smear mud on your naked body to symbolize your union with Her. Mazel tov! Sounds more interesting than my rite of passage: a fully clothed sweet sixteen at the Olive Garden.
That’s all for now. Check back for Trivial Wednesday and again for FAQ Friday. The most commonly e-mailed question last week was “How have L’eihrs evolved?” I’ll ask Aelyx and get back to you. Have a great week, gentle and not-so-gentle readers. All 855.947 of you!
Posted by Cara Sweeney 3:14 p.m.
After uploading her blog entry, Cara left the computer lab to join Aelyx at her locker. But she sensed that something wasn’t right. When she opened the metal door, its soft click echoed in the crowded hallway. Whispers had replaced the usually boisterous conversations, and even the squeak and click of footsteps sounded subdued. Weird.
She turned to Aelyx. “Have you seen Tori? She skipped psychology, but I know she’s here.”
Tori had done a halfway decent job playing hide-and-don’t-seek, but Cara noticed her ducking into the stairwell after last period. And after yesterday’s creepy peeping incident at the nature preserve, she wanted to keep her friends close.
“No, but I typically don’t go looking for her.” He leaned against the next locker. “You seem upset. You all right?”
No, she wasn’t all right. Despite all the phone messages she’d left for Tori—including several 4giv me? texts—they hadn’t spoken in days. Cara brought her thumbnail to her mouth, but there was nothing left to nibble.
“Tori’s still pissed,” she said. “I canceled some plans last week, and she thinks it’s because I was hooking up with you.”
“She despises me.”
“No, she doesn’t.” When he raised one brow, she conceded. “Okay, she does, but only because she doesn’t know you like I do. But if—”
“There she is.” Aelyx nodded at something behind her. He flashed a weak smile and patted her shoulder consolingly, like he knew something she didn’t. It reminded her of the time Dad broke the news about Mom’s cancer. “I’ll wait here, in case you need me.”
A flutter tickled her chest as she spun around and spotted Tori leaning against the far wall, her hands wedged into the back pockets of her skintight jeans. Half the lacrosse team, including Eric and Marcus, huddled around her.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Cara slung her backpack over one shoulder and strode briskly toward the group.
When she stopped in front of them, it was Marcus, not Tori, who spoke first. “We need to talk, Sweeney.” He folded his arms and cocked his head to the side in the universal gesture of poseurs trying to look badass.
What a moron. No wonder she’d stolen his class rank so easily. “Come on, Tor, you can’t ignore me forever. Let’s go somewhere and talk, just us.”
But Tori didn’t budge. Instead, she studied the pointed tips of her platform ankle boots and mumbled, “Listen to what he has to say.”
Then something happened that sent Cara’s stomach dipping like a yo-yo. Eric took Tori’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Eric and Tori. Touching. Does not compute. Tori’s mocha eyes widened, and she jerked her hand away while Eric ran his fingers through his hair, meeting Cara’s gaze just long enough to betray his guilt. Wait, guilt?
Eric and Tori—together? No, that couldn’t be right. Tori was hot for Jared Lee, not Eric. Tori hated Eric. Cara must’ve misinterpreted the signals, crossed some wires in her brain.
Marcus tore her away from her muddled thoughts for a moment. “We’ve been patient with your family so far—”
“Sure. If patient means spewing lies and propaganda and picketing my house every day, you’ve got the patience of a saint.”
A tiny muscle in Marcus’s temple twitched visibly beneath his ruddy skin, and she knew he’d love to reach out and choke someone—her.
She hooked a thumb toward Aelyx, still observing them from her locker. “Go ahead. Maybe he’ll snap your arm all the way off this time.” Was it just her imagination, or had Tori angled her body toward Eric’s? Their foreheads were barely six inches apart now.
“Until you send him home,” Marcus said, “none of our members will associate with your family in any way.” He slashed one hand through the air. “We’re talkin’ a total shutout.”
“Best news I’ve heard all day. Can you start ignoring me five minutes ago?”
Apparently, Marcus had reached his limit. After giving her a look that would melt the face off a frozen clock, he stalked away with his team, leaving Tori and Eric behind.
The two glanced at each other, cheeks flushing as they fidgeted with bag straps and belt loops. More importantly, Tori wasn’t flipping Eric the bird or cursing him out in Spanish.
Oh, God. They really were together. Her best friend and her ex.
Posters and banners went blurry. Air thickened until it was impossible to breathe. The nearby drone of a water fountain rattled her skull. It didn’t make sense—they’d always hated each other. And what about Jared? Unless . . .