Coveted, Page 2

  Chapter 2

  I had no desire to carry through with Michael's advice. Maybe it was because I was a coward but I liked to think it was more logical than that. Bran was creepy, end of story. Just because I hadn't dated anyone yet didn't mean I had to take the first person to look in my direction. I was being intelligent about it.

  That intelligence seemed to evaporate in homeroom the moment Bran entered. He smiled at me and walked up the aisle to my desk to greet me. Amanda and Samantha looked at each other, mouths agape. I tried to sink into my seat. Why did he have to come talk to me in front of everyone?

  "Morning, Lucina," he said. He was close enough that I could smell the wood and the streams. He must have been the outdoorsy type. I tried to ignore the fact that outdoorsy in winter smelled very different and much less appealing than what I was getting from him.

  I muttered a return greeting but was unable to look away once my eyes were locked with his. There was a flipping in my gut that resembled panic telling me I needed to break the connection or suffer the consequences. What consequences? An image of us tangled in each other's arms flashed in my mind. Where had that come from? I was getting as bad as Amanda.

  His crooked smile widened. "I found out we have physics together. Can I borrow your notes?"

  I blinked as it took me another moment to banish the sexy mental image enough to focus. I did not want to encourage him but I did not want to make an enemy of someone hot enough to get the others to follow him. All I needed was the new guy leading the charge in renewed attacks upon my person. Given the situation, I had to pick the option with the least risk to my social welfare. I nodded. "They're in my locker."

  It was much harder to breathe than it should have been. Using this much mental acuity to keep it even and unnoticeable had to be a bad sign. My heartburn was consuming my insides.

  His smile widened. "Great, I'll come with you on the way to class." He returned to his seat across the room, leaving me feeling breathless, frightened, and... I did not want to think about that particular and.

  After homeroom, we walked to my locker to fetch the notes. Bran was quiet at first, which only made me more nervous. What was he thinking? Was I walking funny? Did I look alright? What cruel name would he invent for me? I was being silly. My mother had suggested that maybe what I was seeing as creepy was just a cultural difference. Maybe I should give him more credit.

  "You like it here?" I asked.

  "It has its advantages," he said with a smile. "Do you like it here?"

  The question caught me off guard. People did not ask me questions. The only one who cared enough to know anything about me was Michael and he already knew me well enough not to bother. I eked out an answer. "It's beautiful in the summer. Windy lately. It makes winter hard to take. I just wish the snow would melt already. I like Spring much better." I knew I was rambling but the shut-up order from my brain was proving as effective as the close-door button on an elevator.

  He shrugged. "There is always wind in Scotland."

  "Where in Scotland are you from?" Keeping him talking about himself seemed to help regulate my breathing.

  He smiled again and ran his fingers through his hair. "I was born near Braemar but grew up in Inverness. I don't suppose you know where either of them is?"

  I shook my head.

  "Find the edge of beauty in the clouds and keep going, there you will find Braemar." His words sent chills skipping up my vertebrae. I knew I had heard them somewhere before, maybe a book. I tried to think of all the books I had read, especially the older literature. Scanning my memory for where I might have come across it, I came up with nothing and gave up trying to place it. Regardless of origin, his poetry was inspiring. He seemed to feel strongly about his birthplace.

  "Why did you ever leave?" I asked as we reached my locker and I twisted the combination into the lock.

  He chuckled. "Didn't have much choice in leaving Braemar. I left there many years ago."

  I shook my head to knock some sense back into my brain. "Yeah, right," I said. "You were just a kid."

  He shrugged. "Something like that."

  "And Scotland?" I asked as I bent down to look for my physics books and notes. They were, of course, on the very bottom of the haphazard pile.

  He stepped closer like he had the day before and just as then, he was so warm. I swallowed and tried to refocus my thoughts on my task. It did not escape my notice that I had leaned closer to him. His scent called to me. My heartburn had become more insistent, more like a gnawing.

  "I couldn't find what I needed there," he said, the lilt in his voice particularly strong and threatened to carry me away on its current.

  Suppressing a shudder, I tugged on my physics books, which appeared wedged into place. I gave a great pull and they gave way without warning. I stumbled backward. An arm against my back stopped me from falling. The touch bathed me in contentment even as it made the gnawing more insistent. I looked up and our eyes met. A smile teased the corner of his lips.

  "Careful there," he said.

  The hint of his smile spread into a crooked grin. Excitement lapped at my guts. I was losing my mind. I was actually finding myself attracted to this guy, the same guy who was a little too interested in me to be sane.

  Maybe I was the one lacking sanity. Amanda and Samantha would have thrown themselves at him. In fact, they had. Most of the girls in the school would too if given enough time. My reservations made no sense.

  I muttered a thank-you before sifting through my binder to extract all the notes from the first half of the year. I handed them to him. He thanked me with a nod.

  "I'll see you in Physics," he said. "I've got gym now." There was a tinge of irritation to his voice.

  This surprised me. It was obvious from his large frame that he worked out. His shoulder muscles were clearly defined even through his loose t-shirt. I couldn't see him having a problem with physical activity. Maybe I had been wrong about him being a jock.

  "I'll see you later then." I had said it simply as a parting. I had no intention of deliberately following through with talking to him again but his smile returned and my resistance faded.

  "I'm counting on it," he replied. He turned and walked through the crowds in the hallway. Every set of eyes watched him. The girls were drooling; the boys evaluating their competition.

  I returned to the mess of my locker to find my biology text book, which was luckily near the top of the pile. I stuffed it into my bag, forced my locker shut, and headed for biology. As I walked, I felt an odd draining sensation throughout my body, like I had been filled with some divine liquid that was now leaking out of my feet. By the time I reached biology, I wanted to cry. The gnawing behind my heart had settled into the familiar heartburn. I could only assume Bran had something to do with it. It must be woman's intuition. It would probably be best if I never saw Bran Sheehy again.

  I walked into class and to my lab table where Michael's expression changed to worry the moment he saw my face. "You alright?"

  I shook my head. "I don't know." The feeling of needing to cry had eased but was still present as an underlying threat. With the right provocation, it would not be stopped.

  He stood up and hugged me. "What happened?"

  "Absolutely nothing," I said, not understanding anything about my own feelings.

  Bran had been pleasant to me and I had even enjoyed being near him and talking to him. He had not made any snide or rude comments. He had certainly not bullied me. For one of my social interactions in this school, it had been stellar, so why did I have so much trouble with it?

  "Liar," he whispered in my ear.

  I pushed him away and sat down. "No," I insisted. "I'm serious. Absolutely nothing happened."

  He crossed his arms. "You hormonal or something? What did they use to call it? Hysteria?"

  I glared at him. "Thanks for using psychoanalysis from the 1800s. It's good to know you're the progressive type."

  He smiled and it made all the difference. I f
elt myself relax even despite his next words. "Yeah, I'm all about treating broads with respect."

  I rested my head on his shoulder. I hadn't shed a single tear but was beginning to feel the same swollen and congested renewal that came after a good cry. "Thanks for being my friend," I said.

  He laughed. "Ha! I have you fooled! Now I can unleash my master plan." He wrung his hands diabolically.

  I rolled my eyes. "To steal my video game collection?"

  "Of course," he declared with a smack to the desktop. "Those games are expensive!"

  I straightened and started sorting my books. "Sorry, buster, those babies are being buried with me. I had to clean a lot of cages to get those."

  Just then, Mrs. Marshall started the bio class.

  Michael was amazing as always and finished his work before anyone else. It was probably flawless too. He was taking the extra time to look over my shoulder and snicker every time I put a wrong answer into my diagram of the citric acid cycle. After the third time, I started writing things like "Betty Rubble" just to bug him.

  "Shall I do it for you?" He whispered into my ear.

  "You know," I sneered, "Somehow I've managed to become literate and semi-educated without letting you do all my homework."

  He shrugged. "I think there is debate about that." He sat back and turned serious. "What really happened before you came to class?"

  I focused on my chart, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking at him. "I told you: nothing."

  "Does that nothing have to do with a certain foreigner of the Scottish variety?"

  I couldn't lie. I had always had trouble with lying but I also didn't want my feeling about Bran to be a big deal. I didn't want Michael to think I was blowing it out of proportion. I stuck strictly to the physical facts. "We were just talking. Nothing happened."

  "Nothing good or nothing bad?" He pursed his lips.

  I dropped my pencil on my worksheet and gave him my best sardonic look. "How can nothing be good or bad?"

  He rolled his eyes as if he found my ignorance pathetic. He spoke in his teacher tone. "If you wanted something to happen and it didn't, then nothing is bad. If you didn't want anything to happen and nothing did, then it is good."

  "Who and the what now?"

  He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose as if I were being deliberately difficult. That was only half true. "You know exactly what I am saying," he said.

  I tapped my fingers on the table, switching fingers randomly. "Fine," I grunted. "Nothing happened but I don't know if it was good or bad so nothing was nothing."

  "Ahhh," he said as if I had just given him all the answers. "I get it now. You don't want to like him but you do so he talked to you and you want to pretend it was nothing but you also secretly want it to be something. That makes total sense."

  I picked up my pencil to erase "Betty Rubble" and wrote the correct answer. "That's funny," I said, "Because you're making none." I had hoped my schoolwork would prove a better distraction than it was. I stared at the diagram but the arrows had turned into a discombobulated mass.

  Michael stretched and rested his hands behind his head. I always hated when he made such large gestures in class. It drew people's attention, if even for only a moment.

  "You like him," he repeated as if he had simply noted that chairs have four legs.

  I nearly stabbed my pencil through my paper. "I do not like him." At that moment, it was the truth. I was too confused to like him. Bran was creepy. He was too forward, too confident. Sexy or not, he was trouble, creepy trouble. Michael was much better.

  Wait...

  Did I honestly just think that? Michael? No. Michael wasn't interested in me. He was my friend. We were totally just like brother and sister. For crap's sake, I'd seen his four-year-old self run naked around his yard while his mother struggled to catch him. Michael was definitely never an option.

  I filled in the last blank—with the real answer this time—and pushed it over to him. "Approve?" I asked.

  He looked down his nose at it. "You misspelled Oxaloacetate. It's O-X-A not O-X-O but it's otherwise fine."

  I corrected my spelling mistake and handed it in. Mrs. Marshall marked it and gave it back along with a reminder to spend the rest of class reading the next chapter, not talking to Michael. I flushed and scurried back to our lab table to pull out my book.

  "You're no fun," Michael muttered as he too pulled out his book and flipped it open.

  As I packed up at the end of class, I saw my physics books in my bag. I swallowed hard. I was feeling very much like I wanted to fake sick. I focused upon my breathing and thanked whatever might be holy that at least Michael and I had physics together.

  I slipped my hand into Michael's as we walked to the dreaded class. I needed his presence.

  He looked down at me. "You feeling alright?"

  "Just a bit queasy," I said.

  He ripped his hand away. "Ew! Keep your germs away from me!"

  I should have known better than to phrase it that way. He was a notorious germaphobe when it came to touching other people. As far as I was aware, I was the only one who could touch him at all. I may not have been surprised by his recoiling but I wasn't going to be happy about it.

  "Nothing like that!" I shot back. "I'm just nervous."

  His brow knit. "Why? You're marks have been getting much better and it's just a lecture today. You can sit and stare if you want."

  I looked at the floor, unwilling to admit the real reason for my apprehension.

  "Hmmm," he said with that air of his when he was feigning ignorance. I could see an I-told-you-so in my future.

  When we entered the physics lab, Bran was already sitting at one of the tables.

  Michael leaned close to whisper in my ear as we got ourselves settled into our usual spot. "Hoping or dreading nothing will happen?"

  I glared at him. He mock-pouted back. There was still another minute before class started and Bran didn't seem to want that minute go to waste. I pretended not to notice as he walked over, choosing instead to take more-than-warranted interest in the cover of my 500-pound textbook.

  "You're Michael?" Bran asked in a pleasant tone.

  That, I had not expected. I had thought he would be coming to talk to me. Michael would never know how hurt I felt about that. I berated myself. I was beginning to develop an ego over this guy. No one had ever paid any positive attention to me before, why would they start now? I shouldn't feel anything at all... but Bran was close. He was far enough that I couldn't feel his heat but I could still somehow feel him; like he radiated an invisible energy that filled the room. I liked it. I didn't want to like it.

  "Yeah," Michael replied tentatively. "What can I do for you?"

  Bran explained, "I borrowed Lucina's physics notes to get caught up but some of the guys in gym were saying you've got the best marks in the class."

  I dared to look up at him. For the briefest of seconds, he looked over at me and our eyes locked. The gnawing behind my heart roared. Too soon, he turned his attention back to Michael. My eyes flicked involuntarily to the other students. They were pretending not to watch the interchange between Michael and Bran. As I reminded myself that no one would ever be interested, I dropped my eyes back to my textbook, resigning myself to the fact that the gnawing pain would be an unsated fixture in my life. I had nothing to offer someone like him.

  "Then you've got the best notes in the class," Michael explained. "She just copies off me."

  Bran shook his head. "No, I can see the notes are fine but I'm really bad with physics. Would you be willing to tutor me a little? I'll pay you for it."

  This guy was confident. He was asking the biggest nerd in the school for tutoring help with the entire class watching and didn't seem even the slightest bit embarrassed. Maria Wallace was so taken by this that she looked as though she wanted to get up and take Bran right there in the classroom. Her parents were Welsh and Mexican and she had gotten the best in looks from both of them. She wa
sn't a girl guys turned down. Michael might win the bet.

  I dug the tip of my pencil into the desk only noticing what I was doing when the tip broke. I flushed as I tried to wipe away the evidence. When I realized I had damaged the laminate surface, I sunk in my seat and tried to look as nonexistent as possible.

  Michael blinked back at Bran, clearly surprised to be asked for anything from an obvious A-lister. "Uh, sure," he said. "How about this weekend?"

  Bran smiled. "Great. Saturday night ok?"

  Michael looked at me. I just stared like a deer in the headlights. He gave-up on me and looked back at Bran. "Better make it Friday night if that's ok. Lucina and I have plans Saturday."

  Did Bran's eyes just darken? He flashed his crooked grin and I was sure I must have imagined the momentary faltering. "No problem. Friday it is. Where do you live?"

  Michael gave him the directions and Bran returned to his seat, taking a little bit of me with him. I shook my head and tried to get my brain back into physics mode.

  "Seems like a nice guy," Michael said as he opened his notebook.

  I gave a noncommittal grunt. If only I could figure out what the hell I thought of him...

  Michael opened his book to the most recent chapter and added under his breath, "Something a little off though."