Crave

As promised, Nanna’s special tea had helped during first-period English. But climbing the sports and art building’s two flights of stairs to second period pre-drill class, followed by an hour and a half of dancing, had set back my recovery. I felt worse than ever.

“Oh, she’s just worn-out from all that dancing she’s taken up,” Anne Albright said. “You know, twirling with the froufrou tutus at Miss Catherine’s Dance Studio. Kicking it in pre-drill with all those sad Charmer wannabes.” She tightened her thick, chestnut-brown ponytail and grinned, apparently unable to resist stirring up a little excitement for lunch.

I chucked a French fry at her. She was lucky she was my best friend, or I’d be tempted to dump her soda over her head instead. She knew Carrie and Michelle were still annoyed that I’d picked dance lessons instead of playing volleyball again with them this year. To them, even sucking at volleyball was better than dancing.

Michelle Wilson turned her big hazel eyes toward me. “Are you going to try out for the Charmers, Sav?”

It took me a few seconds to understand. Then I remembered. Most students only took pre-drill as a required class so they could audition for the JHS Cherokee Charmers Dance/Drill Team in May.

“Of course she isn’t,” Anne jumped in before I could reply. “Pre-drill is just her mom’s idea of fulfilling her P.E. credit without embarrassing herself again like last year.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said. But I couldn’t really be mad. Anne was only saying the truth, as usual. I had taken pre-drill for the P.E. credit, and because it had no audience or competitions for me to doom a team at. Trying out for the Charmers was the last thing on my mind.

“Sorry,” Anne muttered, both looking and sounding sincere.

Between desperate gulps of tea, I gave her a half grin to show I wasn’t really upset. She’d been my best friend for over two years now, and I’d gotten used to her blunt style. In a way, it was even comforting. At least I could always count on her to be honest, no matter what.

A new wave of pain rose up to slam into my stomach and chest, wiping the smile right off my face. This was an ache I knew far too well. It hit me every time he came within a hundred yards of me, usually before I even saw or heard him.

Michelle, who sat across from me, let out a dreamy sigh, confirming what my body already knew.

“Please let me trip him,” Anne muttered once she’d glanced over her shoulder and spotted him, too.

I kept my gaze on Michelle, though the tiny blonde’s moonstruck expression was tough to watch. Anything to keep me facing forward. Tristan had to either walk along the outer wall of the cafeteria or cut across the center by our table on his way to the food lines. Most people cut across. No doubt he would, too.

Just a few more seconds and he’d pass right behind me. I told myself I didn’t care, even as my skin tingled with some secret knowledge all its own that he was drawing closer.

And then I heard it … a low whistling, the notes so quiet I could almost have believed I’d imagined them if not for my sensitive hearing. Sugarplum music, as plain as if he’d whistled the notes right against my ear.

Ever since he’d seen my ballet slippers fall out of my backpack during algebra earlier this year, Tristan had started whistling The Nutcracker’s “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” song every time he saw me. I remembered his sense of humor, how his mind worked. This was his wordless way of teasing me about wanting to be a ballerina, without having to actually bother to talk to me. Because of course a klutz like me couldn’t ever become a decent dancer, right?

I felt a blush flood my cheeks and neck with heat, adding to my frustration. I must look like a strawberry … red face, red hair, red ears. But no way would I duck my head. I would not give him the satisfaction of any reaction I could control, at least.

“Oh, I am so gonna trip him,” Anne hissed, turning her chair toward him. Apparently she got his sense of humor, too, even if she didn’t approve of it.

“No, you can’t!” Michelle reached over the edge of the round table, grabbed Anne’s arm and yanked her sideways half out of her seat. By the time Anne recovered, he was past our table.

“He’s a member of the Clann. You know how all those witches treat Savannah,” Anne said.

“Tristan Coleman isn’t like them. He’s nice,” Michelle said. “The whole witchcraft thing is just a rumor. And a stupid one, at that.”

Carrie, Anne and I all shared a look.

Michelle sighed. “Tristan is so not a witch! Or warlock, or whatever they’re called. His family goes to my church. And he’s too nice to sacrifice small animals. Remember how he saved me last summer at that track meet? None of the others would have done that, but he did.”

Carrie and Anne both groaned out loud. We’d heard this story countless times this year, until Anne had finally threatened to beat Michelle to death if she told it one more time.

I just groaned inside my head. I was too busy forcing air in and out of my lungs past the tightness in my chest. How did he do this to me?

“‘Saved’ is a little much,” Carrie said. “And for the record, witches don’t sacrifice animals.”

“Yeah, Michelle,” Anne said. “All he did was help you off the track after you got shin splints.”

“Exactly!” Michelle retorted. “Those shin splints hurt so badly. And he was the only one to come and help me. And he didn’t even know me!”

Carrie sighed and dropped her chin into a propped-up hand.

“Michelle, get a grip. He just did that to make himself look good for everyone at the track meet.” Anne chugged the rest of her soda then burped. She didn’t bother to say excuse me. “He’s nothing more than a glorified spoiled rich kid.”

“That’s not true. And he doesn’t need to try and make himself look good. He already looks good. Did you see that chest? Those huge shoulders?” Michelle sighed again. “Thank you, God, for growth spurts. I swear he’s grown half a foot taller this year. And that new voice. Oh, yum.”

“Oh, gag me,” Anne said. “I’ll bet his ego grew right along with the rest of him. He thinks every girl on the planet should be eager to drool over him. And what do you mean, ‘that new voice’? You got a class with him or something?”

It was Michelle’s turn to blush. “No. He stops by the front office before first period on A days sometimes to talk to me and the other office aides.”

“And I’ll bet you just love chatting him up, don’t you?” Anne glared at her.

“Well, it … it’s the least I can do, since he saved me.”

“Ugh, I’m gonna hurl.” Anne gathered up her books.

“Me, too. I can’t believe you talk to a Clann member,” Carrie said, picking up her things despite her still half-full salad bowl. “Especially one who thinks he owns all of East Texas.”

I stared down at my untouched chili cheese fries. My comfort food looked anything but comforting today. “I think I’m done, too.”

“Aw, guys. Don’t be mad.” Michelle jumped up and grabbed her stuff. “Y’all are way too hard on him. He’s really very nice once you get to know him.”

“Puh-lease.” Anne proceeded to explain the difference between being nice and being a total player as we all headed for the trash cans then the rear exit. I followed but tuned them out, tired of hearing about Tristan Coleman’s infamous reputation with the girls. But my traitorous gaze still slipped over to the Clann kids’ table long enough to see that the prince of Jacksonville needed another haircut. Tristan’s golden curls had grown long enough to brush the collar of his polo shirt again.

Later that afternoon before fourth period, the foot traffic streamed around me like a human river flowing through the main hallway. I sighed, tired and achy and cranky, trying to ignore the claustrophobic feeling from the swarm of people all around me while I squatted in front of my bottom-row locker. I still hadn’t gotten used to how many students were packed into this campus every day. The junior high had only three grades and much bigger hallways, so when someone had bumped into me there last year, it had been a personal message. Here, students nudged against me every couple seconds as I struggled to find a pencil inside the chaos of my locker for my last class. Stupid algebra. It was my toughest subject, and the only class that required a pencil.

It was also the only one I had with any Clann members. And with the worst one of them all, too.

Thank goodness at least Anne was in the same class. She was a genius at anything to do with numbers.

She wasn’t great at waiting for me, though.

“Hey, slowpoke, you’re gonna be late. As usual.” Anne leaned against the lockers next to mine and gave me a friendly punch on the shoulder, hard enough to make me wobble. I righted myself and winced, guessing I’d probably have a bruise on my shoulder for a day or two.

“And what does a female jock care about being late to class?” I teased while I wearily continued to dig through books and supplies. Where the heck had that pack of pencils gone? If I had to borrow a pencil from Anne, I’d never hear the end of it. She’d use loaning me a pencil as an excuse to launch yet another tirade about how I needed to get organized.

She snorted and squatted down beside me. “Obvious answer. If volleyball doesn’t pan out for a scholarship, the grades will have to do it for me instead. Harvard costs a butt load, or haven’t you heard?”

“I still don’t understand why you need to go to Harvard just to become a CPA. Can’t you go to any college to do that?”

“And I still don’t understand why you can’t keep a locker clean.” She reached forward as if to start tidying up the pile. I swatted her hand away with a smile.

Suddenly someone rammed into my back. I threw one hand against the lockers and the other hand to the floor to catch myself as my backpack slid off my shoulder and thudded on the floor at my feet. My entire body vibrated from the impact, as if my bones were hollow and echoing from the hit like metal pipes. Then everything came cascading out of my locker in a mini avalanche, hitting my shoulder on the way down. That was definitely going to leave a bruise.

I glanced up in time to see Dylan Williams, another member of the Clann and one of my most loyal tormentors, saunter away with his usual braying laugh. Sometimes I had nightmares about that laugh of his. I shuddered.

“Oh, he did not just do that! I am so gonna kick his—” Anne jumped up, grabbed her chestnut ponytail in two thick handfuls and yanked the halves in opposite directions to tighten her rubber band. The same way she always tightened her ponytail before smacking one of her lethal power serves during a volleyball game. Was she about to smack Dylan a power serve to the head?

While the image was tempting, I didn’t want to know what the consequences would be if she actually did it. I grabbed her ankle and tugged just enough to direct her attention back to me.

“Anne, don’t, he isn’t worth it. Some people never change. Dylan’s been knocking books out of my arms and popping my bra for years.” I started grabbing things off the floor and stuffing them into my locker.

Grumbling, she bent down to help me. “Why don’t you pop him one?”

“Don’t worry, if he gets too bad, I’ll handle it.” Somehow. And definitely on a day when I didn’t feel so bad. “He’s just another spoiled brat from the Clann. Why give him the satisfaction of a reaction?” At least, that’s what my mother and grandmother kept telling me. So far, their theory that I should ignore the Clann bullies hadn’t been much of a success.

Anne frowned, but at least she didn’t go after the jerk.

As we fit the small mountain of papers and books back inside the too-small locker, a bright bit of yellow in the pile caught my eye. I reached beneath the jungle of stuff and snatched out a pack of pencils. “Yes, found them!”

“Finally. I am so cleaning that locker if you don’t.”

“Ha! Be my guest.” Everything now in its disorganized place, I stood up and shoved the locker door shut, having to use both hands to get it closed enough for the latch to click. “Just don’t blame me if something in there bites you.”

At Anne’s furtive glance toward the locker door, I couldn’t help but laugh. She wouldn’t hesitate to start a fight with a member of the Clann, but my messy locker scared her?

The laugh died as quickly as it had begun as a strange yet familiar ache welled up in my stomach and chest. I nearly moaned out loud. Not again.

Even knowing the cause for the weird ache couldn’t stop me from turning and looking down the hall. My gaze immediately collided and locked with the sensation’s green-eyed source towering over most of the other students.

Tristan

Even in the middle of a noisy mass of students, one girl’s laugh grabbed my attention.

I couldn’t figure out how she did it. The hallway was loud, with at least a hundred students all talking and yelling in a space only a few yards wide and thirty times as long. But every time Savannah Colbert laughed, the husky sound somehow managed to reach out and twist up everything inside me.

Part of me wished I never had to see or hear her again. Life would be a lot easier if I didn’t. The way I felt about Savannah was all mixed-up. Once, she’d been my best friend. And the first girl I’d ever kissed.

Then I’d made the mistake of telling my older sister, Emily, about pretending to marry Savannah during recess in the fourth grade. Emily had blabbed to our parents. Mom had blown a gasket and called the school to get me yanked out of Savannah’s class. Dad had turned purple in the face and gone all silent and scowling. And I’d known I was in big trouble.

Ever since, I and all the rest of the descendants of the Clann had been forbidden to have anything to do with Savannah. Supposedly she was a dangerous influence or something. Whatever she was, she was definitely on the Clann’s list of social outcasts. And Mom made sure I remembered it, too, constantly pounding it into my head for the past five years to “stay away from that Colbert girl.”

And yet I couldn’t stop myself from turning to look at her now.

From this distance, I couldn’t see Savannah’s eyes in detail. But I remembered them way too clearly. Their color changed from gray to slate-blue to blue-green depending on her mood. Wonder what color they are now? I thought, vaguely aware of my hands tightening around my books.

A heavy arm draped over my shoulder. “Hey, Tristan. Ready to hit the weights after school?”

My best friend, Dylan Williams, shook me, breaking my focus. I met his usual cocky grin with a frown of my own. “Yeah, sure. Though you might want to try showing up on time today, or Coach Parker is gonna be ticked.”

He laughed. “We’re descendants. What’s he gonna do to us?”

I shot a glance around to see if anyone was listening, then glared at him. “Dude, ever heard of the word ‘discretion’?” I lowered my voice, trying to set an example for the dumb blond. “You know we’re not supposed to talk about that stuff in public. And Coach Parker isn’t a descendant, so he’s still going to be ticked if you’re late again. Or do you actually like running laps?”

Dylan’s smile hardened as his chin rose a notch. “We’ll see who runs laps. No one messes with a descendant. Not even a football coach.”

“Even descendants have to play by the rules, Dylan. We always have, always will.”

He shook his shaggy bangs out of his eyes. “Maybe, for now. Or maybe we’ll be the descendants who make some changes.”

“Make some changes? Like what?”

He shrugged. “We founded this town. Don’t you think it’s past time we were running it the way we should be?”

I rocked back on my heels. “Oh, yeah? And how should we be running things?”

“I don’t know … more out in the open about it?”

I scowled at him, hoping he was just joking around. But something about the set of his jaw and the dark look in his eyes said otherwise. “You’re not suggesting coming out about the Clann’s abilities?”

He shrugged again. “Why not? This is the modern world. All the books and movies say we’re cool. Why not own up to it, let everyone know what we can—”

Sudden and total fear had me grabbing his shoulder at the base of his neck without thinking. I pulled his face close and growled, “Are you out of your freakin’ mind? If any other descendant heard you talking like that and told the elders, you’d be history.”

He stiffened under my grip, his chin hiking up again so he could meet my stare head-on with a glare of his own. He actually opened his mouth like he was going to argue.

But after a tense moment, he took a deep breath and chuckled. “Hey, man, ease up! I was just messing around. Forget about it.”

“Dylan—”

“I said I was just kidding! Man, can’t you even take a joke?”

I stared at him a few seconds longer, trying to figure out what was going on with him lately. Even joking around about stuff like that was dangerous, and he knew it. So why do it?

The warning bell rang, making me swear under my breath. I had less than a couple minutes now to get all the way across campus to the math and home-ec building. “All right. Are we cool?”

“Yeah, sure.” He lifted his head and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re just looking out for me, right?” He turned away, yelling “Later” over his shoulder as he headed in the opposite direction.

I watched the blond as he strutted off like he owned the world. Then I turned and headed for algebra class. Even if he’d been serious, Dylan was just a hothead with a big mouth. Being the star quarterback for the junior varsity team this year despite only being a freshman hadn’t improved his ego much, either. Hopefully he would come to his senses soon … before the elders had to step in. What he was talking about—the movies, the books—that was Hollywood. People liked the idea of magic. But no way would magical abilities fly in the real world, especially in Jacksonville, Texas. This was a Bible Belt town with conservative, old-school beliefs about religion and magic. Even if descendants held key positions in government and business here, if everyone found out just how powerful most descendants were, they would assume we were a bunch of Satan-worshiping baby murderers or something and run us out of the very town we founded. Dylan needed to remember that the Clann’s power came from the secrets we kept.

Well, one thing was for sure … if Dylan kept screwing around and being late all the time for practice, at least Coach Parker would be willing to help him regain his memory. The head coach had zero tolerance for tardy players, Clann or otherwise, on his teams. He’d probably make Dylan run laps after practice as punishment. That ought to take Dylan’s ego down a notch or two, and would totally serve the idiot right.

Sometimes I honestly couldn’t remember why I still considered him my best friend.

I headed down the hall toward the last class of the day. And toward Savannah. Her flame-bright hair and pale skin were easy to spot in the boring sea of tanned brunettes and blondes. A couple girls called out “Hey, Tristan!” to me, and one of the sophomore cheerleaders even touched my arm and grinned up at me. But I didn’t have time to stop and talk. I was much more interested in watching that redhead. Something about looking at Savannah calmed me down today.

I exited the air-conditioned main building and headed through the sticky spring-afternoon heat along the metal-awning-covered cement catwalk that stretched over the lower outer walkways, connecting the main building to the math building on the far side of the campus. Savannah and her friend were several yards ahead of me. Neither looked back. And yet something about the way Savannah’s shoulders rose up as soon as I saw her … I could almost swear she knew I was watching her. Not for the first time, I wondered if she could somehow sense the focus of my attention. But that was impossible. She wasn’t a descendant, and the Clann would know about any outsiders with special abilities like that.

Except … no normal girl had ever stuck in my mind like she did.

Then again, no girl, normal or otherwise, seemed to mess with my thoughts quite like Savannah did. So maybe I was just desperate to find any reason besides my own weakness to blame for the crazy hold she had on me.

At least she made algebra interesting.

Savannah

“You look like crap,” Anne whispered halfway through class, distracting me from the foggy circle my mind kept whirling around in.

I couldn’t even force a smile to reassure her. Nanna’s special tea hadn’t made a dent in the pain this time. It was all I could do not to bawl like a baby. This was way beyond simple soreness from dancing. Though I’d never been sick before, I was pretty sure I’d finally caught the flu, or something close to it. I had all the symptoms those flu-medicine commercials listed. When I wasn’t freezing, I was burning up. I couldn’t stop shaking. My skin felt like I had another of my annual summer sunburns everywhere my clothes touched. And my head was pounding so loud I’d missed hearing most of Mr. Chandler’s lecture. We were supposed to be working on our homework assignment now. Right, like that was going to happen. Just the idea of grabbing my book from under my desk made the bones in my arms throb. And I sucked at math even on a good day.

I shifted in my desk, and my legs bumped into Tristan’s feet. Crap. I’d forgotten. As usual, the spoiled prince of Jacksonville needed more legroom and had stretched his long legs out at either side of my desk. Turning my seat into a virtual prison, unless I didn’t mind our legs and feet touching every time I moved. Which I really did mind.

Honestly, I could shoot whoever had come up with the evil idea of alphabetical seating. It was alphabetical seating that had first forced Tristan and me to sit beside each other in the fourth grade. And placed him right behind me here in algebra this year.

I was tempted to slump down in my seat and rest my head on the back of my chair. But then my ponytail would land on Tristan’s desk. And then he might start messing with the ends of my hair again, like Anne had caught him doing a few weeks ago. He’d probably been trying to stick gum in it. His best friend from the Clann, Dylan Williams, loved to do that to girls with long hair.

Forcing myself to stay upright, I bit back a groan, propped my spinning head between my hands and checked the clock on the wall again. If I could just make it through this last class of the day …

“Are you okay?” Anne whispered, leaning forward past Tristan. “I’m serious, Sav. You really look—”

“Anne, focus on your work,” Mr. Chandler said from his desk. “Savannah, come see me please.”

I almost whimpered. He wanted me to move?

Gritting my teeth, I pulled myself to my feet, circled around the front of my desk to avoid Tristan’s legs and trudged across the room to the teacher’s desk, praying I wouldn’t barf all over the round little man.

“Anne’s right, you do look sick,” Mr. Chandler murmured. “Would you like to go visit the nurse?”

Great. So everyone thought I looked like crap today. “Um, no, thank you.” I tried not to breathe on him. Wasn’t the flu supposed to be highly contagious? “It’s the last class of the day. I can make it a little longer. Do you mind if I lay my head down on my desk, though?”

“Sure, go ahead. Just be sure to take care of the assignment as soon as you’re feeling better.”

On the way back to my desk, I wrapped my arms around myself as a sudden chill swept over my skin, making me shiver. Then I made the mistake of looking up at the clock again. And missed seeing Tristan’s outstretched leg.

I tripped hard over his foot. My arms wouldn’t budge. No way could I catch myself in time. All I could do was close my eyes and brace for a face-plant on my desk. He’d have a real good time laughing about this later with his precious Clann friends.