After DC told me I fit the qualifications of someone he'd murder, I never wanted to speak to him again. So I probably shouldn't have blamed him for something he didn't do, against someone he couldn't stand. It sort of cheesed him off...
Okay, this i...
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The kiss never happened.
Okay, realistically I know that it happened. God, how could I not know that it happened? It wasn't a kiss so much as a chemical meltdown... But, whatever, it must have never happened. In DC Birch's world, anyway. Which was great. It was perfectly fine with me. I mean, I didn't even care.
It wasn't like I was thinking about it all the time or anything.
What mattered was that I'd sung when there was an audience present and not lost any of my food afterwards. An "audience" of one person on the other side of a bathroom door, but still. Hearing distance was hearing distance.
That was big. It was huge! It was a gigantic step forward. Too bad it paled in comparison to my inability to stop thinking about Dorian and how he'd managed to destroy my entire world with a kiss.
I felt silly. Like I was making a big deal out of nothing. And doubly so because after it happened he'd done nothing but apologize to me and then avoid bringing it up again.
Okay. I'm aware that I could have stamped down every one of my natural chicken-like instincts and brought it up myself, but I just couldn't manage that. And I was betting that DC Birch was counting on that reaction from me, which galled, but there wasn't a thing I could do about it except grin and bear it.
Still, something had changed between us. And it wasn't a subtle shift either; it was static in the atmosphere every time we were within breathing distance of each other. I was starting to think close proximity would result in us lighting each other on fire.
I kept trying not to think about him in general, which made him even more impossible to forget. In fact, I was thinking about him that morning when I trekked sleepily to my locker, heaving a gigantic sigh as I spun the combination and pulled it open.
Which was why it wasn't until after I'd picked out my Algebra notebook and slammed the thing closed again that I saw Lindsay. She was standing in front of her own locker doing a perfect impersonation of a zombie. I didn't even think she was blinking. She was just staring off into space, looking unusually pale.
I shifted the weight of my notebook to one arm and lifted the other to wave my hand in front of her face, quirking a suspicious eyebrow in the process. It didn't so much as phase her.
Concerned, my brow wrinkled and I stepped forward to try again. This time I snapped my fingers in front of her face and said, "Um, Linds," which caught her attention. Her eyes snapped to me, clearly surprised, as if I'd woken her from some kind of weird trance.
I frowned. "Are you okay?"
She sucked in a breath like the question had been an insult, perfectly aimed to hurt her, and shook her head. No. I adjusted the weight of the things I was holding, shifting to the other hand, and frowned deeper.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked, not taking my eyes off of her. I'd never seen Lindsay Sharpe be this subdued in my entire life, and I'd known the girl since elementary school so that was saying something. She was one of the most bubbly people that I knew and if she wasn't twittering about the latest gossip, newest fashion, or cutest boy then something was definitely up.
