Chapter 1 Grease is the Word

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Kennon Ivers let his body sink lower in the chair he occupied in the corner of the library as he tried to ignore the group of giggling girls sitting nearby. Not that he wasn't used to such displays. There was usually a group of them trailing behind him around campus. It came with the territory. Football player, tall, good looking, and on and on the list went. All of them were things he tended to ignore. He played football because he enjoyed it and it got him a scholarship, not because it got him girls. The tall good looking part, he knew girls liked the way he looked, he wasn't an idiot. Looks weren't everything. He knew that, too. He'd seen firsthand what obsessing about looks could do to a person.

His cousin, Desdemoynah, used her looks to gain whatever she wanted. She ended up nuts and alone. And dead.

So he'd prefer if everyone would stop obsessing about how he looked.

When he ran a hand through his hair it set the girls to giggling again. They put their heads together, began whispering and shooting looks in his directions. He frowned and shook his head. What was with them and his damn hair? Curious about it, he'd asked a group of them once. The girls sighed longingly and said it looked like he just gotten out of bed, with his hair all tousled and wavy. Then they dissolved into embarrassed giggles before rushing away. It wasn't much of an answer in his opinion. He allowed himself a snort, assuming that meant they were imaging themselves in his bed and adding their own reasons for his bedhead. He didn't need an adoring fan club, especially one that cared only about his looks.

It didn't matter how he attempted to tame his hair, it always looked the same. He could comb repeatedly and it would be wavy and tousled looking. So he didn't bother, just ran his fingers through it and he was done.

The chorus of tittering laughter wasn't helping his concentration any. This report was due in two days. He scowled down at the pages of his textbook. Moron, he was never going to understand any of this, his head fell back onto the chair.

"Problem with the book?"

He raised his head to look up at the guy standing in front of his chair. What he saw was an escapee from the drama department. Why drama boy decided to stop and talk to him, no clue. He didn't know the guy. Jeez, were they doing a production of Greece this month or something? Because if they weren't, then this dude needed serious fashion assistance.

His eyes swept over the guy from head to foot. Black leather jacket, white T-shirt, black jeans, and we can't forget the black Converse high tops. Seemed the only thing he skipped out on was the greased-up hair. He resisted the urge to spin the guy around and check his jacket, to see if it said "T-Birds" on the back. Great, now he was singing the damn song inside his head. He was going to kill his sister for that later. He shoved Grease is the Word out of his head as he wondered, again, why this guy was even talking to him.

"Nope, I'm afraid the problem is with my brain absorbing the words from the book."

The guy grinned over the joke. "Yeah, I have the same problem sometimes," he said as he turned and scanned the surrounding area as if he were looking for someone. As the guy twisted to look around, he noticed the logo on the back of the jacket. Definitely not T-Birds. It was faded and he couldn't make it out at this angle. He wondered if he was waiting for someone in particular. Maybe talking to him was a way to kill time. He turned and looked back at Ken. "Is there someplace we can talk privately?"

He sat up a bit straighter and made a face at the guy.

The guy rolled his eyes. "I need your 'elp, Ivers, not a date."

It didn't bother him that the guy knew his name. A lot of people on campus knew who he was because of the football team. He still scowled at the guy. "Man, I don't even know you. What, I'm supposed to simply follow you like a lost puppy?" His tone was less than friendly. Friendly could get you killed. That was a fact he was familiar with. He might be a college student now, but he knew exactly what it meant to fight for your life. To watch people die bloody.

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