Freaks of Greenfield High (6 page)

She was making it really easy to believe she liked him. Too easy. A girl like Jay shouldn’t want to hang with
him
—especially not now, after what he’d done to her.

What the hell was her deal? In Tyler’s experience, girls who looked like Jay always had agendas. And even if she was on the level, when she had to deal with the crap the other kids were gonna give her for hanging with him, she’d soon give him the cold shoulder. Best get out before he got screwed over.

“Thanks for everything you tried to do,” he said. And walked off without a backward glance, heading for the temporary sanctuary of the guys’ bathroom.

~~~

Tyler gripped the edge of the sink and slumped, head hanging, staring at the scuffed linoleum floor, trying to ignore the stomach-churning odor of industrial disinfectant and the rank smell emanating from the urinals.

When he finally dared to look at his reflection in the age-spotted mirror, he winced.

Bad. Real bad. Face white as chalk, big dark smudges under his eyes. Could be worse, he supposed. Caro had caught a stomach bug last year and thrown up so much she burst a blood vessel in her eye. At least
he
didn’t look like some wannabe demon….

Aw, crap. Who was he trying to fool. He didn’t look demonic, but he sure did look like death warmed up—and not in a Twilight vamp who makes the girls swoon kinda way, either. The zit on his chin throbbed and ached. Excellent. It was shaping up to be an abso-freaking-lutely huge one.

He rinsed out his mouth and was reaching for a paper towel when someone appeared behind him. His pulse thrummed. It was Jay. And talk about stepping quietly—he hadn’t even heard the door open.

She dropped her pack at her feet. “I am— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Tyler directed his gaze at her reflection, where it was safer. He gnawed on his thumbnail, trying to find the right way to break it to her. “Look. Don’t take this the wrong way, ’kay? But you should make tracks. Last thing you need is to hang with me.”

Jay yanked off her t-shirt and reached past him to drop it in the sink. “I need to get cleaned up before the next class.”

He blinked. Oh. My. God. His head felt light, skin all warm and tingly. So did his insides. He swallowed and clutched the edge of the sink, trying not to stare at her. Or notice the plain white bra she wore. “Uh, you’re um, not supposed to be in here, you know? This is the
guys
’ bathroom.”

She nudged him aside with her hip so she could turn on the cold water and wash out her top. “Oh, so that’s what the picture on the door is supposed to represent. I thought it meant this was the bathroom for people who happened to be wearing trousers.”

Huh? Oh. Right. That dry sense of humor again. “And you’re, um,
not
,” he managed to say.

“Not what?” She scrubbed at the puke stain.

“Not a guy.” He licked suddenly dry lips. Sooo
not
a guy.

“That is a relief.” She wrung excess water from her t-shirt. “I would not like to think I’d been laboring under a misapprehension all these years.”

He frowned, not following. “Say again?”

“I’m female. I have all the correct parts—to my knowledge, anyway.”

“Do you ever,” he muttered, and then lost his train of thought completely. It was all that smooth, pale, very feminine bare skin frying his brain. Not that he was truly looking or anything. Just perving at her in the mirror. Which didn’t count.

Did it?

Duh. Sure it did.

Jay put her hands behind her back… to the fastening of her bra.

“Stop right there!” He hunched his shoulders as his shout caromed around the bathroom, rebounding off the walls and ceiling until it seemed to be attacking him from all angles. And damned if the bad-guy part of him was secretly regretful she’d paused and was still clothed. Relatively speaking, of course.

Hey, he was only human.

He sucked in a deep, calming breath. Sort of. “What the
effing
hell
do you think you’re doing?”

“I would like to wash this bra,” she said. “It smells of vomit, which I presume will be offensive to those I encounter throughout the day.”

Lord, give me strength!
Shawn would be having a field day with this girl right about now. But Tyler didn’t get the sense she was deliberately using her feminine wiles to try and whip him into a lust-fueled male frenzy. She sounded matter-of-fact, like the consequences of stripping off in front of a guy—in the guys’ bathroom—hadn’t even occurred to her.

Hot and very, very, naïve. Not a good combo here at Greenfield High.

He swallowed a few times before he could work up enough saliva moisten his dry mouth and speak actual words. “If you take off your bra, it, ah, won’t look too good if someone walks in on us. Hell, it already doesn’t look too good. Kids talk. Be all over the school in no time flat. You can wear my shirt. It’ll be more, er, comfortable than your wet stuff.”

Her gaze drifted from his face to the worn, checked flannel shirt he’d discovered shoved in back of his dad’s closet and taken for himself. It was hardly the height of fashion. No surprise his dad had left it behind when he took off.

She cocked her head to one side. “Why would you give me your shirt?”

“You can’t wear a wet t-shirt. People will get the wrong idea.”

Silence.

She was staring at him, gauging his every reaction minutely. He didn’t mind. He felt warm all over, like his own personal sun had just risen overhead.

“Thank you,” she said. “I would appreciate your shirt. I do not— I
don’t
wish to draw attention to myself.”

“Yeah. Know the feeling.” Tyler shucked the shirt and handed it to Jay, feeling strangely bare despite the faded “Toxic Hazard” t-shirt he still wore. “You wash, uh,
whatever
you have to wash. And I’ll guard the door—make sure no one wanders in. But make it quick, okay? Our luck won’t hold forever.”

He turned his back and wedged his hip against the door. He heard the faucets spewing water and the rip of paper towels being yanked from the dispenser. He closed his eyes against the temptation that was Jay, determined not to get all hot and bothered by images of her drool-worthy toned body. Or her pale, blemish-free skin, that didn’t have a single freckle or mole that he could see. His thoughts skittered about like crazy things and finally centered on her face. Specifically, her mouth… and what it would be like to kiss her. What would her lips feel like? Would they be cool and silky smooth, like her skin?

Someone pushed on the door, yanking Tyler from his fantasies of locking lips and making out with Jay. He braced himself and leaned on it, blocking whoever it was from entering. “Get lost,” he growled, and was relieved to hear the guy swear and head for the second floor bathroom.

“I’m done,” Jay said, her voice so close to his ear that she had to be standing right behind him.

He turned. Thankfully, she was decent. So decent, in fact, she looked like a hick. Oh boy. No way could he leave her to the tender mercies of the Greenfield High fashion police. “Uh, can I make a suggestion?”

“Of course.”

“You need to undo a few of those top buttons.”

“Why?”

“So you don’t look so… so….” He chewed his lip, searching for the right words. Epic fail. “Buttoned up,” he finally said.

She processed that, nodded, and undid the top two buttons.

“One more,” he said.

“Is that truly necessary?”

“Yeah.” He waited for her to slip the button. “And maybe if you tie the shirttails at your waist.”

“Show me.”

He did, and hoped she didn’t notice his hands shaking whenever he brushed the bare skin of her stomach.

“Better?”

“Oh yeah.” It came out all hoarse and again he had to fight the flush that threatened to telegraph how much she affected him. He cleared his throat and stepped back. “Much better. As Caro would say, now you’re wearing the clothes, the clothes aren’t wearing you. You’re making a statement.”

She balled up her wet clothes and sank to her haunches to shove them in a side pocket of her pack. “Caro is your sister, correct?”

Tyler had caught a flash of white amongst the bundle. He tore his mind away from the realization she was now braless. “Uh, yeah. She and Shawn are kind of an item.”

She stared up at him, her head cocked to one side in that cute-as way she had. “Why do you feel compelled to tell me this?”

Why, indeed. Sheesh. He had to quit with this whole blushing thing. It was becoming a habit. “Because she’s my sister. And I don’t want her getting hurt if you make a play for Shawn and he dumps her.”

Jay straightened in one smooth, graceful movement, and lounged back against the sink, arms crossed over her chest, feet at the ankles. In direct contrast to Shawn’s attempt this morning, Jay owned the pose.

“Is that the only reason?” she asked.

His breath hitched. Damn, she was hot.

And so obviously still waiting for his response. “Okay, okay. You got me. Shawn’s a douche. And you deserve better.”

“What makes you think I deserve better?”

He gazed past her, focusing on the graffitied stall doors, carefully choosing his words. “Look. I used to be one of Shawn’s crew. And I was probably a supreme asshole, too. Just like him.” He shrugged. “Goes with the territory. I even had a cheerleader girlfriend. I was a walking cliché until I caught her— Well, anyway. Bad stuff went down and Shawn was in on it. You don’t want to get involved with him. In an ideal world, my sister wouldn’t be involved with him, either. And believe me, you don’t want to get caught in the crossfire if Caro finds out he’s been hitting on you.”

“You’re concerned I might get hurt, too.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t know me. Why should my wellbeing concern you?”

Gah! Did the girl not understand guy-talking-to-hot-chick subtext? She was gonna make him come right out and say it.

But before he could make a complete dumbass of himself, Jay nodded slowly, like she’d finally understood what he was trying not to say.

He sagged with relief, because once he admitted how he felt about her, there was no taking it back. And if he’d read her wrong, and she wasn’t into him, wasn’t doing anything more than being “nice” to a guy she felt sorry for, he’d be gutted.

When she didn’t say anything more, he slanted her an assessing glance. But he couldn’t tell what she was thinking at all—not the merest hint.

Weird.

Tyler had become pretty good at reading people’s faces. It was a skill he’d perfected, a skill that helped him get by in this clichéd little corner of hell where the jocks and the cheer squad ruled. He knew how to get by without a bunch of peeps to watch his back. He knew when he could get away with mouthing off. Just like he knew when to shut up, suck it up and do a disappearing act. He had it down to a fine art.

The silence stretched.

Tyler’s hopes wound tight, strangling him. What was he thinking, falling for a girl he’d just met? Jeez. He
was
a dumbass. He’d played right into her hands. Any moment now, she’d slink back to Shawn and this whole pathetic little episode would be all over school.

Except she stayed right where she was, her whole focus on him.

There was a light in her eyes that made his gut clench—in a good way. When he inhaled, she was standing so very close that her scent curled through him. His eyelids drifted closed. And then, layered beneath her fresh, clean smell was something indefinable, something that made his heart clamor. The merest hint of strangeness.

His eyelids popped open. His gaze locked on hers.

Those remarkable eyes held his, unblinking. Unwavering.

He saw it then, got the feeling she deliberately let him see it. Jay had secrets. Just like he did. And he didn’t move at all, not a muscle, as she rose up on tiptoe to press her lips against his.

The kiss was excruciatingly gentle, a butterfly kiss, the merest brush of her lips against his before she backed off and considered him through narrowed eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“That must be painful.” She pressed the pad of her finger to her lips and then stroked it lightly across the spot on his chin.

She was gone as quickly and noiselessly as she’d come, leaving Tyler’s face glowing from her attentions. And his heart aglow with something else—something he’d never felt for a girl before. Something more than just a little scary.

Jay exited the classroom after last period and allowed herself to be swept up in the rush of kids heading for their lockers to ditch their books.

Her most challenging lesson today had been learning how best to project mediocrity. Unfortunately, nothing in her construction or programming had prepared her for mediocrity, and she’d come perilously close to standing out from the crowd in second period Mathematics. After observing her classmates’ reactions when she’d voiced but a minute portion of her extensive knowledge, she deemed it prudent to pretend she’d merely made a few lucky guesses. The next time she’d been called upon by the teacher, she’d shrugged and appeared confused. The time after that, she asked the teacher to repeat the question, and then gave an incorrect answer.