Love Struck (7 page)

“Les!” Rianne shoved through the crowd with her usual exuberance. “Did I miss seeing the dessert tray?”

“Just two of the tasty treats today…” Leslie linked her arm through Rianne’s as they made their way toward their lockers. Rianne was reliably good at keeping things light.

“So dark-and-pierced wasn’t on duty?” Rianne flashed a wicked grin at Aislinn, who blushed predictably.

“No Seth. Today was blond-and-moody along with scarred-and-sexy.” Leslie winked at Aislinn, enjoying the brief moments of normalcy, of smiling. Rianne brought that in her wake, and Leslie was ever grateful for it. They stopped in front of Aislinn’s locker, and Leslie added, “Our little dessert hoarder was just going to tell me when we’re all going out dancing.”

“No, not—” Aislinn started.

“Sooner or later, you’re going to need to share the wealth, Ash. We’re feeling deprived. Weakened.” Rianne sighed and leaned heavily on Leslie. “I’m feeling faint with it.”

And for a moment, Leslie saw a look of longing pass over Aislinn’s face, but then Aislinn caught her watching.

Aislinn’s face turned impassive. “Sometimes I wish I could…I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Rianne opened her mouth to respond, but Leslie shook her head. “Give us a sec, Ri. I’ll catch up.”

After Rianne left, Leslie caught Aislinn’s gaze. “I wish we weren’t doing this….” She gestured between them.

“What do you mean?” Aislinn grew so still and silent in the din of the hall, it was like the noise around them vanished for an instant.

“Lying.” Leslie sighed. “I miss us being real friends, Ash. I’m not going to encroach on your scene, but it’d be nice to be straight-up again. I miss you.”

“I’m not lying. I…can’t lie.” She stared beyond Leslie for a moment, scowling at someone.

Leslie didn’t turn to see who it was. “You’re not being honest, either. If you don’t want me around…” She shrugged. “Whatever.”

Aislinn grabbed her arms and held her close. Although she tried, Leslie actually
couldn’t
pull away.

A jerk passing in the hall called, “Dykes.”

Leslie tensed, torn between the once-instantaneous urge to flip him off and the still-new fear of conflict.

The bell rang. Lockers slammed. Aislinn finally said, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. There’s…people and things…and…”

“Sweetie, I doubt they’re any worse than what—” She stopped herself, unable to say the sentences that would follow. Her heart thunked at the thought of saying those words aloud. She shook her arm. “Can you let go? I’ve still got to go to my locker.”

Aislinn released her, and Leslie left before she had to figure out how to answer the inevitable questions that would follow her almost admission.
Talking won’t change it.
But sometimes it was what she wanted most, to tell someone; often, though, she just wanted to not feel those horrid feelings, to escape herself, so there was no pain, no fear, no ugliness.

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