Slow Burn (21 page)

“Dean and Juliet.”

Ugh.  Really?

Well, Dean looks about as thrilled as I do.
  Does he have to look so annoyed, though?  He should be happy he didn’t get stuck with one of his fangirls. 

“Is everyone sitting with their partners?”
Mr. Shannon asks after most of the class resituates themselves next to their assigned person.  “Okay, like I said before, we’re doing this lottery style.”  He holds up a glass bowl full of scraps of papers, and shakes it around a little.  “If you don’t like what literary work you pick, I’m afraid you’re stuck with it, anyway.  You remember the last time we did trade-offs—it was a terrible mess!”

The bowl comes to us, and Dean gestures for me to pick.  I quickly grab a scrap off the top and unfold it.

Romeo and Juliet.  Super.

“Ah
, how auspicious,” Mr. Shannon says, leaning over to read my pick.  “’For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.’”

Dean and I exchange unimpressed looks.  From across the room, I can hear Ben snickering.
  To make matters worse, when Mr. Shannon tries to move past my desk, he miscalculates the space he needs to get by.  In seemingly slow motion, his naked belly slides against my cheek as he squeezes past.  His skin is ridiculously smooth.

That was awful
!  From here on in, I declare The Belly a separate entity. 

Holding my cheek, I cut my eyes over to Dean to see if he’s witnessed my
close encounter, but he’s looking away from me, so I can’t see his expression.  He’d better not be smiling.

“I really want to see some creative ideas,” Mr. Shannon is saying blithely.  “Have fun with it.  Turn it into a quiz show game for the class.
  Act out your favorite scene.  Or for those of you with computer skills—make a movie trailer.  You see what I’m saying?  Talk it over with your partners.  I’ll need an outline of your ideas by the end of this week.  Think outside the box!”

I turn to my new partner with a sigh. 
“This should be fun.  Any ideas off the top of your head?”

Dean shifts uncomfortably in the
desk that’s really too small to accommodate his big muscular frame.  “I don’t act,” he mutters.

“Shocker.  Neither do I.  So let’s ag
ree on something with the minimum potential for embarrassment.”

“Fi
ne.”

Fine?  That’s it?
  Wow, the looks of a god, the personality of a tree stump.  Nature’s way of balancing things out, I guess.

So our brainstorming session consists of me coming up with various ideas, and
Dean shooting them down.  He doesn’t like “Romeo and Juliet:  How Facebook Saved Their Lives,” or “Dumb and Dumber:  Why we Should be Glad they Didn’t Live to Reproduce.”

I glance at the clock, growling in frustration.  “Look, we’re running out of time.  I know you have practice after school, and I work from four
to nine, so I don’t know how we’re going to plan this.  Unless we do it over texts, or something.”

“I hate texting.”

I knew he was a cyborg!  What kind of teenager hates texting?

“Okay,” I say slowly.  “
I guess we—”

“I’ll meet you at your work
,” Dean interrupts in his deep voice.  “That rec center, right?”

“Um, yeah,” I stammer, surprised that he even knows.  “It’s right by my house.  You go down Broadway, but instead of turning onto Iris, go down a block to Apple Blossom, and make a right.  You can’t miss it.”

The bell sounds, signaling the end of class.  Dean gets up, grabbing his books.  He looks at me before he leaves.  “See you at nine,” he mutters.

This is going to be so weird.

I’m stuffing my notebook into my bag when Mr. Shannon calls my name from his desk.  Swinging the strap of my bag over my shoulder, I go over to see what he wants.

I won’t repeat the conversation, as some things are better left unsaid.  Just know it was a huge misunderstanding involving
my suck for money sign—accidentally turned in instead of my essay.  Also, he happened to notice that I’ve been staring at his body in the…lower region.

It’s been a bad day.

******

Chapter 15

On the way to work, I try texting Michelle again.  I haven’t seen her in awhile—she’s been super flaky lately.  I can’t wait until Saturday where I plan to sit on her head, and make her talk to me.

My Jubilee kids are in a crazy mood.  I lead them all around the rec in a game of musical Follow the Leader, which they think is hilarious.  Then, for some reason, they attack me where I’m standing, tickling me
mercilessly.  While I’m lying in a helpless heap on the ground, they steal my flip flops!

I’m still looking for the
m two hours later.  Well, I find one—in the trash can!  Fortunately, it’s the one behind the desk, and that one only ever has paper in it.  Leila, my co-worker—and Kathy’s daughter—is hanging around tonight waiting for her mom, so she helps me look.

“They didn’t go outside, did they?” she asks, straightening from her bent position over the file cabinets.

“No.  Those little hooligans.”  I walk with one flip flop on over to the big cabinets along the wall.  “Where could it be?  We’ve looked almost everywhere.  I know they didn’t go in the back.”

Leila laughs.  “Maybe one of them took it home as a souvenir.”

“Just my luck.  I don’t know what got into them tonight.”  I open a closet and a big red ball pops out and hits me in the face.  “Ow.  Thanks for helping me look, by the way.”

“No problem.  Can’t let you go home with only one flip flop.  You’d have to hop all the way.”

Leila’s kidding.  She’d never make me walk home like that.  College-age and really pretty, she’s one of the nicest people I know.  When I quit this job (and probably won’t see her anymore), I’m going to get my hair cut just like her long layered style.

I’m crawling along the floor, looking under the shelves when I hear Leila’s quick intake of breath.
  Now what?  Blowing a stray lock of hair out of my face, I lift my head up to see Dean walking into the rec in a leather jacket and faded jeans.

Leila is staring at him, transfixed.  She probably thinks Dean’s
older than he really is because of his size and the way he carries himself.  Oh, wow, I don’t think she can look away.  I better say something, to give her time to recuperate. 

“
Sorry, I kind of forgot you were coming,” I say apologetically to him.

I climb quickly to my feet, dusting off my jeans.  Dean walks up to me
hesitantly, with a quick glance at Leila, who hasn’t yet blinked—or closed her mouth since he came in. 

“What’s going on?” He nods at my flip flop-less foot.

“Just some kids messing around.”  I wave my hand in the air because—I don’t know why.  When I was really little, I used to pretend my left hand was a puppet, and I’d make it talk to the people I didn’t like.  I could’ve at least put a sock over it for appearance sake, but apparently my five year old self couldn’t be bothered.  “Leila,  this is Dean, my—uh, I go to school with him.  Dean, Leila.  She works here, too.”

“Nice to meet you, Dean,” Leila
chirps, finally coming out of her star struck paralysis.  She smoothes back her long brown hair self-consciously. 

“Same here,”
Dean replies, returning her intense eye contact, but not in a flirty way.  I don’t think he flirts.  It would probably hurt.

He takes in his surrounding in one short
but comprehensive glance.  Suddenly, he leans over me, reaching way above my head to the shelf I’m standing next to, and grabs something off the top.  I am momentarily overwhelmed by Dean’s scent—that fresh clean scent mixed with a cool autumn.  If I could get away with it without him getting the wrong idea, I would just sniff him all day.

He’s holding out my flip flop to me.  It takes a few seconds of me blinking to take it.

“How did they get it up there?” I turn to Leila in amazement.  She just shrugs and laughs.  “Thanks,” I say to Dean, slipping it on my bare foot.  Ah, much better.

“So, are you guys taking off now?” she asks, glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Uh, actually, we have to work on an English project together.  Do you think it would be okay if we use the conference room?”

“Oh, sure.  Mom won’
t care,” Leila says easily.  “Just let us know if you plan on staying late.  We wouldn’t want to accidentally lock you two in.”  Her sparkling eyes trail over Dean, clearly implying that this would not be a bad thing.

I want to roll my eyes, and explain it’s not like that
.  She’ll probably corner me later, full of questions.  I haven’t even told her I’ve broken up with Johnny yet.

“Let’s go in back,” I say to Dean, gesturing for him to follow me. 

He does, and I lead him down the hallway to the conference room.  On the way, I poke my head into Kathy’s office.  She’s on the phone, so I just wave at her, and she waves back.  I notice her eyes go a little wide when she catches sight of Dean.  I pretend not to notice, and continue on to the room at the end of the hall.

“In here,” I say, flicking on the fluorescent lights.  The one above the table flickers in an epilepsy-inducing way.

“That’s annoying,” Dean says, looking up at the offending light.

I shrug.  “
It’s either this, or we sit in the dark.”

He ignores me, shrugging out of his leather jacket.  He’s got a
plain long-sleeved black shirt underneath, and I notice how it makes his incandescent eyes even more striking.  The turquoise eye is now a stunningly clear bottle green, and the other eye is an almost silvery color.

He must know the effect he has on people.  Fortunately
, his beauty doesn’t move me. 

M
uch.

“So, do you have any ideas?” I ask, plopping down into one of the office chairs around the table.  I reach for the can full of pens made to look like flowers, plucking one out and gently tapping it against the table.  For something to do with my hands.

“Yeah.”  Dean tosses his jacket on the table, and sits across from me.  “We focus on the importance of Mercutio. I’ll write the report, you give it.”

“Um, you want to give a standard presentation?”  I raise an eyebrow.  “That’s hardly thinking outside the box.”

He gives me a hard look.  “I thought we agreed to do something with the minimum potential for embarrassment.”

I frown.  “Well, yeah, but
I also want to get an A  This project is worth ten points—and unlike you, I don’t have colleges beating down my door to recruit me.  I can’t afford to get a bad grade.”

“We do solid research, and make a strong presentation—Shannon will grade accordingly.”

“I don’t know if I’m willing to take that risk,” I retort sharply.  “Look—could you just listen to some of the ideas I have?”

He shrugs
.  “I’m all ears.”

“Okay.”  I sweep my hair back from my face.  “We could shoot a scene, like the party where Romeo and Juliet met—but do it soap opera style
.  Or maybe the scene where Mercutio dies.  And before you say it—we could have our friends act out the scenes, and we could film it.  You wouldn’t have to do any acting.”

I look at Dean to gauge his reaction.  His mouth twitches.  “What else do you have?” he asks.

“Well, we could do this whole mock trial thing, where The Capulets and Montagues sue Friar Lawrence for the wrongful deaths of their children.”  I make a face when he stares at me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m serious.  “You think it’s stupid, don’t you?”

“Not stupid,” he says slowly.  “Complicated.”

I watch as he plays with a silver Zippo, flicking it open and shut with smooth ease—like it’s a habit of his.  Kind of sexy... 

“I think we should do it,” I say, tucking one leg under me, and lightly kicking my other foot.  “It’d be much more entertaining than some boring report.”

“You’re talking about a big production.  I hate big productions.”

“Oh, well, there’s a surprise.”  I glare at him.  “Are you trying to piss me off?”

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table in front of him, and seems to consider the question.  “Yeah,” he finally admits, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he glances up at me.

I’m bewildered.  “Why?”

He shrugs those broad shoulders again.  “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

My temper ignites at that. 
I narrow my eyes at him.  “So now that you’ve brought up the painful past, let’s discuss it.  You were a real jerk.  And I realize it happened a long time ago, but you kinda made my life suck for a while.  So I think I deserve an explanation—if not an apology.”

“I’m sorry I was a di
ck.  I was ten,” he says dryly. 

“Be
ing ten is not an excuse.”  My expression is stern.  “There are many ten year olds in the world who are perfectly civil to each other.  So why were you so mean to me?  Was it because I was a tomboy?  Because I was faster than you?  Socioeconomic reasons?  What?”