Part 11 (1/2)

I sit up unenthusiastically. ”Even if they installed their surveillance system in every nook and cranny of this school, I'd still have more privacy here than when I leave school grounds. Out there, I could walk into the gla.s.s doors of my favorite ice cream shop, and be an internet star in a matter of hours. You have to accept you live in an age of social media, and anything you do or say could be doc.u.mented for anyone to see-and you will be held accountable for it. The issue of privacy is a moot point in a society where there are cameras everywhere. So, why not have them in schools, where they could help to create a safe environment for kids?”

”So, basically, you're saying my privacy is going to be violated, anyway, so why the h.e.l.l not at school, too?” Ben says, pointing his pencil at me.

I lift my gaze to the ceiling, and my shoulders move in a half-hearted shrug. ”Basically...yeah. You go to most any public place, and you're on surveillance. What's the difference?”

”The difference is Liddell will use it to bust us for every little infraction she catches us doing. You're new here, Juliet, so you don't know-the woman is a n.a.z.i. She'll be glued to the monitors, just...waiting for one of us to start up some s.h.i.+t.”

”Well, then the obvious answer is don't do anything out of line,” Gla.s.ses Girl says snootily. She's still red from the kissy face incident. ”We do have a code of conduct, you know. You follow the rules, you don't get in trouble.”

Ben smirks, sprawling back in his chair in an insouciant pose . ”Well, my good friend, Th.o.r.eau once said, 'Disobedience is the true foundation of liberty. The obedient must be slaves.'”

”Anarchist!”

He throws a plaintive look in Dean's direction. ”Help me out here, man. Feed me an epic quote. No one seems to get that this is just another step toward complete control.”

”'They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety,'” Dean quotes without looking up.

I stare at him, intrigued. ”Is that from Benjamin Franklin?”

He glances up at me. ”Yeah.”

”Is that what you believe?”

Dean shrugs. Then a ghost of a smile lifts his sulky mouth. ”h.e.l.l, I really don't care. They could put cameras in the showers, and it wouldn't bother me.”

Several giggles erupt at that, and it's not only the girls who are blus.h.i.+ng. Apparently, imagining Dean Youngblood in the shower is a fantasy that transcends gender.

I find myself watching Dean curiously. He can quote a Founding Father, yet he really doesn't seem to care about the video surveillance issue. Maybe he's used to a lack of privacy at the military school he attended. Aren't they constantly monitored? Or am I thinking of prison?

G.o.d, he really is beautiful. His face belongs on the cover of a magazine, or on a movie screen. Does he realize he's a work of art? Does he stare into mirrors, and fall a little in love with his reflection each time? His short, no-nonsense hair cut has me thinking no, he probably doesn't waste time being vain. Those long thick eyelashes, though. As if his eyes weren't striking enough. I can't decide which eye color is prettier: the tropical turquoise left eye, or the jade surrounded by smoke right eye. What a professional photographer and an expensive camera could do with those gorgeous colors.

I hope Dean never gets sent to prison. He'd be really popular, especially with that purty mouth. If we ever had kids together, the poor things would have to have lip reductions, or have careers in the p.o.r.n industry. Do they do lip reductions? He would have to cut someone on his first day behind bars. I mean, he's big and has an incredible body, but that face of his does not inspire fear. Awe, maybe...

These random thoughts just flit through my head like ditzy blonde b.u.t.terflies. It takes me a while to realize that I'm staring at Dean-and he's staring back.

Uh-oh.

Suddenly we're in a staring contest. Our gazes lock, and it's too late to look away. It's like that for three, maybe four seconds. Then I casually let my eyes drift over him. They land on the boy sitting across from me, and I make sure to ogle at him with the same intensity and concentration. I do it to three or four other people, in case Dean's watching me. Maybe he'll think staring holes into people is just my thing. I really freak out the short-haired Gla.s.ses Girl when I do it to her. It's worse when I try to smile rea.s.suringly after.

I keep kicking Dean's foot by accident! The third time it happens, I cringe down in my seat, keeping my legs locked together in front of me. By the time cla.s.s is over, they're so stiff from tension that when I stand up, I stagger and trip over the strap of my bag on the floor. My face smashes against Dean's arm, leaving a smear of s.h.i.+mmery peach lip gloss along the sleeve of his s.h.i.+rt.

”I'm so sorry!” I gasp, appalled.

I reach for his arm to rub at the stain with my fingers-but he pulls his arm away as if I'm fire.

”I have more s.h.i.+rts,” he mutters, turning away. He and Sloane leave together without a backwards glance.

”Okay, well...sorry,” I call after him.

Ben is laughing at me. ”What?” I say, embarra.s.sed.

He smirks at me. ”You know,” he says conversationally. ”Sometimes when I look at Dean for too long, I start to feel a little gay.”

”Really?” I say. ”Did that hurt to admit?”

”No, it felt good.” He stretches lazily. ”Don't tell Arianna I said that.”

”Yeah,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. I pick up my bag and swing it over my shoulder. ”I'll try to refrain from blurting it out during our nightly bff talks. See you tomorrow, Ben.”

”Power to the people, Juliet.”

Weirdo. Is he really that pa.s.sionate about our civil rights, or is he running a meth lab out of the science department at night?

Can't say I'd be surprised.

Chapter 10.

So, it's my first pep rally at Leclare.

I file into the crowded and extremely noisy gym with Sara, and a couple of her friends. I can't help but notice it's much bigger and nicer than Jefferson's gym-and doesn't smell like dirty socks and old mop water. The maple wood floor gleams, and the bleachers are polished wood. Everything is clean and brand new looking, and there is a pleasant orange-y smell in the air. Man, rich people even smell better.

I start to follow Sara up the steps to the seniors section when I hear my name being called. Ben is waving at me over from the bottom bleachers. I tap Sara on the shoulder, and gesture for her and her friends to follow me. I see them exchange wide-eyed looks before eagerly trailing after me.

I don't know if everyone knows each other, so I introduce them, anyway. Ben nods at the others, and we all squish together to fit on the same bench. I'm smashed against his side, and I can't help but notice how he smells faintly of cigarettes, and some kind of cologne or aftershave-something s.e.xy and expensive.

”Pep rallies are awesome,” Ben says, leaning forward and snapping his gum. ”You're about to see something truly inspirational.”

”What, all the school spirit?” I say, glancing around at the animated faces of my fellow cla.s.smates.

Ben snorts. ”The cheerleaders have a tradition: every pep rally, one of them has to go commando. That's all I come for-to see who it's gonna be this time. School spirit makes me vomit in my mouth.”

”Speaking of vomiting in the mouth,” I say sourly, turning away. I wasn't going to watch the cheerleaders' routine, anyway, since both Laundry Room Girl and Arianna are on the squad-but what Ben just said gives me special incentive to keep my eyes down.

I let my thoughts drift away as the rally starts. I don't know any of the songs or cheers, anyway-not that I would do them if I did. Sara and her two friends clap and stomp along, but Ben and I sit motionless and grouchy, our shoulders hunched. Only when the cheerleaders run out on the floor does he sits up and pays attention, while I keep my hand over my eyes. There are lots of hoots and whistles while the girls perform to stripper music, and I try my hardest not to picture the acrobatic feats of a chonies-less cheerleader.

The squad runs off after their performance, and Aunt Jo gets behind the microphone to make a few announcements. Not that I'm paying attention, anyway, but Ben's jittering leg next to mine makes it incredibly hard to concentrate. Finally, he gestures for me to come closer, and when I move my head toward him, he shout/whispers in my ear that he's gonna sneak out for a smoke break.

While our heads are still close together like that, I happen to glance up, and my eyes meet Arianna's hazel ones. She's sitting with the other cheerleaders, and is now glaring daggers at me.

So, what, I'm not allowed to even talk to her boyfriend now? I wish I didn't care that her and her friends hate me so much, but I do. I don't want anyone to hate me.

I start paying attention when the members of the football team are announced to deafening cheers. When Johnny runs out, the gym goes wild. That reckless grin of his is in place, and he looks s.e.xy and confident Dean, standing out in his formal school uniform, takes the microphone to talk about the game at Larrabee tonight, but I only catch every other sentence over his screaming fan girls. Still, everyone seems glued to his powerful presence behind the mic. Dean doesn't have Johnny's wild charisma, but there's something about him-aside from his height and looks-that demands attention. Maybe it's his graceful economy of movement, or how, even when he's standing still, he seems to radiate a potent energy.

Or maybe I'm just focusing on Dean because the girls screaming their devotion for Johnny is annoying as h.e.l.l.

”I think I'm going to go,” I tell Sara after tapping her arm to get her attention. ”I need to finish up my Biology homework.”