Part 1 (1/2)
The Lance Temptation.
by Brenda Maxfield.
For Elijah, our African miracle.
Chapter One.
Farah leaned close to my ear. ”Watch and learn,” she whispered.
Oh, no. Not again.
She propelled herself deftly through the cl.u.s.ters of students who were thronging around the cafeteria line. Steel vending machines dinged like casino slots. Every kid balanced a lunch tray teetering with globs of macaroni and piles of tortilla chips and oatmeal cookies.
Farah carried her tray with its plate of green beans as if it were the royal jewels. She sashayed toward our regular table in the corner, her hips lightly brus.h.i.+ng the backs of the entire football team who'd already grabbed the table nearest the food. The catcalls began immediately.
”Hot stuff,” one player yelled, and then whistled.
With practiced innocence, Farah paused, and turned to face the guys. She rolled her green eyes and shook her head, feigning annoyance. A smile played on her lips. Then she fluttered her thick lashes and continued on, skirting her way to our table in the back.
Oh yeah, she was a master at everything I'm not. All Farah has to do is show up and the boys follow, frolicking like puppies around a bone. So, shameful as it sounds - I made it my business to become her friend, even if it meant dropping everyone in my tight circle. I was done being the boring, straight-A girl. I wanted the hot guys to drool around me for once, and I figured the connection couldn't hurt.
Watch and learn, Farah had said. Right.
I stood with my tuna sandwich stuffed inside my crumpled lunch sack, sighed heavily and followed her, trying not to let my shoes clack out my progress. n.o.body's eyes followed my every move.
Well, there's a surprise.
I slid onto the bench across from her. It was Monday - the only day Farah was halfway civilized because she was tired from the weekend - and we were eating lunch together as usual.
Farah opened her milk carton, and took a drink. She tipped her head, letting her thick red hair cascade down her back. The soft curls nearly touched her waist. Farah was well aware how flat-out gorgeous she was, and she quickly glanced around to see who might be watching.
The table of girls to the side of us stared at her. When they spotted me looking at them, they huddled together in one big gossip head. Farah saw them laughing, pointing, and whispering. Her expression hardened. ”What a bunch of wannabe's.”
”They're jealous,” I said.
Farah leaned across the end of our table toward them. ”Talk about me all you want, you sad groupies.”
Their heads jerked apart and each one of them glared at her. Farah scowled, and then turned her attention back to me.
She pulled a crumbling brownie from her purse, and held it close to my face. ”Want a brownie? I made it.”
”You?” I crinkled my nose.
”Don't act so surprised. I bake,” she said.
”Since when?”
”Since yesterday.”
I backed my head away from the brownie. ”I'll pa.s.s this time.”
”Oh, go ahead and eat it.” She pulled off the droopy cellophane and practically shoved it in my mouth.
I heard a yelp behind me, and someone hollered, ”You're disgusting!” A burst of raucous laughter filled the air. I could see Farah watching the whole scene over my shoulder. Wide-eyed, she jumped from her seat and flew to a table of freshmen girls. I swirled around to observe. Farah lunged across their strewn trays and stuck her face against a shocked girl's nose. ”Leave her alone! Do it again, and you'll deal with me.”
Her harsh voice echoed across the cafeteria. The freshmen girls were shocked into silence, but their lips fairly curled into snarls.
A choked sniffle came from a girl cowering at the end of the table. Macaroni was splattered all over her uniform. Farah stood up to her full height, her cheeks blotched red. She regarded the sniveling girl. ”You okay?”
There was no answer.
”Want help cleaning up?”
The girl shook her head, picked up a napkin, and started wiping at her s.h.i.+rt.
Farah squared her shoulders and returned to our table. I stared at her. ”What was that?”
”Bullies. I hate them. And where are the lunch monitors, anyway?” She picked up her fork and took a bite of green beans.
”You know, sometimes you're actually nice.”
Farah grimaced. ”Don't let it get around.”
I laughed and picked up my sandwich. Right then a tender feeling of protectiveness toward Farah washed over me.
And that's when he descended upon our table. The New Guy. The one I'd secretly been panting after since he transferred to our school two weeks earlier.
”Cool move, Farah,” he said. His voice was low and melodic. He tweaked a strand of her hair and glanced at me. ”Cecily.”
Cecily? Seriously?
”Her name's Emili, you twerp,” Farah scolded, but her tone was soft and playful.
Lance kept his eyes on hers. ”My mistake.”
He'd placed himself on the edge of the table between us. Our school uniforms generally make us look like clones. But not Lance. The deep blue polo s.h.i.+rt strained over every muscle in his arms and back. It was the closest I'd ever been to him, and I couldn't help but be aware of his scent, his size. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I swallowed hard. I willed myself to relax even though my insides were shaking. And what aftershave was he wearing? I'd never smelled anything like it. The musk fragrance was trance-inducing, heady, delicious.
”Well?” Farah said, tapping her fingers on the table. ”Do you?” She peered around Lance to scowl at me.
”Um, sorry,” I mumbled. ”I... I... didn't hear you.” I could feel my face turn deep scarlet.
Lance twisted around to stare down at me with hazel eyes flecked with brown. His cropped sandy-colored hair looked like velvet. I blinked rapidly and swallowed again.