Page 17 of Twice as Twisted

My brain knows that’s not medically accurate, but my imagination doesn’t care.

I watch the tiles move by under my white tennis shoes, carried away like water under the bridge to Grandpa’s house. I’m careful to place my foot in the center of each tile, though it makes my gait lurch. They should replace the tiles, make them more suited to my stride. As it is, I can only take three normal steps before I have to pull up, shortening every fourth step. It’s inconvenient, but I’ve gotten used to it. One two three, rein in. Four five six, rein in. If I step on a crack, it’ll be me in that hospital.

Too bad, so sad.

I arrive at my locker and turn the dial.Left fourteen, right twenty-four, left nine.

I retrieve my laptop and the one book I need for the day. I don’t even know why they bother with lockers anymore. Everything is online.

“I couldn’t help but notice you over here, quiet as a mouse,” says one of the new boys, the one with glasses, as he leans against the locker beside mine.

That’s the first thing he ever says to me. A lazy, flirty smirk plays on his lips, a cat toying with its prey, knowing it has all the time in the world before it eats. The mouse can’t get away, after all. Why not have some fun? Otherwise it’s too easy. Boring.

Bored already, his gaze wanders to a group of girls in short skirts. He’s ready to move on to more interesting prey before he even devours this morsel. Though our small school in a small town rarely gets new arrivals, when they do, they sometimes perform this formality. He was chosen by his family of brutes to introduce himself to the last of the town’s founding daughters.

The last one he knows about.

The Dolce boys are already well acquainted with all my cousins and brothers, who are far more noticeable. I’m an afterthought, an empty box to check off, a paper doll in khakis and a cashmere cardigan. It’s comforting to know that nothing ever really changes around here.

“Mice aren’t quiet,” I point out. “They squeak and scrabble around making all kinds of noise. Spiders are quiet.”

“Alright,” he says, agreeable enough. “I couldn’t help but notice you over here, quiet as aspider.”

“That’s impossible,” I say, closing my locker and staring back at him, unflinching.

I take in the slight turn in his gaze, the drawing back. He waits, expecting an explanation, but I don’t give him one. I turn and walk away, counting my footsteps.

One two three and four. One two three and four.

“What do you mean?” he asks, suddenly at my elbow, towering over me, his eyes narrowed just a fraction behind his glasses.

“You can’t help but notice something noticeable,” I point out, edging away from him a step. “Like your girlfriend. Youhave to try to notice someone like me. You have to be looking for her.”

“Then I guess I’m noticeable,” he says, the smile returning. “Since you know who my girlfriend is. That means you know who I am.”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“Humor me,” he says, his dark eyes with their long lashes sparking with amusement.

I can tell he’s enjoying this.

I can’t tell if I am.

“You’re not even as quiet as a mouse,” I point out. “And I wasn’t looking for you. So it follows that if I know who you are, you must be noticeable.”

“You’re funny,” he says, smiling wider, as if this delights him.

“You’re lying.”

“Well, now I have to hear this,” he says, sticking by my elbow as some others push past. I make note of my stepbrother among them, and my shoulders tense. Baron watches, his gaze flitting after mine, then back to me. He raises a brow, and I’m not sure if he wants an explanation for my comment or my tension.

Or maybe my narcissism is reading too much into it, and he didn’t even notice.

I give him the easier answer. “You didn’t laugh, so why would I believe you think I’m funny?”

“You don’t play around, do you?” he asks, that smile still toying with his full lips as we arrive at my classroom. He leans against the doorframe, his elbow above his head, blocking my way in. To move past him, I’d have to touch him, and I won’t do that.

“Why would I?” I ask, lingering in the hall. “Games are a waste of everyone’s time.”

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