Page 2 of Demon Kissed
“Great?” Jason grins. “Awesome.” He puts an elbow on the top of a gravestone and leans casually sideways. But his ankle gives out, and he ends up doing an awkward little shimmy for a second.
It’s kind of nice to see when the cool kids slip up, isn’t it? It makes me more comfortable around him, and he seems a little more human. “Yeah, I babysat my brother as usual, and we created a fort, then he declared himself a tank named Blood Eater, and he smashed that fort down before we stuck candles on blueberry muffins and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to ourselves. All in all, a good day.” Damn. I’m blubbering on.
Stacy turns around and captures Jason’s attention, swooping in and saving me with some sports rivalry blah blah football game babble.Ifshe’d have started a conversation about academic decathlon teams,thenI could have talked smack, because The Milton School is going down like a hooker in a parking lot. But football isn’t my jam, in case that wasn’t clear.
Jason straightens up as he talks to Stace, getting animated about stats and spreads. My eyes disengage from the pair and start roaming the gravestones, looking for William.
There is a stone cherub, a huge owl grave marker, and a carved stone bench currently holding a macking set of my classmates that blocks me from seeing my “double W” clearly. I only ever call him that in my head because it’s too pathetic a nickname to ever say out loud. I don’t even love it. I kind of hate the fact that I even came up with it, but my brain does whatever the hell it wants sometimes, and ‘double W’ is one of those things.
William refills my cup and then hands it to Sarah, another senior with legs for days and a Day-Glo purple skirt. What the fuck?!!
I take a step to the side, intending to get a better look, when I bump into Jason—when did he get that close?—and send him tumbling forward. His face nearly smashes into a headstone. Mine would have. But his football player reflexes pay off, and he ends up doing a half push-up off the thing instead, springing right back up like one of those inflated clown toys that rebound when you punch it.
“Whoops! Sorry. So sorry.” I reach out a hand to help, but then, thinking that might make things worse, retract my hand, and press my lips together, embarrassment flushing my cheeks as a couple of the popular girls look my way and sneer. Ugh.
“He’s fine. Boy toy’s not broken. Dick’s all yours later.” My snark pops out like a Jack-in-the-box, surprising me with a brand of rude I usually never whip out in public. Decathlon tournaments are not considered public since we only have like five attendees.
Janie St. James, resident queen bee, lets her painted red lips fall open in a dumb, shocked look, as if she wasn’t aware I could speak, much less insult her.
Stacy gives me a wide-eyed “shut the fuck up” glare. My best friend is telling me to abort mission.
It’s good advice.
I turn to Jason, intending to apologize and book it. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to almost kill you. Or insinuate your dick has their diseases all over it.” Oh my god. My mouth is a gun. And it’s shooting me in the face right now with unfiltered honesty.
Fuck me. Social suicide for one, coming right up!
I stomp off, hands buried in the pleats of my short black skirt, my face the color of Red Vine licorice. I don’t even wait for Stacy. She shouldn’t be seen with me ever again.
I don’t know what came over me. I mean, I’m shocked over the William thing. But why the hell was I so rude? It was funny though, wasn’t it? Jason smiled at me, at least.
And Mandy and Janie St. James can go suck a duck’s dick. Janie can actually suck two and hopefully drown while she’s doing it. She acts like she’s hot stuff and her face wouldn’t melt under a heat gun. Okay, fine. Anyone’s face would melt under a heat gun. But hers is half plastic, which I know for a fact because her parents hadn’t been happy with the results of her nose job and they’d hired my parents to sue the doctor.
I’m pissed that my mouth shot off, because now I don’t get the memory of William handing me a drink to add to my pillow bank, which is like a spank bank, only you dreamily hold your pillow and stare off into space, fantasizing about leaping through meadows instead of shaking bed frames.
I weave around gravestones, determined to leave this party before my reputation dies a horrid Shakespearean death in front of my eyes. And when I see double W (still hate that name) talking to yet another girl, obviously having forgotten about me, I die a slow and painful death inside.
Back home to play games with Adam—
David’s hand on my forearm stops me. “Hey, Katrina, wait.”
I glance up at him, confused. David’s a cool dude, but we only ever interact in passing. His tongue is usually too occupied with the socially-acceptable lickable parts of Stacy when I run into him.
Stacy catches up a second later. “What wasthat?”
I growl. Literally. “I don’t frickin’ know. But it’s why I didn’t want to go over there in the first place. Getting within five feet of William sets off my dumb.”
She shakes her head and clucks her tongue.
David’s eyes light up as he stares at me. “Wait. You like William?”
I give Stacy a look that says,really?
Maybe he’s been hit in the head a few too many times if he’s this slow on the uptake. “Only since freshman year.” Three long years. About to turn into four because my stupid masochistic heart can’t find someone else who measures up.
I mean, he is the student body president. And on the rowing team—a practical sport that gives him the upper body of a Greek god without the long-term brain injuries, aka a sport I can actually get into. And those eyes. Those dreamy eyes that look like a honey pot.
Dammit. I’m getting swoony in public. I smack the look off my face and turn to Stace. “I’m gonna head out.”
