Page 37 of Someday Away

Link directs his attention back to me. “Is she about to pull a smash-and-dash on you? I thought that was your move, Trey.”

Trey laughs and rubs his chin. “Thatismy usual move.” His eyes track over my body. “The walk of shame looks pretty good on you, Bennett.”

My hand self-consciously goes to my hair to flatten what’s probably a horrifying case of bedhead.

Lincoln looks between us for a moment, and his shoulders start shaking with repressed laughter. “Is that black lipstick smeared all over you?”

It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him laugh, and it’s equal parts beautiful and irritating.

Trey’s hand goes to his lips and then he glances down as if noticing the dark smears for the first time. “Oh yeah,” he says, grinning widely. He reaches for the waistband of his shorts. “You should see how much is on my?—”

“Enough!” My voice rises to a squeaky, uneven pitch. “I need to go.”

I duck around Lincoln, then run for the door, rip it open, and slam it shut behind me. I lean against it for a moment while I try to slow the adrenaline coursing through my body.

The guys’ laughter sounds from inside, and I grind my teeth in frustration.

Assholes.

Just then, the door opens, and I fall backward against Lincoln’s damp skin. He’s still chuckling.

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter in panic while I try to regain my balance and turn toward him.

He dangles my black Converse in front of my face. “You forgot your shoes.”

I snatch them with an embarrassed huff, then I try to look casual as I speed walk barefooted down the hall.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHARLIE

My life has morphed into a ridiculous balancing act between school, the movie theater, and avoiding the two most popular guys on campus who show their stupid, hot faces every-damn-where.

My English/film class has taken on a vampiric quality, sucking every last drop of creativity from my body at an alarming rate. Dr. Jackson has us writing short story after short story, and each one is more emotionally draining than the last–though admittedly that’s my own fault. My topic choices tend to be dark in nature. And that doesn’t include working on our final projects. Lincoln hasn’t given me any feedback on my screenplay so far, so I have have no idea if I’m even headed in a good direction. Plus, I downloaded the application for the summer publishing internship in New York, trying to get a jump on it before the winter deadline.

I’m huddled under an oak tree, grateful for a break in the rain, scribbling in my journal, when I hear a familiar voice.

“Hey Charlie,” Matt says, approaching me with caution like I might grab my stuff and bolt.

My mouth dries as I take in his messy dark hair and pale blue eyes. He’s wearing black sweats and a Whitmore U hockey hoodie and carrying a large duffel bag.

I glance around.

Conveniently Lincoln and Trey are nowhere in sight. The last thing I need is another altercation between them.

Matt stops a few feet away. “Can I sit for a few minutes?”

I take a deep breath, feeling more in control than I did when he surprised me at the party, and despite the creepy vibe I still get from him, we’re in public, so he won’t do anything to hurt me.

I smile politely. “Sure, Matt.”

He sits and gives me a small smile back, tilting his head so that his hair falls over his forehead. I used to find that familiar gesture hot, but now it just seems predatory.

“I saw you at the Halloween party. Still like that skeleton costume, huh?”

My head snaps up. “You were there?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says haltingly. “I was theScreamguy—ghost face.”

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