Slow Burn Part 16

"Hey, Juliet? I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but-you have a picture of a giant p.e.n.i.s taped to your back."

I barely glance over my shoulder. "Oh, that."

Ben plucks the paper from my back and studies it closely. "Hm. 'Will suck for money.' You were aware of this?"

I let out a slow breath. "Yeah, I was going to take it off, but I forgot. Your girlfriend and the other sea harpies thought they were being sneaky in Spanish. I had my blazer draped over the back of my chair during cla.s.s-that's probably when they stuck it there. Then, when I went to put it on, of course I saw it. But they were looking at me, watching my reaction, so I made like it didn't bother me, and put it on, anyway."

"Okay. Hey, what's that in the corner? Looks like a giant lollipop?"

"Oh, I think that's suppose to be me. See, that stick is my body, and I have a little tag with my name on it, in case there was confusion. I guess I'm not important enough to get arms and legs. No, don't throw it away-I was saving it. Isn't that a cool picture? Someone's an artist."

Ben chuckles, smoothing out the paper he'd started crumpling. He hands it back to me, and I stick it in my notebook. "That would be Arianna. She's pretty good, huh?" he says, a faint hint of pride in his voice.

"Yeah, she's super," I mutter. I shake my head slightly. "So, why exactly does she hate me so much?"

"Pretty girls always hate each other," he says matter-of-factly. He stops so I can enter the room in front of him. "Even when they pretend to be each other's friends."

"Maybe when they consider each other compet.i.tion," I say over my shoulder. "I'm pretty sure she doesn't consider me compet.i.tion. More like something she stepped on that she can't quite wipe off the bottom of her designer shoe."

Ben laughs at that. He swings his messenger bag onto his chair, and half-sits on his desk. "If it makes you feel any better, Arianna doesn't really hate you. I'm pretty sure it's Kara who's the source of all this intense-and kinda hot-animosity."

"I figured that, but I don't understand why. What have I done to her?"

Ben leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Kara's just a b.i.t.c.h. She doesn't like sharing the limelight with anyone."

"Yeah, well, she's welcome to it."

I frown in annoyance. Looking up, I spot Sloane entering the room. "Hey, what do you know about Sloane?"

He flicks a glance at her. "What, other than the fact that she's a pill-popping princess whom I'd like to see naked some day?"

"Pill-popping?" Oh, great. When the Junkie met the Alcoholic. That's the last thing Heather needs.

"Oh, yeah. The good stuff, too. Why do you think she's friends with Kara? Her parents are both psychiatrists-the kind that give out Valium like candy."

I stare at Ben, eyes wide in disbelief. "Kara's parents are psychiatrists?"

He grins, running a hand through his short blonde hair. "Right? How ironic will it be when she murders both of them in her sleep?"

I immediately picture this scenario in my head: Kara covered in blood with a macabre grin on her gore-covered lips, dangling a shovel from her hands as she looks down at her handiwork, lying in pieces on the blood-soaked bed. In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida is playing in the background.

I shudder a little. That image came way too easily.

Dean slides into his seat, bringing me back to reality. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He looks a little tired, I notice. How does that not detract from his looks? When I have dark circles under my eyes, I look like the living dead. Tired Dean somehow looks like the hot tortured hero on a CW show. And that's without the benefit of makeup. Unfair.

Mr. Shannon comes bustling into the room, so I take my seat next to Dean. He doesn't look up, which is fine. We've been mostly ignoring each other lately, since last Friday. I get the feeling he blames me for Johnny's deranged state of mind. If this is true, he can suck it.

I really wish Mr. Shannon wouldn't raise his arms. The s.h.i.+rt he's wearing is too short, and every time he gestures, the hem rides up and reveals the soft pale globe of his belly. Weirdly, no one comments, or even seems to notice. I, however, cannot look away.

"Okay!" he says, clapping his hands together. "First off, all those of you who haven't already e-mailed me your essays, go ahead and hand 'em in now. That's it, boys and girls, keep 'em coming."

Megan pa.s.ses me a bunch of papers. I place mine on the top and hand it to Dean. He takes it, glancing down. He appears to do a double take, and looks at me uncertainly. I glare at him. If this is about the tiny chocolate stain-barely noticeable-on the top left corner of my paper, well he can just save his judgment. Not all of us can be neat freak perfectionists.

"Now, I told you I would have you all a.s.signed your partners for our very first project-and I haven't lied. So..." He adjusts his gla.s.ses, and shuffles through the papers on his desk, before picking one out with a big "ah-ha!" "Now, these pairings are completely arbitrary, and if you have a problem with your a.s.signed partner-well, you'll just have to work it out amongst yourselves."

Mr. Shannon calls out names-and I'm disappointed when Ben is paired with Zoey-aka Gla.s.ses Girl. I really think he and I could have been a good team, and our presentation would have been full of epic memes and sarcastic observations. Now he'll be forced to work with someone he doesn't like, and who doesn't like him. Talk about a personality clash. I would hate to- "Dean and Juliet."

Ugh. Really?

Well, Dean looks about as thrilled as I do. Does he have to look so annoyed, though? He should be happy he didn't get stuck with one of his fangirls.

"Is everyone sitting with their partners?" Mr. Shannon asks after most of the cla.s.s resituates themselves next to their a.s.signed person. "Okay, like I said before, we're doing this lottery style." He holds up a gla.s.s bowl full of sc.r.a.ps of papers, and shakes it around a little. "If you don't like what literary work you pick, I'm afraid you're stuck with it, anyway. You remember the last time we did trade-offs-it was a terrible mess!"

The bowl comes to us, and Dean gestures for me to pick. I quickly grab a sc.r.a.p off the top and unfold it.

Romeo and Juliet. Super.

"Ah, how auspicious," Mr. Shannon says, leaning over to read my pick. "'For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.'"

Dean and I exchange unimpressed looks. From across the room, I can hear Ben snickering. To make matters worse, when Mr. Shannon tries to move past my desk, he miscalculates the s.p.a.ce he needs to get by. In seemingly slow motion, his naked belly slides against my cheek as he squeezes past. His skin is ridiculously smooth.

That was awful! From here on in, I declare The Belly a separate ent.i.ty.

Holding my cheek, I cut my eyes over to Dean to see if he's witnessed my close encounter, but he's looking away from me, so I can't see his expression. He'd better not be smiling.

"I really want to see some creative ideas," Mr. Shannon is saying blithely. "Have fun with it. Turn it into a quiz show game for the cla.s.s. Act out your favorite scene. Or for those of you with computer skills-make a movie trailer. You see what I'm saying? Talk it over with your partners. I'll need an outline of your ideas by the end of this week. Think outside the box!"

I turn to my new partner with a sigh. "This should be fun. Any ideas off the top of your head?"

Dean s.h.i.+fts uncomfortably in the desk that's really too small to accommodate his big muscular frame. "I don't act," he mutters.

"Shocker. Neither do I. So let's agree on something with the minimum potential for embarra.s.sment."

"Fine."

Fine? That's it? Wow, the looks of a G.o.d, the personality of a tree stump. Nature's way of balancing things out, I guess.

So our brainstorming session consists of me coming up with various ideas, and Dean shooting them down. He doesn't like "Romeo and Juliet: How Facebook Saved Their Lives," or "Dumb and Dumber: Why we Should be Glad they Didn't Live to Reproduce."

I glance at the clock, growling in frustration. "Look, we're running out of time. I know you have practice after school, and I work from four to nine, so I don't know how we're going to plan this. Unless we do it over texts, or something."

"I hate texting."

I knew he was a cyborg! What kind of teenager hates texting?

"Okay," I say slowly. "I guess we-"

"I'll meet you at your work," Dean interrupts in his deep voice. "That rec center, right?"

"Um, yeah," I stammer, surprised that he even knows. "It's right by my house. You go down Broadway, but instead of turning onto Iris, go down a block to Apple Blossom, and make a right. You can't miss it."

The bell sounds, signaling the end of cla.s.s. Dean gets up, grabbing his books. He looks at me before he leaves. "See you at nine," he mutters.

This is going to be so weird.

I'm stuffing my notebook into my bag when Mr. Shannon calls my name from his desk. Swinging the strap of my bag over my shoulder, I go over to see what he wants.

I won't repeat the conversation, as some things are better left unsaid. Just know it was a huge misunderstanding involving my suck for money sign-accidentally turned in instead of my essay. Also, he happened to notice that I've been staring at his body in the...lower region.

It's been a bad day.

Chapter 15.

On the way to work, I try texting Mich.e.l.le again. I haven't seen her in awhile-she's been super flaky lately. I can't wait until Sat.u.r.day where I plan to sit on her head, and make her talk to me.

My Jubilee kids are in a crazy mood. I lead them all around the rec in a game of musical Follow the Leader, which they think is hilarious. Then, for some reason, they attack me where I'm standing, tickling me mercilessly. While I'm lying in a helpless heap on the ground, they steal my flip flops!

I'm still looking for them two hours later. Well, I find one-in the trash can! Fortunately, it's the one behind the desk, and that one only ever has paper in it. Leila, my co-worker-and Kathy's daughter-is hanging around tonight waiting for her mom, so she helps me look.

"They didn't go outside, did they?" she asks, straightening from her bent position over the file cabinets.

"No. Those little hooligans." I walk with one flip flop on over to the big cabinets along the wall. "Where could it be? We've looked almost everywhere. I know they didn't go in the back."

Leila laughs. "Maybe one of them took it home as a souvenir."

"Just my luck. I don't know what got into them tonight." I open a closet and a big red ball pops out and hits me in the face. "Ow. Thanks for helping me look, by the way."

"No problem. Can't let you go home with only one flip flop. You'd have to hop all the way."

Leila's kidding. She'd never make me walk home like that. College-age and really pretty, she's one of the nicest people I know. When I quit this job (and probably won't see her anymore), I'm going to get my hair cut just like her long layered style.

I'm crawling along the floor, looking under the shelves when I hear Leila's quick intake of breath. Now what? Blowing a stray lock of hair out of my face, I lift my head up to see Dean walking into the rec in a leather jacket and faded jeans.

Leila is staring at him, transfixed. She probably thinks Dean's older than he really is because of his size and the way he carries himself. Oh, wow, I don't think she can look away. I better say something, to give her time to recuperate.

"Sorry, I kind of forgot you were coming," I say apologetically to him.

I climb quickly to my feet, dusting off my jeans. Dean walks up to me hesitantly, with a quick glance at Leila, who hasn't yet blinked-or closed her mouth since he came in.

"What's going on?" He nods at my flip flop-less foot.

"Just some kids messing around." I wave my hand in the air because-I don't know why. When I was really little, I used to pretend my left hand was a puppet, and I'd make it talk to the people I didn't like. I could've at least put a sock over it for appearance sake, but apparently my five year old self couldn't be bothered. "Leila, this is Dean, my-uh, I go to school with him. Dean, Leila. She works here, too."

"Nice to meet you, Dean," Leila chirps, finally coming out of her star struck paralysis. She smoothes back her long brown hair self-consciously.

"Same here," Dean replies, returning her intense eye contact, but not in a flirty way. I don't think he flirts. It would probably hurt.

He takes in his surrounding in one short but comprehensive glance. Suddenly, he leans over me, reaching way above my head to the shelf I'm standing next to, and grabs something off the top. I am momentarily overwhelmed by Dean's scent-that fresh clean scent mixed with a cool autumn. If I could get away with it without him getting the wrong idea, I would just sniff him all day.

He's holding out my flip flop to me. It takes a few seconds of me blinking to take it.

"How did they get it up there?" I turn to Leila in amazement. She just shrugs and laughs. "Thanks," I say to Dean, slipping it on my bare foot. Ah, much better.

"So, are you guys taking off now?" she asks, glancing at the clock on the wall.

"Uh, actually, we have to work on an English project together. Do you think it would be okay if we use the conference room?"

"Oh, sure. Mom won't care," Leila says easily. "Just let us know if you plan on staying late. We wouldn't want to accidentally lock you two in." Her sparkling eyes trail over Dean, clearly implying that this would not be a bad thing.

I want to roll my eyes, and explain it's not like that. She'll probably corner me later, full of questions. I haven't even told her I've broken up with Johnny yet.

"Let's go in back," I say to Dean, gesturing for him to follow me.

He does, and I lead him down the hallway to the conference room. On the way, I poke my head into Kathy's office. She's on the phone, so I just wave at her, and she waves back. I notice her eyes go a little wide when she catches sight of Dean. I pretend not to notice, and continue on to the room at the end of the hall.

"In here," I say, flicking on the fluorescent lights. The one above the table flickers in an epilepsy-inducing way.

"That's annoying," Dean says, looking up at the offending light.

I shrug. "It's either this, or we sit in the dark."

He ignores me, shrugging out of his leather jacket. He's got a plain long-sleeved black s.h.i.+rt underneath, and I notice how it makes his incandescent eyes even more striking. The turquoise eye is now a stunningly clear bottle green, and the other eye is an almost silvery color.

He must know the effect he has on people. Fortunately, his beauty doesn't move me.

Much.

"So, do you have any ideas?" I ask, plopping down into one of the office chairs around the table. I reach for the can full of pens made to look like flowers, plucking one out and gently tapping it against the table. For something to do with my hands.

"Yeah." Dean tosses his jacket on the table, and sits across from me. "We focus on the importance of Mercutio. I'll write the report, you give it."

"Um, you want to give a standard presentation?" I raise an eyebrow. "That's hardly thinking outside the box."

He gives me a hard look. "I thought we agreed to do something with the minimum potential for embarra.s.sment."

I frown. "Well, yeah, but I also want to get an A This project is worth ten points-and unlike you, I don't have colleges beating down my door to recruit me. I can't afford to get a bad grade."

"We do solid research, and make a strong presentation-Shannon will grade accordingly."

"I don't know if I'm willing to take that risk," I retort sharply. "Look-could you just listen to some of the ideas I have?"