Very Wicked Things

My shoulders slumped as I stared at them. I’d heard they were hooking up. In fact, the rumor was he’d sleep with anyone, even two at a time if he could talk them into it.

But Emma hurt more than the ones I didn’t know about.

I focused back on Mila, pushing him away. “Yeah. So. Sebastian, huh? Does he know?”

Mila blushed. “We’re just friends. It’s nothing really. Plus, he flirts with everyone, especially April and Emma.”

I squinted my eyes at her long face. Hmmm. “So, am I right in assuming you aren’t the girl Spider shagged at Gilligan’s?”

She blinked. “Gah, no. We’re just friends.”

I grinned. “Then that settles it. We’re friends. If Spider likes you, I do, too.”

“Who does Spider like?” he said, standing next to our table overloaded with our lunches.

“Me and Mila,” I said, helping him divvy everything out. I gave him a peck on the cheek and tucked some money in his jean pocket. “Thanks for grabbing it.”

We ate our lunches and they talked, but I barely listened, too caught up in my anxiety over getting home. My ears perked up more when Mila mentioned the athletic dance in a few weeks. You had to be invited by either a football player or a cheerleader to attend. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Not that I wanted to go anyway.

“I’m going to crash it. Dovey, you should come with me,” Spider murmured as I popped a piece of lettuce in my mouth.

I chewed, shaking my head. “Cuba would freak. He hates me. I hate him.”

I didn’t really hate him.

“Show him you don’t care. I promise not to drink,” he implored, his eyes searching my face.

I smiled. “You do puppy dog eyes very well, and you must be desperate for my company to not drink, but no way will I go.”

Odds were I’d see Cuba with another girl, kissing and making out. My hands clenched.

Last year, the first time I’d seen him with a new girl after we’d broken-up, it had been in this very cafeteria. That day, watching him laugh and flirt with her had shattered me, making me feel a lot like the day I’d been attacked by a stray dog when I was six or seven. That seemingly sweet dog had been lurking around the street I’d lived on for weeks, letting me pet it. I’d sneaked out pieces of bologna from the fridge for him when mama wasn’t looking. Being young, you believe in anything, and I believed that dog loved me. Why wouldn’t he? He’d licked my hand and chased me around the shrubs in the yard. But, on that particular day, when I approached him, he’d had open sores and matted fur. He’d jumped in my face and latched on to my arm, his teeth big and sharp. He’d growled and his eyes rolled, and I screamed louder than I ever had. Mama had flown out of our apartment, an empty whiskey bottle in her hand. She’d slammed that bottle down over and over on his head until finally, he let go. Then he’d looked at me, whimpered, and died.

Isn’t it strange, that it hurt me more when he died? Because I realized the bite would heal. I would get better, but he was dead forever. He’d betrayed me, leaving me there to carry on alone with my mama and my little life.

And Cuba had betrayed me too, telling me he loved me when he didn’t. And the sting of that bite would never heal.

Spider poked me in the arm, reminding me to pay attention.

“No, come with me to the dance. Be my date.”

I set down my taco. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Like a date, date?”

He rubbed his forehead and then glanced over at Mila. “Mind if I catch up with you a bit later?”

Mila gave me an odd smile, like she knew something I didn’t, and then packed up her lunch and said good-bye. As she walked away, the tension crackled in the air, most of it emanating from Spider.

He fiddled with his soda can, his brown eyes growing hooded as he watched me. Hot and filled with promise, his gaze made me sit up straighter. I’d sensed a change in him lately, not missing how his hands lingered longer than a friend’s should.

“Is this some plan to get a girl off your back?” I did that for him sometimes, pretended to be his new love interest to discourage the stalker types.

“No.” He came around the table and sat in a chair next to me, smelling like smoke and spearmint. It tickled my nose, and it wasn’t unpleasant, reminding me of his dorm room. “Cuba isn’t the only bloke at BA. And we’d be good together.”

Oh. I cleared my throat. “We are good friends, but Cuba taught me a bad lesson, and I’m not revisiting…” I floundered when his lips tightened. “Spider? Are you mad?”

“It pisses me off to see you write me off because of what he did. You’re not over him.”

“I am over him,” I said, louder than I intended, catching the stares of other students.

“Why did you talk to him today, then? Didn’t he do enough to you last year?”

“It was part of our class assignment, if you must know,” I snapped. “And don’t talk to me like I’m stupid. I know full well what happened. Hello, I was there. ”

His nose flared. “I was too. But, obviously, it doesn’t matter how bloody awful he treated you because you’re still in love with him.”

The blood pounded in my veins at his words.

This entire day had been wrong. Since the moment I’d rolled out of bed, I’d sensed a sucky day, and then Cuba had made contact at my locker, and now Spider was acting strange. Besides all that, some lingering, ugly thing was jabbing at my head, just waiting for me to remember.