Chapter 2 Holden #2
Prior to Alaska and the stint at the sanitarium, I’d only attended—and been kicked out of—stuffy prep schools.
Regular high school was all so hopelessly, depressingly normal.
A good percentage of the kids were probably going through some heavy shit, but I had nothing in common with any of them.
I stuck out like an elegantly dressed sore thumb.
Rolling up in a chauffeured black Cadillac had begun the rumor mill churning. By the time morning classes were over, whispers followed me down the halls. Girls gawked at me with thinly veiled interest. Others stared at my wardrobe choices. The word vampire was tossed around more than once.
But I made it through most of the day without seeing a single person of the masculine persuasion who seemed even remotely interesting.
Until lunch.
The bell rang, and I followed the crowd to the cafeteria.
Some students opted to sit inside. Others sat in groups on the grass or at outdoor tables.
I debated my options while inspecting the sack lunch Beatriz had prepared for me: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, corn chips, sliced apple, and a small carton of milk.
Is she trying to kill me?
No way in hell could I eat that in public without crying in my Fritos. I tucked the lunch back into my sleek leather backpack and leaned against a cement pole to survey my fellow students.
Besides, vampires don’t eat. We drink.
I took a sip from my flask and slipped it back into my pocket just as two girls approached.
One was all Latina hotness with lustrous black hair flowing out of a high, tight ponytail.
Her dark eyes drank me brazenly. The other girl was a raven-haired beauty with dark blue eyes and porcelain skin.
She lacked the innate boldness of the first girl, but her eye contact was on point.
I reached for my packet of clove cigarettes as the first girl’s gaze raked me up and down with a predatory gleam. Her heteronormative assumptions that I was (A) straight and (B) automatically attracted to her were amusing.
“You’re Holden, right?” she asked. “I’m Evelyn. This is Violet. We thought we’d come over and say hi, since you’re new and all.”
“Am I? It’s only noon, and it feels like I’ve been here for ages,” I said and lit a cigarette with my gold Zippo.
“This is California, not Paris,” Evelyn said, impressed with my blatant disregard for universally acknowledged health statutes. “There’s no smoking allowed at school.”
“I’m sure there isn’t,” I said and took another drag.
She pressed on with a flirty smile. “There’s a spot under the bleachers on the north end of the football field. Good place to smoke or do other things you don’t want anyone to see. Care for a tour?”
Not on your life, honey.
“As enticing as that sounds, I’ll pass. Rain check, princess?”
I gave her a grin and a wink to take the sting out. To her credit, she didn’t throw in the towel.
“Definitely,” she said. “There’s a party Saturday night at Chance Blaylock’s house. A back-to-school thing. Should be pretty epic.”
I glanced at the shrinking Violet, who hadn’t said a word. “What do you think, Violet?”
She crossed her arms. “I think smoking is bad for your health and those around you.”
“So it is,” I said. Her honesty was surprising. As was the fact that she clearly wasn’t interested in me.
Evelyn elbowed her friend in the ribs. “Don’t mind her. Violet is going to be a doctor, so she’s anal about stuff like that.”
I shot Violet a wink. “So am I.”
My terrible joke sailed over their heads. Evelyn smiled harder.
“Anyway, if you want to come to the party, give me your number, and I’ll text you the address.”
“Oh, I think I can find my way.”
“Cool. But if you change your mind about a tour, I’m around.”
“Yes, you get around,” said a lanky red-haired guy in oversize board shorts carrying a skateboard.
He sauntered up behind the girls with two other guys, jocks by the size of them. One was bulky, ruddy-cheeked, his hair like dry straw. But my gaze snagged on the second guy and became stuck there. On him.
He wasn’t stylish in the slightest or even interesting looking.
Merely classically, epically handsome. All-American.
Superman in a T-shirt and jeans. His face was a straightforward arrangement of perfect features—thick, dark brows over blue eyes fringed with long lashes.
A strong nose over a luscious mouth and a cleft in his chin even more impressive than mine.
He spared a smile for Violet, then turned his gaze my direction. A lock of his dark hair fell over his brow, daring someone—me—to reach over and brush it away.
“I was just inviting our new friend to your party, Chance,” Evelyn said to the blond. “Guys, this is Holden.”
The pale slab of beef was Chance, but no one had told me Superman’s name, probably because he usually needed no introduction. It was obvious this guy was a football god and prom king of Santa Cruz.
“Good to meet you, man.” He offered his hand.
“Likewise,” I said, keeping mine to myself.
Mr. Perfect might’ve had the rest of the school swooning, but I wasn’t going down without a fight. But once our gazes found each other, I fell into the surprising depth of him. There was weight behind his eyes, and his casual smile looked like his own brand of armor.
The guy quickly withdrew his hand and laughed it off. “Okay, whatever.”
“Holden is from Seattle. Isn’t that right?”
I didn’t stick around to hear Evelyn recite the rest of my bio. I rolled my shoulders around the pole and walked away from the small group. First rule of showbiz: always leave them wanting more. Better to leave the hot—and painfully straight—jock with the deep eyes far in my rearview.
Yet it bothered the piss out of me that I didn’t know his name.
Why? So what? Who cares?
All valid questions.
Near the edge of the quad, I pulled aside a pretty girl.
“See that guy in the white T-shirt back there? Dark hair? Looks like he stepped out of a Hollister ad?”
The girl gave me a funny look. “Um, yeah?”
“What’s his name?”
“That’s River Whitmore. Senior. Quarterback and captain of the football team.”
“Much obliged.”
I started to go, but the girl touched my arm, her eyes raking me up and down unapologetically. “Hey, hold up. You’re new, right? I’m Leah. Do you want to—”
“Nope, I’m gay, thanks.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
“I said, I’m good, thanks. Appreciate the help.”
“Oh. Okay.”
River Whitmore, I told myself, heading to my locker. There. You know his name. Happy now?
Happy wasn’t on my horizon, and knowing River’s name didn’t assuage my curiosity. Just the opposite—my cracked mind seized on it, tasted it, turned it over and over. Whitmore did nothing for me, but River would sound sexy as fuck whispered right before a kiss…
“Nope. We’re done here.”
I deposited my uneaten lunch in my locker and slammed the door. Slammed it on Beatriz’s sack lunch and River’s sad eyes and on the weak flickering spark in my chest that wanted to make something out of both.