Blaze (2 page)

As usual, I time my sideline activities perfectly. After drawing fourteen new panels of
The
Amazing
Adventures
of
the
Blazing
Goddess
, I start reading the comics I brought. I’m almost finished when I hear the air horn announcing the end of the game, and judging by everyone’s expressions, the Wolverines won. I keep
Silver
Surfer
#51
lying open on my lap as I shift smoothly into Mark-stalking mode. I’ve built up some super-strong peripheral eye muscles over the course of the season, but with my sunglasses on I can be extra bold with my X-ray visualization.

On the field, the players line up congratulating each other as Mark talks to Josh, probably about how awesome he is at kicking the ball around. Despite the largish portion of my life spent at soccer games, I don’t know all that much about the sport. But even I can see that Josh has skills.

I think about what would happen if I stood and walked right up to the two of them. After all, Josh is my brother. It’s perfectly natural for me to go over and congratulate him on a game well played. Except that there would be nothing natural about me approaching Mark. I can’t even remember how to walk naturally when I get around him. Does it go left foot, left arm? Or left foot, right arm, switch? Just thinking about it makes me feel a little spastic. I look down at my lap.

But then,
what
is
he
doing?
My super peripheral vision notices Josh pointing in my direction.
Oh, God, why is he pointing at me?
I paw at
Silver
Surfer
#51
in a panic and blindly study Galctus throwing fireballs as my brother leads Mark and that penis of his directly toward me. As they get closer, I try to figure out at what point it’ll seem normal for me to glance up and acknowledge them without it being obvious I’ve been watching them all along.

I peer over the top of my sunglasses, but neither of them is looking at me as they come closer, so I shoot my head back down, hoping Mark didn’t see me looking. The next thing I know, they’re standing over me. I squint at my comic as if I’m half-blind or something until Josh finally clears his throat. I totally overact, snapping my head up and feigning complete shock at seeing them there. Like they’re aliens or things that don’t even belong on a soccer field. I regroup after a few mental commands.
Pretend
to
be
normal, Blaze!

Finally, I manage to spit out a friendly, “Hey there! Good game,” delivered to the space between the two of them.

“They really pulled it together in the second half.” Mark bops slightly, as if his body is channeling an inner thumping beat. It’s barely noticeable, and yet it’s the sexiest motion I’ve ever seen.

“My sister never really watches the games.” Josh totally rats me out. “She’s always either drawing or sticking her nose in some stupid comic book.”

“Cool.” Mark gestures to
Silver
Surfer
#51
lying open in my lap. “Oh, yeah, what’s that dude’s name again?”

“Uh, Galactus?” I try.

“No, I mean the silver dude. The one with the flying surfboard?”

“You mean the
Sil-ver Sur-fer
?” There is absolutely no way I can keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but it just makes Mark bop even more.
He’s so pretty
.

“I guess that would be a good name for the guy.” His smiling eyes draw me in like a tractor beam. The flat, grassy world around us exists only so that I can share this gaze with Mark. The hum of players and parents melts into white noise as I take in his thick dark curls and perfectly shaped face. Even the words on his T-shirt, “Kick Some Grass!”, seem like the most clever catchphrase on the planet. The sound of my heartbeat grows so loud its
badda-thump
is all I hear… until Josh clears his throat, making me wish I was an only child.

Pulling out of my surreal Mark-filled moment, I give Josh what he must recognize as my fakest fake smile.

“Easy, sis, no need to get your geek on,” he says. “Coach doesn’t need to know the origin of the Silver Surfer—he just needs a ride home. I said we could fit him in the van, no problem.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say casually, as my insides roar at Josh,
No
problem? How about huge problem? How about the fact that I drive a freakin’ minivan that smells like recycled bologna, and I’ve been elected to transport the hottest guy to ever put on a pair of soccer shorts?
My apologies to David Beckham.

Mark chivalrously takes my folding chair in one arm, and just like that we’re all heading toward Superturd together. Mark and I are about to be thrust together like the first time the DC and Marvel universes collided in 1976 with the oversized
Superman
vs. The Amazing Spider-Man: The Battle of the Century
. Our worlds will be overlapping for the entire space of one sweaty forty-minute drive.

We reach the parking lot too soon, and I lunge for the minivan ahead of the gang. Pulling open the driver’s door, I start shoving loose Dunkin’ Donuts bags under the seat in desperation.

Dylan tries to claim shotgun as Mark tosses my chair and his giant mesh bag of balls in Superturd’s butt.

“You’re dreamin’, horndog,” I tell Dylan.

He slinks to the back as Mark climbs into the passenger seat and gives me a comfortable grin. My superhero buttons rattle as I start digging through my bag for my keys. After I find them, I continue rooting around, looking for some non-existent scrap of something that will empower me to seduce Mark and make him my boyfriend over the course of this ride. There is nothing helpful in my messenger bag.

I have no idea what to even talk about with such a fine specimen of male fineness. He’s sitting so close I could reach over and touch him. It might be kind of hard to explain, and a little weird, maybe, but still… possible.

At first I’m relieved when he turns in his seat to discuss the game with the boys. Thankfully, there’s no pressure to pull off an actual conversation. But as Superturd speeds past farm after farm and his coach-chat turns into a lengthy discussion of the team’s “next strategy,” I start to feel a bit ignored. It dawns on me that if the entire ride passes without a single interaction between the two of us, it will solidify my nonexistence in Mark’s universe.
If
I
don’t do something drastic soon…

“COWS!” I call out as we pass a field of cattle. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven!”

“Wha—?” Mark swings around to face me. “Did you just count those cows?”

I grin and call out, “That’s twenty-one, plus seven, which gives me twenty-eight. I’m
win-ning
.”

“No fair,” whines Dylan, “You have front seat advantage!”

“You lost shotgun rights for ogling my sister’s boobs.” Josh defends me and humiliates me all at once.

I glance over at Mark and blush. “So,” he smiles and gives the bill of his hat a quick lift. “Cows?”

My heart starts
badda-thumping
again.

“It’s a stupid thing we do on these long drives. Whoever sees a herd first gets to collect them and add them to their total score.”

Ajay chimes in from the third-row seat, “But we’ve expanded it to include all farm animals. Cows, horses, goats, even chickens.” He pauses to slurp one of the orange wedges he scored from Mrs. Schmidt. “Blaze is winning, but Dylan has ten and Josh has thirteen.”

“Ajay, that’s disgusting!” Andrew yells. “You just spit orange pulp on my arm.”

“Yeah, Ajay, don’t spit,” Dylan says lewdly. “Andrew prefers you swallow.”

“Easy, Dylan,” Josh pipes in. “Try to keep your pervy fantasies to yourself.” Which gets the other boys laughing and teasing Dylan.

Mark gasps, and I’m about to tell him how Dylan’s sexual fantasies are just an ongoing joke with us, but Mark is busy pointing. He calls out, “Ooooh! Sheep! I call sheep!” There’s a huge flock of them in the field we’re passing, and I grimace as Mark starts counting. “One, two, three, four…”

I ease pressure on the gas as he counts faster. “Ten, eleven, twelve…” I urge Superturd to drive faster, “sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…” I glance down and see the needle creeping toward 90 miles per hour as Mark creeps closer and closer to my score, “twentyonetwentytwotwentythree…” The minivan starts shimmying with the effort until, finally, I reach the treeline and Mark has to stop counting his sheep.

“Whew, that’s twenty-eight,” he says smugly. “How many do you have again?”

“Twenty-eight,” I growl. I never lose a game of Cows. Ever.

“All right, coach!” Josh calls out. “My sister never loses.”

“I can see why,” he laughs. “How fast were you driving?”

“What?” I say innocently. “That’s called driver’s advantage.” I look around desperately for some cows, any cows, even just a single cow to get me back on top. Nothing but massive cornfields whizz by on either side. I shouldn’t really mind losing to someone as hot as Mark. I just can’t bear to have my ass handed to me in front of the boys.

Mark leans forward in his seat, obviously scanning for a herd of cattle.
I
must
distract
him.
“Sooo, soccer, huh?” I say.

“Yup, love soccer…” His brows pull together as he continues his quest for cows. By now we’re both sitting up, our bodies leaning forward in anticipation.

“Team looks good,” I try again.

“Yup.” My ploy to distract him with a soccer-centric conversation clearly isn’t working. He adds, “So, what’s the deal with you and the comics?”
As
if
I
can
be
distracted
so
easily
.

“Read ’em, draw ’em. Yup, I sure love comics…”

I glance over, and Mark pretends to press his face into the windshield. “Where’s the cows? Where’s the cows?” he says and grins at me.

We both burst out laughing. I lean back in my seat, and he shifts his body in my direction and casually raises his left knee, opening his legs toward me. Which only makes the proximity of what lies under his thin shorts seem more undeniable. I focus intently on the road ahead. My mind is no longer thinking of cows.

“Seriously, is ‘Blaze’ your nickname because you’re so into comics, or maybe because you drive so fast?” I glance toward him, and he narrows his eyes. “Or are you a closet pothead?”

“Blaze is her actual name.” Josh leans up between the seats, reminding me that Mark and I aren’t alone. “Dad was really into
Ghost
Rider
as a kid, so he named her after Johnny Blaze. Mom got smart by the time I came along, and that’s why I got a normal name.”

“Why don’t you play your DS?” I suggest kindly, then shoot my head around to emphasize, “Josh!” in my evil older sister voice.

“I’m good.” Josh leans his elbow on my backrest. I reach back and knock Josh’s elbow so he does a face-plant against my seat.

“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “Ajay’s using the outlet back here, I need you to plug me in.”

“Fine,” I say and wait for Josh to hand me the car adapter for his game.

“I’m playing Sonic Rush,” Ajay says. “Wanna sync up?”

I glance in the rearview mirror, and Josh gives me a troubled glance before turning around in his seat to face Ajay. Andrew and Dylan huddle around to watch the rousing DS battle on the teeny-tiny screens. It suddenly feels as if Mark and I are alone, which makes me remember to be nervous all over again.

“So, Blaze, huh?” Mark tips his hat back and bops up and down in a solicitous way.
He
is
actually
flirting
with
me
, I think as I flip my blonde ponytail off my shoulder.
And
more
amazing
still, I’m flirting back
.

“Yeah, it hardly suits me.” I face forward and blush as sweat lubricates my grip on the steering wheel.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says. “I imagine there’s a burning flame in there somewhere.” With my peripheral vision I catch him glancing at my chest. Instead of getting grossed out, like I do when Dylan peeks, I feel a
ka-POW!
surge in my lower belly. Flustered, I squint out the windshield.

“Yes!!” Half the back seat lets out a cheer over something Sonic Rush–related, and Mark turns around. As he’s distracted, I allow myself a look of shock over his attention. I blink quickly as my mind screams,
He’s totally coming on to me. Doesn’t he know about Su-per Virgin Girl? Chastity of Steel? Nobody comes on to me!
By the time he turns back around, I’ve managed to rearrange my face into a normal expression.

“I used to rock at Sonic.” Mark laughs. “So, you never answered me. What’s with this great attraction to comics?”

“Oh, well, my dad really got me into them.” Without meaning to, I start talking nonstop, telling him all about Dad’s prize collection of comics. From there, I launch right into telling him about how he took off to become an actor in New York City.