Scary Cool (The Spellspinners) (2 page)

So I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder and walked right up to him. Figuring, you know, that the best defense is a good offense.

I gave him my fiercest scowl. “What are you doing here? I thought I got rid of you.”

A faint smile played at the edges of his
too-sexy
mouth. “I couldn't stay away, cupcake. I missed you.”

Cupcake?
I let him feel my outrage. He almost laughed.

“Don't you dare get cute with me. This is my town. This is my school. This is my turf. You're not wanted here, Donovan. Go back to
Spellhaven
.”

“Make me.”

Fear knotted in my stomach. I fought to keep him from sensing it. Why was I still afraid of him? Hadn't I proved that I was stronger than Lance?

Well, no. Not quite.

Still, I didn't flinch. I narrowed my eyes and sent him a silent message:
You know I can make you. I've done it before.

You took me by surprise,
he shot back
. That won't happen again.

And then he gave me his slow, sexy smile. “I'm here, babe,” he whispered. “Get used to it.”

“Don't call me ‘babe.’
“

As if his lame nicknames are what worry me. Yeah, right.

The bell sounded, right above our heads. It was loud, but neither of us jumped. We were concentrating too hard. The room was full of chattering kids, and Mr.
Poncia
was calling out for everybody to find a seat. It all seemed very far away. But I
flipp
ed my hair back—a great gesture for expressing dismissal—
I hope—
and returned
to my desk, shutting Lance out of my mind.

I needed some space. Thank God for homeroom.

Roll call. Welcome back. Announcements. It was all blessedly boring. Mr.
Poncia's
voice droned on while I struggled to get a handle on my
racing
thoughts.

I reminded myself that I had known (sort of) that Lance would be back. Basically because everything I've ever done with my powers has, eventually, come undone. And banishing Lance wasn't like turning a pumpkin into a coach and being safe till midnight. (Something I've never tried, by the way.) This pumpkin had powers of his
own. So I had known, at some level, that he would show up long before I wanted to see him again.

Of course, I had been hoping for a few Lance-free years. Not a few Lance-free weeks.

Papers were collected. Books were handed out. Lockers were assigned. The bell rang, and homeroom was over. I snatched up my stuff and headed out the door, ignoring Lance.

The noisy crowds in the hall swirled around me. Everyone had the same mission: find locker. Open locker (always a challenge, the first time). Dump the heaviest books, organize, blah
blah
blah
. And finally, locate next class.

Most of the kids laughing and shouting in the hallways had secondary agendas, something
I’
d never had. Reconnect with friends. Flirt. Exchange gossip. I'd spent all my time at school as a complete loner. So it was something new, for me, to have a boy dogging my steps as I threaded my way through the mob.

A totally hot boy, no less.

Lance is tough to ignore. For one thing, he has the ability to read my mind. So in addition to ignoring him, I have to block him out of my head. I could feel him tap-tap-tapping at the edges of my thoughts, trying to find a way in.

I scanned the rows of identical lockers, counting the little
number plates until I found 103
A. Sure enough, when I found it and stopped, Lance stop
ped, too. He leaned against 104
A and smiled down at me.

I gave him a frosty look. “Do you mind? This is private.” I unfolded the scrap of paper Mr.
Poncia
had given me and studied the combination printed on it.

“Allow me,” said Lance. And my locker popped open.

Neither of us had touched it.

I glanced around, terrified that someone had seen. “Don't
do
that,” I hissed.

“Just trying to help.”

“Yeah, right,” I muttered. I tossed most of my books into the locker. “Always thinking of others.”

This was sarcasm, of course. Lance Donovan is the most selfish individual I have ever met. He does have beautiful manners, though. Go figure.

He looked at me with sad, puppy-dog eyes. (Lime green puppy-dog eyes. But still effective.) “You're always mad at me,” he said.

“Lance,” I said. I slammed my locker shut. “You tried to turn me into a
zombie
.”

He actually placed his hand over his heart,
as if I had injured him. “It wasn’t like that
,” he protested. “
You misunderstood
.”

“No
,” I said. “
You
misunderstood.
You thought you could break me. Y
ou found out you can't. Now get lost.”

I shoved my English Lit book into the crook of my elbow and strode off without a backward look.

And would you believe he followed me into English Lit? I made a point of sitting where there were no empty seats, but Lance found one at the back of the room. I could feel his eyes on me.

Mrs. Clark is made of sterner stuff than Mr.
Poncia
. She actually noticed that there was a boy in the class whose name wasn't on the roster. She assumed that Lance had wandered into the wrong class, and gave him a hall pass so he could go find the right one.

I had to cover my mouth to hide my smile. I knew darn well that Lance wasn't registered for
any
class. And the good news was, he couldn't
get
registered. How could Lance enroll in a public school? Or any school? You have to have at least one parent or guardian. And an address. And transcripts from your prior
schools. Hah!
Registering Lance Donovan would be like trying to register Peter Pan.

So if Lance planned to follow me around Cherry Glen High, the Powers That Be would soon put a stop to it. Or so I thought.

Unfortunately, it didn't go down quite the way I
thought
it would.

He was waiting for me when I left English Lit. I knew he would be, because all through class I could feel him out there, lurking in the hall. I pinned him with a glare the instant I stepped out the door. “Isn't there a house you could haunt? I've got things to do.”
I brushed past him.

He
fell into step beside me. “High school? You've got to be kidding. Why bother?”

“It's what people
do.
So leave me alone and let me do it.”

“You don't need it. Drop out.”

I rolled my eyes. “Great
, Lance.
Thanks
.
You should be a guidance counselor.” We arrived at my locker. I waved him aside so I could open it. “You know what you're doing? You're loitering. You can't hang around here.”

“Why not? It's a public school.”

“Yeah, but it's not
your
school. There are laws to protect girls like me from boys like you. You ever heard of stalking? It's a felony.”

“Aw, come on. You wouldn't call the cops on me.”

“I won't have to. It's a
school,
Lance. They're in the business of protecting kids.” Right on cue, the vice principal and a couple of his sidekicks came into view, pushing purposely through the crowd with their eyes on Lance.

Sweet.

I
batted
my eyes at him as the Cherry Glen bouncers arrived. “
Buh
-bye.”

They were all polite and stuff. But they definitely had Lance's number. He wasn't able to
b.s.
his way out of a trip to the office, escorted by three burly guys.

Lance, as I think I may have mentioned, is a creature of power. It really didn't matter how burly the escort was, or how many of them there were. He could have vanished into thin air if he'd wanted to. The thing is, we
spellspinners
have to be choosy about when to use our powers. So, rather than cause a sensation, he walked meekly off with them.

Giving me the best laugh I've had in ages.

Still, it wasn't exactly easy to concentrate on my classes today. And w
hen I left school, there he was—
leaning against the flagpole and managing to look perfectly at
ease, as if flagpole-leaning were
the most comfortable thing in the world. He didn't
seem to notice all the girls' eyes cutting towards him as they walked past on their way to the bus stops. His kryptonite eyes were focused only on me.

And, uh-oh. He had an official-looking stack of papers in his hand. My heart sank at the sight.

I walked up to him. “Don't tell me. You registered.”

“Yep. Starting tomorrow, I'm an official member of the junior class of Cherry Glen High.”

“But ... how?” I snatched the papers out of his hand and flipped through them. I think I expected them to be blank. They weren't. “You have an address!”

“That surprises you?”

“And a guardian! Who is this?” I pointed accusingly at the name. “Rune Donovan? You made that up.”

“No, I didn't. He's my uncle.”

My
world shift
ed
precariously on its axis. I stared at Lance, speechless. He started to laugh. “What did you think, Zara? That I sleep in a coffin in
Transylvania
?
Spellspinners
are mortal. We have families like anyone else.”

“You know exactly what I thought,” I said numbly. “I thought you lived at
Spellhaven
or someplace like that, and
skatched
here.” My eyes narrowed as I thought it over. “You know what? I still think it.”

Lance had already shown me that
spellspinners
can teleport—they call it
skatching
. And he had taught me how to do it. You just instantaneously disappear from where you are, and show up somewhere else. And since
skatching
is ridiculously easy, and it doesn't seem to matter how far you go, I knew darn well that Lance doesn't have to live in Cherry Glen to go to Cherry Glen High. His permanent residence could be Chicago, or the French Riviera, or Outer Mongolia. It simply doesn't matter. He gets up, he takes a shower, he grabs his books and
boing.
He's here.

“I couldn't
skatch
to you,” Lance said. “Cherry Glen is off-limits. I had to come here in the normal way, like a stick.”

I had been so taken up with my own thoughts, I wasn't listening to his. Now I honed in. What I saw in his mind surprised me. And in a good way, for a change.

“Off-limits because I banished you?”

“Uh-huh.”

I felt ridiculously pleased. “Well,
whaddya
know. It worked.”

“To a degree.” One corner of his mouth quirked downward. “I'm here, aren't I?”

He sure was. I sighed and hitched my books higher on my hip. “At least I slowed you down. So now what? I don't suppose I can talk you into leaving the same way you came.”

“Heck no. It was a long drive. I don't know how the sticks can stand it, not being able to
skatch
.”

Lance calls ungifted people ‘sticks.’ It bugs me, but he says all
spellspinners
use that term. I'm not sure where it comes from or what it means, but I know an insult when I hear one. ‘Sticks’ is an insult.

I frowned. “Your attitude sucks.”

“Yeah. Well. I'm spoiled.” He leaned closer, and his voice went low and teasing. “Come on, Zara, lighten up. I've never gone out of my way for any girl, but I crossed mountains and rivers to be with you. I call that flattering.”

“Yeah? I call it harassment.” But my heart was going
pitty
-pat. And I was also aware of my bus-bound peers, who were trying not to be too obvious while they stared at us.

My life is way too complicated.

I took a step backward
so I could breathe. “Maybe I'll banish you again. Life was so peaceful while you were gone.”

“Dull, you mean.”

“I like dull.”

“No you don’t.” His slow smile made my toes curl. “You like me.”

Right about then, Meg glided up on her
Huffy
street
cruiser. I’d been concentrating too hard on Lance to notice her approach, but she obviously had taken in the
scene
. She pulled up beside me, eyes narrowed at Lance. She wasn’t smiling.