For long seconds, no one says or does anything, except for Lia, who glances between Jaxon and me with a look that seems just a little bit sly. Then she tells him, “Don’t worry, Jaxon darling; I’m fine.” She pats him on his unscarred cheek as she walks right by him into the art classroom and closes the door behind her.

He doesn’t even glance her way. His eyes, flat and black, are pinned to Flint. Who rolls his own eyes as he says, “They’re both fine. You’re welcome.”

For long seconds, Jaxon doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even make a sound. But it turns out I only thought Jaxon was pissed before. Because after Flint’s comment, he looks like he’s one very small step away from an aneurysm. Or mass murder.

“Get out of here,” he growls.

“I wasn’t planning on sticking around.” Flint doesn’t move, though. Instead, he stays in front of me, staring Jaxon down.

And that’s it. That’s just it. “Move,” I order, and when Flint doesn’t move fast enough, I shove past him.

For a second, it looks like he’s going to stop me, but a low snarl from Jaxon has him stepping back. Which only pisses me off more. I get that he was afraid for me, but that doesn’t give him the right to act like a psychopath.

“Are you really okay?” Jaxon demands as I step forward.

“I’m fine.” I try to shove past him, too, but unlike Flint, Jaxon doesn’t move. He just stands there, in my way, eyes dark and still filled with anger…and something I can’t quite put my finger on as he stares down at me. Whatever it is, it makes me feel all fizzy inside, like a carbonated drink that’s been shaken way too much. Or it would if I let it. Right now, I’m too busy concentrating on the anger to get sidetracked by the rest of it.

“I tell you to stay away from Flint, so you go into the tunnels with him?” he demands.

It’s the way wrong thing to say to me right now, when adrenaline is still coursing through me from the quake. And the run. And the terror. But just because I was scared out of my mind a few minutes ago doesn’t mean I’m going to put up with Jaxon demanding anything from me. Any more than I’m going to put up with him telling me what to do.

“I’m not talking to you about this right now,” I answer. “I’m late for a class that I really didn’t want to be late for, and the last thing I have time for is all this bizarre posturing from the two of you.” I include Flint in my anger.

“There’s no posturing, Grace.” Jaxon reaches for me, but I yank my hand away before he can take hold of it.

“Whatever you want to call it. It’s boring and annoying and I’m over it. So get out of my way and let me go to class before I forget I’m a pacifist and punch you in the face.”

I’m not sure which word shocks him more—the “punch” or the “pacifist.” Before either of us can figure it out, though, Flint jumps in with a, “You go, Grace. Tell him to back the fuck off.”

This time, Jaxon’s snarl is terrifying as fuck. It’s also loud enough to have the class on the other side of this closet going completely silent—even the teacher. Which, terrific. Just freaking terrific.

I whirl on Flint. “You shut up, or I’ll think of something really terrible to do to you, too.” I turn back to Jaxon. “As for you, get the hell out of my way or I’m never talking to you again.”

At first, Jaxon doesn’t move. But I think that has more to do with complete and utter astonishment (if his face is anything to go by) rather than a deliberate attempt to push back at me.

In the end, though, he lifts his hands and steps out of my way, exactly as I’d demanded.

“Thank you,” I tell him much more quietly. “And I appreciate your concern. I really do. But this is my first day of school, and I just want to go to class.”

And then, without waiting for him to answer, I sweep past him and into a classroom where everyone—even Lia and the teacher—is staring at me.

Big. Freaking. Surprise.

   31

Big Girls

Don’t Cry

(Unless They Want To)

“Grace! Look out!”

I turn toward my cousin’s voice—the first girl to speak to me since I went off on Jaxon and Flint five hours ago—just in time to see a basketball flying toward my head. I swat it away, then press my lips together to keep from crying out as pain radiates up my hand.

It’s ridiculous that the act of deflecting a basketball could hurt this much, but whoever threw it threw it hard. My whole arm aches from the jolt of coming into contact with it, and I didn’t even know that was possible.

“What the hell?” Macy asks the gym at large as she jogs over to me. “Who threw that?”

No one answers.

“Seriously?” My cousin puts her hands on her hips and glares at a group of girls standing by the locker room door. “Did you do this?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter? I heard how hard that ball hit your hand. If it had gotten your head, you could have had a concussion!”

“But it didn’t. And I’m fine.” It’s a bit of a stretch, considering I’m still in pain, but I’ve made a big enough spectacle of myself today, thank you very much. No way am I going to start whining about a few mean girls.

Or a lot of mean girls, for that matter, one of whom apparently has a future in professional basketball.

I mean, yeah, I’m not denying it’s been a weird day. I haven’t seen Jaxon or Flint since I went off on them this morning. But even though Jaxon hasn’t shown up at any more of my classes, Byron was waiting outside my art class with an extra parka when it let out—so I wouldn’t have to go through the spooky-as-hell tunnels again, thank God. Rafael sat with Macy and me at lunch plus walked us to AP Spanish, the one class we share. And Liam walked me from Spanish to PE.

None of which went unnoticed by the other students and none of which has exactly worked in my favor. I mean, I wasn’t looking to make a bunch of friends here, but I also don’t want to have to dodge flying basketballs every second of the day, either.

“You sure you’re okay?” Macy asks, frowning at the way I’m wiggling my fingers and shaking my hand.

I stop immediately. “I’m sure. I’m fine.” The last thing I want is for Macy to make a big deal out of something that could have been a lot worse.

She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything else about the basketball. And if I catch her glaring at some of my classmates, I’m not going to call her out on it. I’d be pissed if someone was messing with her, too.