Ruin

Lisa gri

Ten minutes later and I was really doubting my ability to appear normal. The shirt she’d given me didn’t meet the top of my jeans. In fact, there was a good two inches of skin showing. I’d tried to hunch over but then Gabe started calling me Quasimodo, which made me second-guess the whole humpback look.

The party was being held at the main lobby. Things couldn’t get that out of hand, right? I mean, it was a school-sanctioned party. It wasn’t as if they’d have drugs and alcohol or anything.

Uncle Jo had warned me about mixing alcohol with my prescription. Apparently it made people get drunk like twice as fast. Meaning, if I took one drink I’d be dancing around the lobby with a lampshade on my head. Well, at least I wouldn’t be self-conscious about my short shirt anymore.

The minute we walked into the lobby, people stared. It wasn’t the type of stare you got when you had food in your teeth, more like, a curious stare. Maybe it was Gabe. I stood closer to him, and he wrapped his arms around me and Lisa.

“This happens a lot with Gabe.” Lisa laughed and landed a mock-punch to his biceps. “People can’t figure out if he’s hot or just deranged.”

“Thanks, Lisa.” Gabe’s eyes narrowed in her direction then he whispered in my ear, “But for the record, I’m just hot.”

“Of course you are,” I said patronizingly.

He threw his head back and laughed. I didn’t think I could ever be attracted to him, but something about him seemed comfortable, like if I asked him to drive me the four hours home to Bickelton in the middle of the night, he’d say okay and buy me coffee while he was at it. I’d never really had a friend like that before. It was nice.

“So…” Lisa’s gaze sca

“Your mystery man for the night?” Gabe asked as he walked over to the punch and got us each a cup.

“No.” Lisa’s eyes continued to dart around the room. “Weston. Where is he? He’s the RA, so he has to be here—”

“Do I?” a smooth voice said from behind us. “See, I thought I just had to make an appearance. I didn’t think anyone would actually be searching me out.”

Other than the music pounding through the sound system, it was quiet. I could tell people were trying to hear what he was saying as they edged toward our little group.

He all but ignored Lisa and Gabe. His eyes focused only on mine. “You came.”

“I was forced.”

“Coerced.” Lisa rolled her eyes.

Gabe watched the exchange with open amusement.

Weston was still staring.

Apparently having enough of the awkwardness, Gabe moved me to the side and held out his hand to Weston. “We think she’s homeschool, it’s why she doesn’t talk.” He pointed back to me. I could feel my face heat to five hundred degrees. “But she’s cute as hell so we keep her around. This one is my cousin.” He pointed to Lisa. “And I’m pretty sure you and I had a KI class together.”

Weston’s eyes left mine and landed on Gabe. Nodding, he shook his hand firmly. “Yeah, I think it was archery.”

“Best class ever.” Gabe sighed.

“Ah, now I remember.” Weston laughed. “You’re the guy who shot the professor in the ass with the arrow.”

“She turned me down.” Gabe shrugged.

“Sexual harassment.” Lisa fake-coughed.

Waving her off, Gabe continued talking. “How’s practice going?”

“He’s talking football,” Lisa whispered. “Shh, it’s like watching a baby turtle trying to find the ocean. He’s either going to get eaten because he knows shit about sports, or he’s going to swim free into the ocean and discover he’s a real boy.”

“It’s good.” Weston ignored us. “You know how practice is, brutal. But it’s going to be a good season.”

“You think you’ll get a bowl this year?” Gabe asked, sounding genuinely interested.

“Good Lord the turtle made it!” Lisa whispered in my ear.

“Yeah.” Weston’s eyes flickered to mine before he nodded at Gabe. “Coach is hoping for the championship. After the loss last year to Oregon, we kind of want to redeem ourselves.”

“Tell me about it.” Gabe sighed. “I hate the Ducks.”

“Green and yellow, green and yellow,” Lisa sang behind him.

“I will think nothing about punching you in the face if you sing that again.” Gabe swore.

Lisa gri

When she left, Gabe murmured, “She likes to narrate her own life.”

“Cool.” I laughed. “She needs her own soundtrack.”

“Don’t tell her that.” Gabe shook his head. “I wouldn’t put it past her to start singing rather than talking. And I’m already losing IQ points by hanging out with her.”

The conversation slid into a lull. Weston was still staring. Gabe’s grin grew wider by the minute. Finally, he mumbled something about spiking the punch and walked off. Which really just meant that Weston was the worst RA in the history of RA’s. Especially if he was okay with Gabe spiking things.

“Let’s take a walk.” He offered his arm.

I paused, staring at the outstretched arm and then back at his eyes. “I don’t know if I should.”

“I didn’t do it.” He swallowed, his eyes closing for a brief second before meeting mine again. “The rape? I’m sure you’ve heard about it by now. You can trust me. In fact, I’ll even let you have one of the rape whistles.”

“You carry them?” My eyes widened.

“Hey, guys get raped too.” His smile fell, and then he reached into his pocket and handed me a whistle. “Don’t forget the most important part about owning one of these babies.”

“What?” I took the red whistle in my hands and examined it.

Weston’s breath fa

“Huh?” Okay, I was going to pass out. His lips were inches from mine.

“You have to blow…” His full lips expanded into a bold grin. “The whistle. You know, in order to get help.”

“Oh,” I said, breathless. “Right.”

He led me out of the lobby. I was lucky to be walking in straight lines after that little exchange. I had no idea why I’d captured his attention, but I still had that sinking feeling in the back of my mind that it wasn’t a good thing. Being his friend would never work and being more scared me half to death.

Chapter Seven

Note to self, when a girl’s smile makes you forget your own name — you’re in some deep shit.

Weston

“This way.” I grabbed her hand and led her down the street. “So, tell me about yourself, Kiersten.” Lame. My first question was so unoriginal I wanted to punch myself. That was what freshman orientation did to a person.

“I’m eighteen.”

“No, I didn’t—” I turned and found myself under the full force of her green eyes penetrating mine. “That is, yes, I’m glad you’re over eighteen, I don’t want to get in trouble for holding your hand or anything.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t strike me as the type of guy who just holds hands.”

“You’re right.” I exhaled. “But I’m a fan of hands, or maybe it’s just yours, Lamb.” It was true. I liked her hands. Everything about her screamed i

“And there’s the nickname.”

”There it is,” I agreed, then squeezed her hand more. We walked across the lawn and down to the sidewalk in silence. As we passed a few cars, the silence stretched out even further, then finally, beneath the second street lamp, she stopped, tugging her hand back.

“Look…” She shifted nervously from foot to foot, her i

Amused, I raised my eyebrows. “But?”

“I’m not like that,” she whispered.