Crave (Harlequin Teen)

thermos. Time for another dose of homegrown medicine. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long to kick in this time. Or maybe I should open a vein in my arm and pour it in directly.
    As promised, Nanna’s special tea had helped during first-period English. But climbing the sports and art building’s two flights of stairs to second period pre-drill class, followed by an hour and a half of dancing, had set back my recovery. I felt worse than ever.
    “Oh, she’s just worn-out from all that dancing she’s taken up,” Anne Albright said. “You know, twirling with the froufrou tutus at Miss Catherine’s Dance Studio. Kicking it in pre-drill with all those sad Charmer wannabes.” She tightened her thick, chestnut-brown ponytail and grinned, apparently unable to resist stirring up a little excitement for lunch.
    I chucked a French fry at her. She was lucky she was my best friend, or I’d be tempted to dump her soda over her head instead. She knew Carrie and Michelle were still annoyed that I’d picked dance lessons instead of playing volleyball again with them this year. To them, even sucking at volleyball was better than dancing.
    Michelle Wilson turned her big hazel eyes toward me. “Are you going to try out for the Charmers, Sav?”
    It took me a few seconds to understand. Then I remembered. Most students only took pre-drill as a required class so they could audition for the JHS Cherokee Charmers Dance/Drill Team in May.
    “Of course she isn’t,” Anne jumped in before I could reply. “Pre-drill is just her mom’s idea of fulfilling her P.E. credit without embarrassing herself again like last year.”
    “Gee, thanks,” I said. But I couldn’t really be mad. Anne was only saying the truth, as usual. I had taken pre-drill for the P.E. credit, and because it had no audience or competitions for me to doom a team at. Trying out for the Charmers was the last thing on my mind.
    “Sorry,” Anne muttered, both looking and sounding sincere.
    Between desperate gulps of tea, I gave her a half grin to show I wasn’t really upset. She’d been my best friend for over two years now, and I’d gotten used to her blunt style. In a way, it was even comforting. At least I could always count on her to be honest, no matter what.
    A new wave of pain rose up to slam into my stomach and chest, wiping the smile right off my face. This was an ache I knew far too well. It hit me every time he came within a hundred yards of me, usually before I even saw or heard him.
    Michelle, who sat across from me, let out a dreamy sigh, confirming what my body already knew.
    “Please let me trip him,” Anne muttered once she’d glanced over her shoulder and spotted him, too.
    I kept my gaze on Michelle, though the tiny blonde’s moonstruck expression was tough to watch. Anything to keep me facing forward. Tristan had to either walk along the outer wall of the cafeteria or cut across the center by our table on his way to the food lines. Most people cut across. No doubt he would, too.
    Just a few more seconds and he’d pass right behind me. I told myself I didn’t care, even as my skin tingled with some secret knowledge all its own that he was drawing closer.
    And then I heard it…a low whistling, the notes so quiet I could almost have believed I’d imagined them if not for my sensitive hearing. Sugarplum music, as plain as if he’d whistled the notes right against my ear.
    Ever since he’d seen my ballet slippers fall out of my backpack during algebra earlier this year, Tristan had started whistling The Nutcracker’ s “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” song every time he saw me. I remembered his sense of humor, how his mind worked. This was his wordless way of teasing me about wanting to be a ballerina, without having to actually bother to talk to me. Because of course a klutz like me couldn’t ever become a decent dancer, right?
    I felt a blush flood my cheeks and neck with heat, adding to my frustration. I must look like a strawberry…red face, red hair, red ears. But no way would I duck my head. I would not give him the satisfaction of any reaction I could control, at least.
    “Oh, I am so gonna trip him,” Anne hissed, turning her chair toward him. Apparently she got his sense of humor, too, even if she didn’t approve of it.
    “No, you can’t!” Michelle reached over the edge of the round table, grabbed Anne’s arm and yanked her sideways half out of her seat. By the time Anne recovered, he was past our