Crave (Harlequin Teen)

trash cans. While I dumped my tray, he asked, “So why don’t the Clann girls like you? Is that some sort of a team thing, too?”
    “Uh, no, that’s a Clann thing,” I muttered, just as the bell rang.
    “Hey, where’s your next class? Maybe I can walk with you there.”
    I checked my class schedule. “History with Mr. Smythe.”
    “My bad luck. That’s in the portable buildings on the east side. My next one’s over in the computer building on the north side. Guess I’ll have to settle for walking you to the catwalk.”
    I had to admit it was a little thrilling when Greg held my hand and led me out the doors and up the steps to the catwalk. No actual tingles from his touch, but the contact was still nice. So was his smile as he said “See you tomorrow” before he kissed my cheek then walked away.
    Okay, the boy was yum. I would never faint over him, but he was definitely sigh-worthy. And allll mine.
    My first real boyfriend!
    A small sigh slipped out of me as I turned and headed the other direction toward history class.
    And then I felt it…prickles racing down the back of my neck and over my arms. Ouch. That was all I needed to know who was behind me without even looking. After not seeing Tristan Coleman for two-and-a-half months, and no new vampire/witchy developments, I’d hoped my awareness of Tristan’s presence would have gone away. But if anything, I could swear it had increased ten times over. I used to feel only a warm ache tugging at my gut and chest whenever he was within twenty yards of me. This time, it felt more like the back of my neck and arms had somehow fallen asleep and the blood was finally rushing back through all the veins. I had to fight against the urge to rub my skin.
    Once again, someone just had to remind me that I wasn’t quite normal.
    Oh, boy, this better wear off soon. Maybe he was headed for a different class and the feeling would go away.
    But when I heard his heavy footsteps follow me down the sidewalk then up the short cement steps and into history class, I knew I was doomed. And then I looked around at the other students in the class and realized just how doomed I was. Not only would I be sharing this class with the prince of Jacksonville, but I’d also be in here every A day with the Brat Twins and Dylan Williams.
    And then Mr. Smythe made my year complete by saying, “Okay, kiddies, let’s get you all alphabetically seated, shall we?”
    I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry as I took my assigned seat of torture on the front row beside Tristan, the Brat Twins seated directly behind him.
    Yes, it was going to be yet another very long year.
    Tristan
    Talk about a crappy start to the year.
    Obviously my protection spell against Stanwick had worn off. Why couldn’t the guy just forget about Savannah already? I saw her out of the corner of my eye for the thousandth time in an hour and mentally cursed as my heart slammed into my throat like a caged bear trying to break free. On second thought, I knew exactly why Stanwick couldn’t forget about her.
    My knees bounced harder under my desk as I considered my options. The solution should be simple. I’d just have to make another protection spell for her. Maybe a couple of them. And I’d drink some coffee or something before doing the spells so I wouldn’t fall asleep this time. Although now that Dad had taught me how to draw energy from nature to use instead of my own, I doubted that would be a problem.
    At the moment, I had too much energy. I should have grounded at lunch when Emily asked me to after I’d seen the soccer jerk walk with Savannah to the lunch line. But then they had exited with their food, and Stanwick had kissed her cheek. And I’d lost all ability to think as my gut dropped somewhere down to my toes. The sick feeling had only grown stronger as the two of them, apparently a couple now, had sat together at Savannah’s table with her friends.
    How long had they been seeing each other?
    I knew then that I should leave, go outside and ground as much energy as I could. But I couldn’t tear myself away from the sight of the two of them laughing together, talking with her friends, the casual way the soccer jerk touched her hand or shoulder or put his arm around her. And she let him.
    She liked him. Maybe even loved—
    Acid rose up in my throat, and I had to look away, pretend I was listening to the other descendants talking at our table, to think about anything but the nightmare that was