Crave (Harlequin Teen)

freshmen girls’ direction. “You know, the girls from the front office? The ones you’ve kept giggling for days now?”
    He looked sincere in his confusion. But how could he possibly have missed the effect his smiles had on them? “I was just being nice to them.”
    “Well, would you quit it already? It makes them…” I waved a hand at the two giggling girls a few yards away on the track. “It’s getting beyond annoying.”
    “So you want me to be rude instead?”
    “No. Just try to be more, I don’t know, big brotherly.”
    “Yes, ma’am, Miss Savannah,” he said, his fake salute making me fight the urge to giggle myself.
    Tristan
    I hadn’t expected to feel much while watching the Jacksonville Indians football team play without me that Friday night at the Tomato Bowl in downtown Jacksonville.
    But it stung. A lot.
    As I sat beside Savannah in the bleachers in my new escort uniform of a long-sleeve button-up denim shirt and khaki slacks, I remembered how it felt at the start of a game. The adrenaline rushing through my veins. Suiting up in my protective gear and uniform like a warrior readying for battle. The excited roar of the crowd, and knowing they were all yelling for me and my team.
    Second quarter was worse. I’d been assigned to escort one of the Charmers officers. As we followed the line of escorts and officers to the visitor bleachers on the other side of the field, I could feel my shoulders and neck steadily knotting up. The tiny blond senior clinging to my arm was cute and sweet. But she wasn’t who I wanted at my side. I gritted my teeth and glanced across the field toward the home bleachers.
    Just in time to see Savannah returning to the Charmers section with what looked like a box lid full of foam cups.
    Heat raced over my skin, and I had to work not to growl. She shouldn’t be fetching for the dancers. She was too nice for her own good.
    Most girls wouldn’t be so helpful all the time, or put up with half the crap she did. All night tonight, I’d had to listen to Charmers whispering, “Miss Savannah, do you have some hairpins?”, “Miss Savannah, do you have any boot polish?”, “I have a run in my tights, Miss Savannah. Do you have any fingernail polish?” And on and on and on. How could she take the constant neediness? Why didn’t these girls bring their own emergency supplies?
    I kept expecting Savannah to get onto them for forgetting so much stuff, or at least tell them she didn’t have whatever they were requesting. Yet she never once frowned or hesitated to help them. One girl had even forgotten her hat and lived too far outside of town to get it, so Savannah had to leave the Tomato Bowl, drive two miles over to the high school and then walk around alone on a dark campus to find a spare.
    Which didn’t exactly help my mood. She should have told me where she was going. I could have fetched the stupid hat for them, or at least gone with her and made sure she was okay.
    Either she was a doormat, or she was too brave for her own good. I couldn’t decide which. One thing I did know…she’d rather be out on that field at halftime in the limelight with the rest of the dancers. She’d tried to hide it, acting busy with prepping wraps and ice bags for the dancers who needed them after performing. But I’d caught the pure longing in her eyes when she’d thought no one was looking.
    So why wasn’t she a dancer? Was it because she couldn’t dance well enough to make the team? It couldn’t be for religious reasons. Bethany Brookes had told me earlier this week that everyone had to try out for the Charmers before they could apply to be managers. Including Savannah.
    Even if she was the world’s worst dancer, she still didn’t have to be the Charmers head manager. She could do something else with her life, something that took far less time, energy and patience. Was she aiming for sainthood? Didn’t she ever get tired of helping others? Didn’t she ever want something for herself for a change, instead of always doing what others wanted her to do?
    And why did she put up with the twins calling her a freak in history class when they thought I couldn’t hear them?
    By the end of halftime, it had all combined into a heated ball in my stomach…. Anger at myself for taking Dylan’s bait and getting pulled off the football team during the playoffs. Rage at the Clann for brainwashing all the descendants’ kids into thinking a nice, innocent girl like Savannah was somehow