Juliet Immortal

consider—
    The phone rings, making me jump guiltily. I push my chair back and hurry to grab the phone from the counter. “Hello?”
    “Are you alone in the house?” an artificially deep voice asks.
    My forehead wrinkles. “Who is this?”
    “Are you alone … in the house?”
    The voice isn’t Romeo’s, but I don’t have the patience for prank calls. I’m not in the mood for torment from Romeo or anyone else. “I’m hanging up.”
    “No! Wait!” Gemma’s tone rises to her normal register. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. I’m on my way to your place. Is your mom there?”
    “No, she’s working the night shift,” I say, relief spreading through my chest. Perfect. I need to talk to Gemma, to focus on doing my job, even if I can’t reach Nurse or the other Ambassadors. Gemma’s visit is a sign that it’s time to stop thinking about Romeo.
    No good ever came from listening to the snake in the garden.
    “Cool,” Gemma says. “You want me to grab some burgers or something? I’d get pizza, but I don’t want to get out of the car. This rain is dampening my will to live.”
    I glance at my half-eaten sandwich. I’m still starving. “A cheeseburger would be great. With fries, and a chocolate milk shake. Malted if they have it.”
    “Hungry, are we?” Gemma laughs. “I’ll be there in fifteen. Pour me a glass of whatever cheap hooch your mom’s got in the fridge. Chardonnay, not the pinot grigio crap.”
    I hang up. Fifteen minutes. It’s just enough time to grab a shower and change out of my wet clothes. If I hurry. I run for the bathroom, gathering a pair of blue flannel pajamas with sheep on them while the water warms. It’s a cool night and likely to get cooler if the rain doesn’t stop.
    I rush through my shower, concentrating on the shampoo, conditioner, and soap, clearing my mind, focusing on my job. By the time Gemma pulls into the carport and bursts into the kitchen, I’m calmer than I’ve been all day.
    “Where’s my wine, woman?” Gemma booms as she stumbles to the table with a load of brown bags and paper cups. The smell of warm meat and cheese, pickles and onions, drifts through the air, making my mouth water. Cheeseburgers. I’m fairly certain they’re the most wonderful food invented by modern man.
    “Hope you don’t mind a plastic cup.” I grab one from the cabinet before reaching into the fridge. “Is Viognier okay? The chardonnay’s not open.”
    “Oh yes. Viognier pairs well with anything, dahling,” she drawls. While I pour her drink, Gemma dumps cheeseburgers onto the table and settles into a chair with her sandwich. “I’m starving. That singing and dancing crap works up a frackingappetite. Which reminds me—” She squeals and turns, grabbing the plastic cup from my hand before I can set it down. “Thank you! Most awesome friend! You snuck out before I could tell you thank you, thank you, a thousand times
thank you
!”
    I smile. Gemma’s not so bad when she’s happy. She’s actually … charming, and I can see why Ariel enjoys spending time with her.
    “You’re welcome.” I settle in across from her and reach for my burger. “Thanks so much, I was dying for some real food.”
    “No, thank
you
. The grease feast was the least I could do after you saved my life.”
    “It’s not a big deal.”
    “It
is
a big deal. Especially for you.” Gemma takes a gulp of her wine. “I know you’re probably scared out of your mind, but we’ll go through all the songs tonight and you’ll learn the choreography super fast. You killed at Dance Dance Revolution when we were little, and this isn’t much harder. Hannah has everyone changing lines and running around a lot, but the steps are easy. I wanted to do something harder, but buzzkill Mike said the boys look dumb if the girls’ steps are too complicated. As if anything can make those losers look good.”
    “Mike?” I mumble around a mouthful of burger.
    “You know, Mr. Stark’s student teacher, the one with all the tats?”
    “Oh right.”
    “You’d think with all the body art, he’d be cooler,” she says. “But still, he’s kind of hot, right? In a weird sort of way?”
    “Gemma, he’s practically a teacher.” I don’t bother to hide my distaste. She’s in love with Ben; she shouldn’t be considering the hotness of other guys. “That’s gross.”
    She smiles. “Not as gross as crushing on Mr. Stark. I swear Hannah would lick his shiny bald head if she could.” I make a