Push: The Game: Book 2 by Eve Silver

Author:Eve Silver [Silver, Eve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-06-10T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I BEAT JACKSON ON OUR LORD OF THE FLIES ESSAY FOR MR. Shomper, an A to his A-. He takes it in stride, vowing to beat me next time.

“Seriously? I worked on mine for weeks, outlining my arguments, planning every paragraph,” I say. “You banged yours out the night before it was due.”

“You have a problem with that?” he asks, his arms crossed over his chest, his shoulder propped against the doorframe of our English class, his black-on-black Oakleys hiding his eyes.

“No problem. I’m still the one with the better grade.” I sashay past him, my grand exit ruined when he lets out a low whistle and catches up to me to whisper, “I love watching you walk away.”

“Me? Or a certain part of my anatomy?”

“Anatomy,” he says and, when I shoot him a look, continues, “Hey, I’m all about education.” Then he slides his fingers into my back pocket, grabs my hand, and guides my fingers into his back pocket, and we walk down the hall, appreciating each other’s . . . anatomy.

I haven’t told him about the nightmare or the now-healed burns I woke up with. Maybe I think it’s too weird or crazy or strange. Maybe I don’t want to tell him I’m dreaming about his dead sister. I don’t know how it would make him feel and I don’t want to hurt him. I do know the marks are gone now, as if they had never been, and there are a million ways I could have hurt my shoulder without realizing it, ways that don’t involve Drau weapons and the game.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

A couple of days later, I’m heading to the caf when I see Jackson, fingers curled over the door of an open locker, head bent as he talks to Kathy Wynn. She hands him a folded slip of paper, closes her locker, and scurries up the hall to where the Queen Bee and her friends are waiting. Marcy smiles at one of them and nods, her gaze locked on Jackson as Kathy says something to her.

Guess I know why they’ve been hanging out at the picnic table after school whenever Jackson decides to run laps with Luka.

Marcy tosses her hair back over her shoulder, taking her time, running her fingers through the shiny strands. Her teeth catch her lower lip. Her eyes never leave Jackson’s face.

In health class last year we had to break into groups and discuss self-esteem and the media. Marcy was pretty frank in her self-assessment, saying that she isn’t exactly pretty. She claimed her eyes are too small and too close set, her nose pointed, her lips thin. She wasn’t fishing for compliments; it was more of an explanation of why she didn’t try for the career in modeling her friends were always saying she should go for.

Pretty or not, between hair and makeup and clothes, she knows how to work it, and she does—not too much skin, not too much makeup. Just enough.

And Marcy’s a girl who knows what she wants and never fails to get it.

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