Page 12 of Killer Confections
“How are you feeling?” I ask, keeping my voice low so no one can hear us. “Your wounds are looking better.”
He seems surprised by my question, blinking before he continues to spin the ball. “I’m fine.”
I purse my lips, reading his boundary, but not liking that he won’t divulge further. He’s a tough nut to crack, but that only makes me more interested in finding out what he’s hiding.
Coach Andy blows the whistle, gathering everyone’s attention as he announces the dodgeball game. He chooses two captains, Trevor, a tall and slender guy who plays junior varsity basketball and Dalton, a short, dark-haired boy who’son the debate team.
“Pick your teams and their replacements,” Coach Andy says as he steps off the court.
Dalton’s eyes scan the crowd and I flinch when they zero in on me. He’s tried to hit on me a few times in the last week, following me after Home Economics since the debate team’s practice room is right across the hall.
He isn’t a bad-looking guy. I just really don’t want everything I say to lead to an argument. Dalton is strict with his elective. He basically breathes debate, down to the free-time he spends doing mock trials…with himself.
“Loxley!” He shouts. “You’re on my team.”
I grimace, but plaster on a smile. Until a wall steps in front of me. I look up at Atlas, a questioning brow quirked.
He peers down, his glacier eyes intense. “Is he bothering you?”
I get so lost in the roaring oceans that stare back at me I forget all about Dalton. “Who?”
The boy before me scowls. “Don’t pretend. If he’s bothering you, I’ll handle him.”
Handle him?
“Wait, what are you going to do?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t think you would like it if I told you.”
I softly gasp.
He’s going to fight Dalton?
Over me?
A strange mix of emotions blossoms in me. One is anxiety. I’m a pacifist and don’t believe situations should be handled with fists. But the other is… satisfaction.
This boy, who I met three days ago, would hurt someone who’s bothering me. He’s angry on my behalf, and I don’t think I’ve ever experienced that before. It feels good to know someone has my back since I have a hard time sticking up for myself.
But that doesn’t make fighting right.
Atlas turns, his expression deathly calm as he findsDalton in the crowd.
Oh, crap. Do something, Loxley!
I quickly reach out, grabbing Atlas’s bicep and falter in my scolding at the muscles I feel under my fingers. He looks big and imposing, but he’s still growing into his height, making his arms and legs seem thinner than what they are. But there’s no mistaking what I feel under my fingers.
“No more fighting,” I rush. “If we’re going to be friends, you have to stop getting into fights. I don’t like it.”
His brows lift, and for a moment, I think he’s going to laugh at me. Then he does the complete opposite.
“Sure,” he nods. “So, we’re friends then?”
“I guess we are,” I smile.
Atlas untucks the ball from his arm, tossing it back and forth again. “I haven’t seen you around before. Did you just move here?”
“I did. I lived in Manhattan.”
