“Crystal,” Noah replied. Then he raised his voice. “Okay, guys. We have a no-go. That’s a no-go on the posters, buttons, and boards.”
I released him, and as he scurried down the hallway, I heard him yell one last thing.
“Proceed to Plan B.”
“Death wish,” Jack said, coming up beside me. “Clearly.”
About that time, I realized that due to the volume of the threats I’d issued to my brother, everyone had heard mesounding about as dangerous as I get. This type of behavior didn’t exactly qualify as flying under the radar and taking advantage of the cheerleader stereotype to convince people that I couldn’t possibly be anything more than I seemed.
The Squad would not approve.
“Uhhh … Go Lions,” I added. My audience let out a collective shrug and dissolved.
“How long until that hits the rumor mill?” I asked Jack below my breath.
“Seven-point-eight seconds,” Jack answered solemnly. “But don’t worry, Zee’ll come up with something more interesting for people to talk about. She always does.”
He was right. That was part of Zee’s job, orchestrating gossip that served our purposes and stomping out rumors that hurt them. Sometimes, Jack was so perceptive that it truly freaked me out. The only thing I was sure about when it came to Jack’s family was that Jack didn’t know what his uncle did, or, for that matter, what I did. Whether or not he knew the full extent of what his father’s firm did was up in the air. Of all the people who could potentially discover our secret, Jack was the candidate whose discovery would devastate our operation the most, and he was the one person most likely to actually sort things out.
And he was my homecoming date.
“I don’t know if Zee will be able to do anything about it,” I said, trying not to let him see that his comment had really rocked me. “It doesn’t get much juicier than a cheerleader-issued death threat.”
“Oh, come on, CDTs happen all the time,” Jack saidsolemnly. “Usually it’s over stuff like two girls wearing the same outfit, or someone telling someone else that a third person said they were a slut, but still, cheerleader death threats are old news.”
He was trying to make me feel better, and there was a chance he was right, but those stupidVOTE TOBYposters were still plastered all over the walls, and it was hard for me to be optimistic about anything with my own face staring back at me, reminding me that the world hated me and wanted me to suffer.
“But you know, Ev, if you really want them talking about something else, I could probably help you out.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Right.”
He took my words as a challenge, pressed me to a wall, and kissed me so long and hard that even once I knew we had an audience, I couldn’t pull away.
This was wrong. There was a conflict of interest here, and besides which, he was at the top of a hierarchy I hated. Forget that I was on top, too. I wasn’t the kind of girl to go weak at the knees just because someone was …
The most incredible kisser. Ever.
His hands moved from the side of my face down my neck and to my waist.
I hated him. I hated being a cheerleader.
I hated that I didn’t actually hate him or being a cheerleader. But most of all, I hated it when we stopped kissing.
“Miss Klein! Mr. Peyton! Perhaps the two of you should invest in a room?” Mr. Corkin pushed to the front of the crowd that had gathered around the two of us while I’d been lost in my own thoughts and Jack’s lips.
“I don’t suppose you’d know where we might get one?” Jack inquired, his face a mask of civility, his tone overly polite.
Mr. Corkin sputtered.
“No?” Jack said. “In that case,” he flicked his eyes over to mine, “maybe the two of us should go to class?”
“Jack Peyton is HOT!” someone from the audience yelled.
“Toby Klein is HOTTER,” a male voice argued, and I almost went into an epileptic fit of disgust at both the words and the tone.
“Now, now,” Jack said, raising his hands. “Don’t be ridiculous. Mr. Corkin is clearly the hottest.”
Corkin turned bright, bright red, and I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
