Out loud, I censored myself. A little. “Well, if it isn’t … you.”
“It is indeed me,” he said.
I couldn’t stand the look on his face. “Congratulations,” I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice. “It must be a great honor.”
He broke into a grin then, and it changed his face in a way that I had to admit wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
Jack milked that gorgeous smile for all it was worth. “You going to the God Squad party tonight, Ev?”
Ev. Short, I had to assume, for Everybody-Knows-Toby.
“Of course she’s going,” Lucy answered on my behalf, her voice as bright and bubbly as ever. “She’s on the squad.”
“I’ll be there,” I said, and the thought of the party—loud music, low-cut jeans and lower-cut tops, alcoholic beverages served from large and suspect containers that I wouldn’t touch with an eighty-foot pole—made me physically grimace.
“You’ll be there under protest.” Jack interpreted my scowl.
“Why would I protest?” I asked dryly. “I’m a cheerleader, aren’t I?”
Jack raked his eyes up and down my body. “That shirt used to have sparkly things on it, didn’t it?” he asked, amusement playing around the corners of his mouth.
Postmakeover, I might have looked like Malibu Toby, but Jack Peyton saw straight through it.
At least somebody did.
Jack took my silence as an admission of guilt, and he grinned again. “You know, Ev,” he said, “a little sparkle never hurt a girl.”
“Bite me, Peyton.”
“Love to,” he said. “Does that mean we’re on for tonight?”
The other girls gawked at me. I’d done more or less nothing but insult him, and he’d asked me out. I was a little suspicious that my new look might have had something to do with it—I’d been insulting (not to mention physically assaulting) guys my entire life, and none of them had ever asked me out, with the not-so-notable exception of Noah’s friend Chuck.
I was too busy pondering this turn of events to answer Jack, and someone (my money was on one of the twins, who’d arrived just in time to put in an appearance and pick up on the fact that I’d defaced my shirt) kicked me sharply under the table.
“Ow!” I shrieked.
“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Jack said. “Pick you up at seven.”
With that, he stood up and ambled away from our table. As soon as he was gone, four other guys leaned in my direction, and one of them moved his hand toward me. Given the look on his face and the current trajectory of the aforementioned hand, I inferred that for some incomprehensible reason, he was moving to rest his hand on my thigh.
Calmly, I reached for a fork someone must have left on the table the day before and held it, poised for action, as I met Thigh Guy’s eyes. “Word of advice,” I told him. “Don’t go there.”
He must have read the intention to draw blood in my eyes, because he quickly pulled his hand back.
“Everybody-Knows-Toby,” Thigh Guy said, giving me an awed look without ever completely removing his gaze from the deadly fork in my hand. “No wonder.”
And that was the exact moment when threatening bodily harm became acceptable flirting practice at Bayport High. Overnight, I had become one ofthose girls,and the rest of the girls at our school had begun taking their cues from me.
“Chip, if you try to look down my shirt one more time, I’m going to have to hurt you.”
Chip, student body president and generic hottie, grinned. “Would you please?” he asked. The rest of the guys grinned lecherously at Chip’s wit.
What was a girl to do? I kicked him in the shin, and not one of the other cheerleaders glared at me. They were too busy trying to figure out how I’d managed to get a date with Jack “Unattainable” Peyton in under two minutes.
Chip grabbed his smarting shin, the rest of the guys started laughing, and I grinned. As much as I hated to admit it, a girl could get used to this.
CHAPTER 23
