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Whatever that means, she thought.
Mr. Antony must have noticed her blank look. "You know, a throwback to the sixties, jeans and beads, an MTV hippie."
The way he said that made her suspect that he thought he'd been the real thing at one time.
"Oh, I know," the teacher added. "He was wearing this flowery shirt this morning - lots of yellow and blue. It made me smile. Listen, I've got to grab a sandwich. Close the door when you leave."
"Sure."
Luckily she'd brought her lunch with her. She relaxed on the warm windowsill and chewed on a piece of steak while she waited. Groups of kids were scattered across the quad, eating, talking, and sunbathing. Some of the boys had their shirts off, their flesh golden and slick as if they'd swallowed the sun. They were sweet to look upon. Her eyes lingered on them tenderly as she bit into her meat.
At the next bell, the shift changed. Kids reluctantly scooped up T-shirts, soda cans, and books, and hurried to class, while others hardly distinguishable from them took their places.
I'll be late to French, Vivian thought. It didn't matter, the teacher loved her. She had a perfect accent. Vivian sat upright, and her hands kneaded her empty lunch bag. She kept her eye on the arches.
Two young men walked into view. One had dark, shoulder-length hair and wore a flowered shirt. That must be him. Another boy joined them, then a girl. They stood laughing under the canopy, the shadows hiding their faces.
So that'd you, Poet Boy, Vivian thought, but she couldn't see him clearly. She wanted a closer look.
Why am I bothering? she asked herself as she went through the side door. Because I'm a pirate of the night and I want to see who's trespassing in my territory, she answered. But maybe he was one of her kind from some other pack. Or maybe he just knows too much, she thought. She laughed aloud at her melodramatic thoughts as she crossed the grass, and a spotty tenth-grader eyed her curiously. The sun was hot, so she peeled off her shirt to reveal the tank top underneath.
Shall I only have a look, or will I say something? she wondered. "Ooooh I loved your poem." Instantly she felt like playing wicked games. She put a sway in her walk. Maybe I'll make him look.
The boy to Aiden's left noticed her first. He was a burly blond with a good-natured face and eyes that glazed over slightly at her approach. Vivian couldn't resist, she winked, and his cheeks turned pink. It was so easy. The other kid, wearing some kind of funny lopsided haircut, kept on yakking away, but the girl looked over and wrinkled her nose. She was small, with close-cropped dark hair - the sort of girl that wore black stockings even on days like these. I'll put a few more runs in those tights, honey, if you look at me like that again, Vivian promised silently.
Then Aiden Teague turned around to see what had captured his friends' attention. The crystal stud in his left ear reflected the sun in a burst of rainbow, and his slow easy smile sent a shock through her.
She was staring, she knew, but his face was delicious. His eyes were amused and dreamy, as if observing life from the outside and finding it vaguely funny. He seemed languid, not intense like the Five - those jangly, nervy, twitching, squirming, fighting, snapping, sharp-edged creatures who demanded so much from her. She noticed his tall dancer's frame and his long-fingered hands, and the thought crossed her mind that she would enjoy him touching her.
"Do I know you?" he asked. He waited expectantly, a bemused look on his face.
Chapter 3
3
Vivian said the first thing that came into her head. "Um. I liked your poem in The Trumpet." I don't believe that stupid sentence came out of my mouth, she thought.
"Hey, thanks," Aiden said. He still looked puzzled.
He'd not a werewolf, she thought in dismay. How can I react this way when he'd not one of us? His smell of sweet perspiration and soap was purely human. Get a grip, girl, Vivian told herself. She didn't like this off-balance feeling. She put a hand on her hip and dared his dark eyes to try and drown her now. "Your poem was facing a print of mine. I was glad I wasn't next to some trash."
The blond kid brayed with laughter.
"Shut up, Quince," Aiden said, but he grinned.
"That was like some forest scene, wasn't it?" the kid with the funny haircut said. "Spooky, man."
The dark-haired girl put a hand on Aiden's arm. "Bingo's waiting for us."
"Hold on, Kelly." Aiden gently disengaged his arm, and the girl frowned sulkily. "Cool picture," he said to Vivian. "It's like you read my mind."
"That's what I thought about your poem," Vivian answered. Her response to him was disturbing but she wanted to explore it. She took his hand and turned it up, then ran her nails down the length of his fingers. He didn't resist.
"What are you going to do, tell my fortune?" Aiden asked.
"Yes," she answered. She slid a felt pen from her purse. Then, while he watched mesmerized, she wrote her phone number in his palm. On a whim she outlined it with a five-pointed star.
"What's that?" Quince said. "You Jewish or something?"
