Awakening (Lily Dale #1)(64)

Here, she’s found her way to every classroom with little trouble—not all that hard, considering that the two-story school has simple L-shaped hallways on both floors. She’s been assigned a homeroom and a locker, memorized her combination, and accumulated a stack of textbooks. She’s even seen a few familiar faces: Lena Hoffman, who works at the Lily Dale Café, has the locker next to Calla’s, and Willow York, of all people, has turned up in most of her classes so far.

When they found themselves sitting across the aisle from each other in health class first thing this morning, Willow acknowledged Calla with a brief smile, which totally caught her off guard.

Not that she expected Willow to stick out her tongue, but still. As Blue Slayton’s barely ex-girlfriend, Willow can’t be thrilled that he’s gone out with someone else. And Evangeline told Calla that Willow knows all about that. “Lily Dale is smaller than any small town you’ll ever see,” Evangeline said cheerfully. “Everyone knows everything about everyone.”

Right. And sometimes even before it happens.

Well, Willow has class, Calla has decided. She’s not going to make a big deal out of Calla seeing Blue. Good for her.

And even better for me.

Pausing in the doorway of the cafeteria, Calla lingers to read the posted menu. Sloppy Joes today, like Evangeline predicted.

She reads the menu intently, checking to see what’s on it for the next few days. Then next week.

Then, when she can’t stall any longer, she forces herself to walk into the cafeteria.

This is what she’s been dreading all day: the prospect of eating alone. Unfortunately her one friend, Evangeline, isn’t here. When they compared schedules in the hall after homeroom, they found that their paths cross only once a day: in gym.

As Calla crosses the threshold into the cafeteria, her heart sinks. Instead of the small round tables that fill the cafeteria back at Shoreside, there are long rectangular tables. Most of them are filled with people who have known each other since kindergarten. It’s going to be impossible for her to duck over to a secluded table alone and hide.

Is lunch even mandatory here? She definitely isn’t hungry, thanks to Odelia force-feeding her mush and bacon. She’s about to flee when she hears someone call her name.

Looking up, she sees Blue Slayton beckoning from a table filled with guys.

Hmm. Maybe she’ll stick around. She walks over, tossing her head a little to get her hair out of her face without being obvious.

“How’s it going?” Blue asks when she arrives at his side.

“Great,” she says, noticing that he’s wearing a long-sleeved jersey in a deep indigo shade that matches his eyes—and his name.

He wears that color a lot, she’s noticed, and she’s sure it’s no accident. He has to be aware of the striking impact. And his clothes are expensive. She can tell by the cotton fabric that looks as thick and soft as his light brown hair, which he might wear in a wavy and slightly unkempt style, but she knows that’s no ten-dollar barbershop haircut.

No, everything about Blue Slayton is expertly and deliberately pulled together. The result is effortless good looks that take her breath away a little every time she sees him up close.

“So you haven’t gotten lost yet?” he asks Calla, fork poised above a tray that holds two of everything: two sloppy joe plate lunches, two bottles of juice, two ice cream bars.

“Not yet.” She wonders if he’s going to eat all that himself, or if he’s planning to share with someone else. Willow, maybe?

“The only way to get lost around here is trying to find your way home if a blizzard blows in during the day,” comments the red-haired, freckled guy sitting next to Blue.

“Yeah, but that only happens, like, once a week in the winter, and so far, we’ve lost less than a dozen kids that way,” Blue says dryly, and everyone laughs.

He introduces Calla to the redhead—Jeremy—and to the other four guys, two of whom are named Ryan. They’re all on the school soccer team together.

“Calla’s living over in the Dale with her grandmother,” Blue tells them, and a couple of them ask her politely about where she’s from and how she likes it here.

As she answers their questions, she wishes Blue would invite her to sit down, but he doesn’t.

Well, that’s probably because he’s with all these guys.

Or maybe it’s because he’s no longer interested in you.

“Hey, Calla,” he says abruptly, “want to go out Friday night?”

Or maybe he is interested.

“Sure,” she hears herself say as her heart trips over itself. “That would be great.”

“Good. I’ll call you.” Blue drains what’s left of his open juice and crushes the plastic bottle in his fist before reaching for the second one.

She takes that as her cue to leave.

But Blue Slayton asking her out again is enough to ease the humiliation, five minutes later, of roaming the room with a full tray, looking for a seat that has empty chairs around it. She doesn’t want to just go and plop herself down next to anyone. That would feel kind of . . . bold.

But none of the open chairs has a buffer zone around it, and she can feel people looking up at her as she passes their tables.

She just has to sit down somewhere. Anywhere.

She looks around and her gaze falls on a striking girl with long black hair, porcelain skin, and a familiar face. Willow York again, and she glances up from a conversation she’s having with the girl next to her. “Oh, hi.”