Bloodlines (Bloodlines #1)(89)

I smiled. "Practically."

"Your brother should be on the team, you know. I've seen him in PE. He could be a star athlete if he bothered trying out for anything."

"He doesn't like drawing attention to himself," I explained. "But he'll probably go watch the game."

"Are you going to go to the game?"

"Probably not."

Trey arched an eyebrow. "Hot date?"

"No! But I'm just... well, not into watching sports. And I feel like I should stay with Jill."

"You won't even go to cheer me on?"

"You don't need my cheers."

Trey gave me a disappointed look as a response. "Maybe it's just as well," he said. "Since you really wouldn't get to see me performing to my full level of awesomeness."

"That is a shame," I agreed.

"Oh, stop with the sarcasm already." He sighed. "My dad's going to be the most upset. There are family expectations."

Well, that was something I could relate to. "Is he a football player too?"

"Nah, it's less about football itself than keeping yourself in peak physical shape. Excelling. Ready to be called upon in a moment's notice. Being the best on the team's been a way to keep him proud - until these tattoos started."

"You're good without any tattoo help. He should still be proud," I said.

"You don't know my father."

"No, but I think I know someone just like him." I smiled. "You know, maybe I do need to go to a football game after all."

Trey simply smiled back, and class started.

The day passed calmly, but Jill ran up to me as soon as I entered the locker room for PE.

"I heard from Lia! She asked if I could come by tonight. She's had regular practices with the other models but thought I could use a special session of my own since I don't have any experience. Of course, the thing is, I... you know, need a ride. Do you think... I mean, could you..."

"Sure," I said. "It's what I'm here for."

"Thank you, Sydney!" She threw her arms around me, much to my astonishment. "I know you don't have any reason to help me after everything I've done, but - "

"It's fine, it's fine," I said, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder. I took a steadying breath. Think of it as Jill hugging me. Not as a vampire hugging me. "I'm glad to help."

"Would you two like to be alone?" sneered Laurel, striding in with her entourage. "I always knew there was something weird about your family."

Jill and I split apart, and she blushed, which only made them laugh more. "God, I hate them," she said when they were out of earshot. "I really want to get them back."

"Patience," I murmured. "They'll get what's coming to them someday." Eyeing Laurel's locker, I thought that "someday" might come sooner rather than later.

Jill shook her head in amazement. "I don't know how you can be so forgiving, Sydney. Everything just rolls right off of you."

I smiled, wondering what Jill would think if she knew the truth - that I wasn't quite as "forgiving" as I appeared. And not just when it came to Laurel. If Jill wanted to think of me that way, so be it. Of course, my facade as a kindly, turn-the-other-cheek person was shattered when Laurel's shriek's filled the locker room at the end of class an hour later.

It was almost a repeat of the ice incident. Laurel came tearing out of the shower, wrapped in a towel. She ran to the mirror in horror, holding her hair up to it.

"What's wrong?" asked one of her friends.

"Can't you see it?" cried Laurel. "There's something wrong... it doesn't feel right. It's oil... or I don't know!" She took out a blow dryer and dried a section while the rest of us watched with interest. After a few minutes, the long strands were dry, but it was hard to tell. It really was like her hair was coated in oil or grease, like she hadn't washed it in weeks. That normally gleaming, bouncy hair now hung in lank, ugly coils. The color was also off a little. The bright, flaming red now had a sickly yellow hue.

"It smells weird too," she exclaimed.

"Wash it again," suggested another friend.

Laurel did that, but it wasn't going to help. Even when she figured out that her shampoo was causing the problem, the stuff I'd made wasn't going to come out of her hair easily. Water would continue fueling the reaction, and it was going to take many, many scrubbings before she fixed the problem. Jill gave me astonished look. "Sydney?" she whispered, a million questions in my name.

"Patience," I assured her. "This is just the first act."

That evening, I drove Jill down to Lia DiStefano's boutique. Eddie went with us, of course. Lia was only a few years older than me and nearly a foot shorter. Despite her tiny size, there was something big and forceful about her personality as she confronted us. The shop was filled with elegant gowns and dresses, though she herself was dressed ultra-casual, in ripped jeans and an oversized peasant blouse. She flipped on the closed sign on her door and then confronted us with hands on her hips.

"So, Jillian Melrose," she began. "We have less than two weeks to turn you into a model." Her eyes fell on me. "And you're going to help."