Grown(13)

It’s a good story.

I guess.

Guess?

Idk. Bella seems kinda like . . . like she doesn’t have a backbone.

Hm. What do you mean?

It’s like . . . she lets this super-old creepy vampire come stalking into her life. Purposely puts herself in danger, risks her life for a guy who should know better and leave her alone.

LOL! Well when u put it like that. So why are u reading it?

Who doesn’t like a good love story?

I know I do

Korey Fields and I share the same taste in music and in books. I want to somersault through the air.

Yo, you ever read 50 Shades of Grey?

My stomach clenches. Something that always happens when he asks questions that feel outside my box.

No. I’ve heard of it though.

It’s a good story. You should read it.

Isn’t there . . . some crazy sex stuff in it?

LOL! Think of it more like Twilight fan fiction. I want you to read it. It’ll give us something to talk about next time I see you.

He already is planning to see me again. My heart spins like a top inside my chest.

OK.

Take notes. Think you’ll have it done by this weekend?

Probably not. I have a Will and Willow event this weekend.

You’re in Will and Willow? LMAO! I should’ve known!

I’m nothing like them! Really, I only joined when we moved to Westchester.

I’ve heard some wild things about those Will and Willow girls.

Like what?

Like they into freaky shit. Shit they don’t want they rich parents knowing about.

That’s not true.

At least I don’t think so. I can’t imagine Aisha or Malika being like that at all. Especially Malika—she’s allergic to fun. If . . . that qualifies as fun.

So what’s this event u got going on?

It’s a conference at this hotel in Jersey City. We have meetings and stuff, then there’s a big dance.

U like dancing?

Sometimes.

U don’t sound excited about it.

Whoa. Can he really tell . . . just from a text message?

I guess I get a little . . . uncomfortable, around all these rich kids.

I feel u. Well, if u need someone to talk to, u know I’m always here.





Chapter 15


W&W Cluster




The DJ’s hectic lights twirl across Shea’s face as she sways on the dance floor. She hand-altered that red top herself, letting her belly button wink at the boys circling her like prey. Even the little makeup she wears appears expertly applied, thanks to the countless YouTube beauty-bloggers she and her friends worship.

Shea’s first Will and Willow teen event. She is in her element, chameleoned with little effort. It’s baffling how she can melt into a picture yet somehow I’m cast aside, the unwanted piece of furniture in the room.

It’s not that I didn’t want to dance, but no one asked. Those thoughts start swimming against the current. If my hair was longer, if I was skinnier, if I had better clothes . . . they wouldn’t ignore me.

Wish Gab was here. Really, I wish Korey was here.

I check my phone for the tenth time. No new messages from Korey. And no new activity on Instagram or Twitter. His distance pinches like a bruise on the inside of my forearm. A bruise no one can see but I feel with every move.

“Yo, Enchanted,” Creighton says, bumping my hip. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Why you ain’t out there with everybody else? Your sister is having a good time.”

I glance at Shea, the brightest spot of joy in the room.

“She deserves it,” I mumble.

“What was that?”

“I said I’m just not into this DJ. His set is all over the place.”

Creighton laughs, tugging at my arm toward the dance floor. “Man, you hard to please! Come on!”

Go along to get along, I tell my muscles so they’ll loosen their gripping hold.

He waddles behind me, arms wrapping around my waist. I want to squirm away, but Shea is watching, and I want her to think I’m OK. I want her to look up to me; I’m supposed to be the older sister, the cool one.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you, you been looking good lately.”

His sweaty scent and clammy hands are distracting. He pulls me to a wall in the shadows where other kids are dancing. Or I shouldn’t say dancing—more like boys leaning back and girls grinding on them like they’re trying to find a seat in the dark.

Creighton doesn’t think I’m going to do that, right?

But he does. He assumes the position, backing me into him. His hands feel like raw chicken cutlets rubbing my arms.

“Um, nah,” I mutter, trying to pull away, but his grip is tight. His cutlet hands reach down my dress to my bare thighs. I slap his hands away the first time. Then again.

“Cut it out,” I say.

“What? Girl, come on.” He yanks me hard, my head whiplashes.

“Are you stupid?” I pop at him, then storm out the ballroom, fuming, not caring who sees.

I’m at the elevators when I hear his hard-bottom shoes stumble behind me.

“Oh God, what do you want?”

The elevator door opens and he follows me in.