Seizure(12)

It was midday, and blazing hot, so I was thankful for the ocean breeze. The sharp tang of saltwater filled my nose. Seagulls circled over us, squawking. A pair of dolphins cavorted in Sewee’s wake. God, I love the sea.

“You look nice,” Ben said stiffly, keeping his eyes on the horizon.

“Thanks.” Awkward.

I was wearing the Katey dress by Elie Tahari. White, with golden metallic floral embroidery. Trendy, expensive, and not mine. Another designer number I could never afford.

What can I say about the grand southern tradition of cotillion? Defined as a social-education program for young people, it’s really a suffocating nightmare engaged in by elitist brats. At least, that’s been my experience.

We were supposed to be learning the fundamentals of courtesy, respect, communication, and etiquette, along with the art of social dance. Instead, silver-spoon prigs lounged around comparing price tags and munching paté.

Cotillion also presented endless wardrobe problems, and I lacked the necessary firepower. Kit’s insufferable girlfriend, Whitney Dubois, had so far solved the dilemma by borrowing dresses from her friend’s boutique. The accompanying jewelry—this time a sterling silver charm bracelet and matching Tiffany necklace—belonged to the salon-tanned wonder herself.

I hated playing dress up, but at these fêtes it was best to blend in. Even if it meant accepting Whitney’s pricey, stylish attire.

Blargh.

Ben throttled down to pick up speed. “How many of these events do you have, anyway?”

“Not sure. I think maybe two or three a month.”

As part of the nightmare, I was scheduled to make my debut next fall. Thanks to Whitney, my fate was sealed. I was doomed to rub elbows with the city’s junior elite not just at school, but also on my own time.

Double blargh.

As we shot across the harbor, passing Fort Sumter on the right, Ben kept a careful watch for larger vessels. Sewee is a sturdy boat—a sixteen-foot Boston Whaler runabout—but against a cargo ship she’d be kindling.

We reached the peninsula in just under half an hour.

“There’s your snob warehouse.” Ben pointed to the yacht club. “I’ll drop you as close as I can get without a trust fund.”

Wonderful. If this ticked him off so much, why offer me a ride in the first place? I didn’t want to be here, either.

Ben was being even more moody than usual. Sullen. Almost angry. I couldn’t understand why. If I hadn’t known better I’d have said he was jealous, but Ben Blue had zero interest in attending a lame cotillion party. So why the attitude?

My iPhone beeped, sparing me the need to reply to Ben’s comment.

Text. Jason. He’d meet me on the dock.

“That the blond meathead?” Ben asked.

“Jason’s not a meathead. What’s your problem with him anyway? He’s helped us before.”

Ben shrugged. “I’m allergic to jackasses.”

We glided into the marina in frosty silence.

As surreptitiously as possible, I glanced over at Ben. He sat in the captain’s chair, his long black hair dancing in the breeze. He wore his standard black T-shirt, cutoff khaki shorts, and a scowl that seemed permanently locked in place. With his dark eyes, copper skin, and muscular frame, he had the sleek, toned look of a jungle cat.

It occurred to me that Ben was an attractive guy, even when brooding.

Hell, especially when brooding.

“There’s the dork now.” Ben’s voice snapped me back to reality.

Standing on the pier was Jason Taylor. Tall and athletic, he had white-blond hair and sky-blue eyes. The Viking-god type. Pure Scandinavia.

Jason was Bolton’s star lacrosse player, and superwealthy—his family owned a ritzy estate in Mount Pleasant. He could’ve been an elitist jag, but his open, honest personality made him one of the most popular kids in school.

Basically, my polar opposite.

One of my lab partners from last semester, Jason inexplicably had taken a special interest in me. While flattered—and, frankly, stunned—I wasn’t sure if his attention pleased me or not.

Don’t get me wrong, Jason’s great. He’d step in when the cool kids mocked me or the other Virals. Still, he didn’t haunt my dreams or anything.

I should probably throw myself at Jason. Dating him would keep the Tripod at bay. Of course, that would mean being around them all the time. No thanks.

“Nice tie on Thor,” Ben said. “Guy looks like a cell phone salesman.”

One thing I did know for sure: Jason and Ben did not get along. I’d never understood why, but these two were oil and water. Every time I’d brought it up, Ben just changed the subject. Boys.

Was Ben jealous of Jason for some reason?

The contrast between the two could not have been starker. Night and day. Literally.

So which do you prefer?

The thought was startling. Prefer? Where did that come from?

“Tory!” Jason strode to the boat. “Ah, and Ben.” Tight smile. “Always good to see you.”

“Ditto.” Ben flipped a line at Jason’s head. “Make yourself useful.”

“Sure.” Jason ducked, but deftly caught the rope. “But why tie up? I assume you’re not staying.”

Ben’s scowl darkened. Jason didn’t usually go there.