High - @((Y^!@ Allyvia (guided reading books .TXT) 📗

The Dealer

 

 

'Lucy Edwards is a peculiar creature,' Nix thought to himself as he watched her from afar. She twirled those dark strands around her finger subconsciously, a worn weathered copy of The Pact in hand. A depressing read on a sunny day made for an odd match. Lucy Edwards was an odd match. 

 

He stalked her, from beneath light lashes as she turned a page with the slenderest of fingers, her eyes darting to the next page feverishly. 'He gets out,' Nix thought, picturing that last chapter of the book as Chris opened the letter left behind by beautiful, pregnant, dead Emily. He mentally thanked his mother for forcing him to read 'something not created for horny teenage boys who have too much free-time'.

 

The autumn weather was something refreshing, as Nix breathed in the cool crisp air and watched that peculiar creature. She was a strange kind of beautiful, that kind of unique beautiful that made you want to stare and stare and stare. She looked like a wood nymph, with those dark features and the way nature seemed to surround her. She leaned against the trunk of a tree, which cast a dark shade over her and made that olive skin look like sunshine. He couldn't look away. Jesus, he was a creep!

 

"Hey, Nicky," Matt cried, throwing a French fry in his friend's face. Nix, blinking out of his trance, looked up, blushing when his friend raised a brow in interest. "Jesus, kid, I could've chopped off a finger and you wouldn't have noticed!"

 

Nix, wanting so badly to catch one more glance of Lucy, picked the fry off the grated table and popped it in his mouth, grinning when his friend grimaced. "Sorry, I was watching-"

 

Just then, Amy almost torpedoed into them, her eyes wide and excited. They looked like bright blue Christmas lights, the way they glittered and shone with animation. 

 

"Guys! Kingsley Abrahams just got kicked out of school," she cried excitedly, falling into an empty seat and helping herself to Matt's French fries. 

 

"What," Matt cried, his jaw dropping. Splatters of ketchup sat on his bottom lip, looking like blood. 

 

Amy nodded excitedly, her amber-orange hair bouncing with each head bob. "He got in a fight! Shit, we're out a dealer!"

 

Matt, covering her mouth with his hand, shushed her, narrowing his eyes and furrowing his dark brows in warning. "Say it a little louder and we might just have the campus police on our asses."

 

Amy, nodding embarrassedly, let her eyes wander to Nix. She took in that copper blond hair, and toned arms that drove her mad. His eyes were like melted Rolos, gold and brown and some shade she would never be able to place. A small smile tugged at her lips, which were pink thanks to the tube of Baby Lips that promised her smoother lips. 

 

'Not that he would ever notice,' Amy thought, her eyes still trained on the ever-oblivious Nick Keating.

 

The news of Kingsley Abrahams had traveled faster than wildfire, everyone buzzing with different versions of the story. Amy had heard from Jessica Marks, who had heard from Anna Fields, who had heard from Gage Petty, who had heard from a friend of a friend of Kingsley's that Kingsley was supposed to make a deal. Appearantly, the buyer was Eric Sanders-- the Golden Boy of Hamiltom High and Nix's football team mate-- who was too good for any drug Kinglsey had. At least, that's what Amy had heard. 

 

When Eric insisted the drugs-- Amy had heard it was anything from weed to tablets that were so bad, they didn't even have a name-- weren't good enough, Kinglsey snapped. Everyone knew he was higher than a kite-- Eric being one of everybody-- and yet Eric pressed the buzzed junkie until Kingsley snapped. 

 

Amy, hoping to catch Nix's attention, brought her fingers to Matt's hair. Running those manicured nails across his scalp, she hoped to look seductive and tempting. Nix didn't even blink. 

 

"Ames," Matt groaned, closing his eyes and smiling. Nix grabbed another fry from Matt's tray, grinning despite how the lovey-dovey stuff was getting old. Amy, admitting defeat, dropped her hand and let it fall on top of Matt's. She was a horrible girlfriend, she decided, looking into Matt's eyes. The blue color had nothing on Nix's Rolo eyes.

 

"So, when's he coming back to school? I'm already in need of a buzz," Nix asked, changing the subject. He had the perfect oppurtunity to watch Lucy, he realized, since Amy sat, blathering away and blushing every few seconds, at an angle where it looked like he was actually listening. 

 

His eyes focused on Lucy once again. Zoning out every word Amy uttered, he watched Lucy begin to tear up, shutting the book with a sigh he wished he could have heard. She had read the last page. He knew it, before she looked up and met his eyes, those greyish-brown eyes of hers glistening wet with tears. Nix, a smile tugging at his lips, watched in disappointment as she looked away, like a spooked deer. 

 

 She stood, gathering her garble of scattered pens and film strips and an old antique camera that always seemed to hang around her neck like a Christmas decoration on a tree. Lucy looked like a forgotten doll, her wild dark waves matted, her cheeks rosy and flustered, those grey-brown dark eyes wide. She only reached Nix's shoulder. The jeans she wore hugged every inch of those legs, making Nix swallow that saliva that had pooled in his mouth, and the baggy sweatshirt she wore probably smelled like her. It was official: Nix Keating wanted Lucy Edwards. Badly.

~~~ 

 

Lucy held the Polaroid up to her eye, smiling slightly at the mess of humanity in front of her. Kenna Grier smiled widely, unaware of the camera snapping her picture, as she was cradeled in her boyfriend's arms. They looked like Barbie and Ken, all smiles. Lucy had plenty of those photos. 

 

Her eyes scanned the courtyard until she found the two teachers, who were married to each other and forced to work in the same school, fighting. Lucy could almost hear them, over the chatter of high school drama and scandals and the whistling of the grass as the breeze blew through the courtyard, something about 'Henry having to be locked in a cage for eight hours a day!'. Lucy could only hope Henry was their dog. 

 

She clicked the photo, smiling as it slid out of the printer and into her hands. After a few moments, she glanced at the picture and smiled again. Mrs. Probasco, her thin blond hair in a ratty bun that was barely holding against the nape of her neck, held her mouth in a solid 'O'; creases sprinkled around her mouth and between her eyes. Her hands were blurs, moving fluuidly through the air before the picture could process. 

 

Mr. Probasco, balding and red in the face, was caught right when he began to tear his glasses off his face. Watery blue eyes reminded Lucy of the watercolors in her mother's studio; the checkered red shirt he wore seemed much more vivid, like a poppy in a cotton field. 

 

Lucy sighed, smiling at the picture, proud of herself. This, this organized chaos, was beautiful. Sure, they were angry now, but Lucy could picture them, hours later, snuggling in bed as Henry, their rat terrier, laid at the edge of their bed like a prince. 

 

She could spend hours out here, people-watching and snapping candid photos. One more, she decided, her eyes pivoting around the courtyard until they locked onto someone in particular. Now, he was a mystery. 

 

Rough, ragged, poor. Handsome, ignorant, and maybe a bit of a secret philanthropist? Sure, she had seen Nick Keating bullying a few of the freshman that dared to walk through the senior hallway, but she had also caught him shuffling all of his siblings to the elementary and middle schools, like a mother hen. So, the big bad football playing bully had a sweetspot? An Achilles heel? The thought was slightly silly, as Lucy began picturing him with an apron tied around his muscular hips and a hen's beak, scolding his little brother for cursing or putting his elbows on the table. 

 

She giggled to herself, before bringing her camera to her eye and pressing the button before she could stop herself. She caught a photo of him, his mouth stretched in a chuckle. His head tilted upwards, like he wanted the gods to hear his laughter, and the white pearls that posed as teeth were glinting in the sunlight. He looked... vulnerable, a happy sort. Lucy smiled at that note, before catching his eye as she set her camera on the ground. He offered her a crooked smile that he probably gave every girl with an IQ less of five, and Lucy rolled her eyes. So much for vulnerable.

The Misunderstood

 

 

Kingsley Abrahams sat in the chair outside the principal's office, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his expression bored. The typing tap tap of the secretary's fingers on the keyboard made him exhale loudly. Not even allowed his iPod, he had been listening to that stupid typing for the past twenty minutes. His father, wearing a business suit and tie, had been trying to convince Principal Tate to let him off with a week's suspension, but after campus police found his stash in his bookbag, he was looking at a month. Not that Kingsley was complaining. 

 

Hamilton High was the place stoners and emos went to die. They came to Hamilton, and after the first week they were wearing polos and reading Jane Eyre for fun. Except for Kingsley and Lucy, his stepsister, everyone at Hamilton looked like they stepped right out of a fucking American Eagle catalogue, complete with bitchy cheerleaders and football playing asswipes like Nick Keating and Eric Sanders. How... stereotypical. 

 

With another eyeroll, Kingsley flicked the lint off his jacket, only to look up and see Amanda. Was it possible for a cheerleader to seem so... appealing? Even Kingsley wanted to touch those long tan legs, which was saying something. With her blond, curled hair in a bouncy ponytail, Amanda Nichols was something out of the movies. 

 

'God help us all,' Kingsley thought bitterly, watching as Amanda began stapling charity food drive flyers to the push-board in front of the main office, catching a view from the large glass window, 'the blond has a brain. It's a sign of the apocalypse.'

 

Just then, as Amanda looked up at him and softly smiled, the dimples in her tan cheeks deepening, the principal's office door opened. Out walked Mr. Abrahams, adjusting his tie and smiling nicely at Principal Tate, and he stood in front of his son, a frown on his face. 

 

"We'll talk about this in the car," Kingsley's father promised, before shaking Mr. Tate's hand and leading his son, the way a shepard leads a stray lamb, to their car. Kingsley was already looking forward to the lecture he was going to recieve, and happily put his earbuds in. He was going to need them.

~~~

"So," Lucy grinned evilly, falling into the navy beanbag chair on the floor of Kingsley's