Free Prophecy by Julie Anne Lindsey Page A

being called chap.
    My newfound personality disorder carried me to detention with hope. It was hard to be too upset about three days of camaraderie with Liam. Detention was held in the largest room on the second floor, though this time of year it was missing the usual inhabitants: the football team. The room was quiet and nearly empty. Of the two dozen desks, less than half were occupied. Liam sat near the back of the room. I took the seat beside his. He didn’t look up from the open book on his desk.
    The woodshop teacher sat up front, using his pocketknife to slice chunks off an apple. He sliced a piece loose, skewered it with the tip of his blade, and stuck it in his mouth, repeating the process with utter disinterest, until the apple was nothing but a core. I frowned. Outside of rural Ohio, metal detectors probably kept teachers from carrying knives, let alone brandishing them as cutlery. Snack gone, he used the knife to clean under his fingernails. I gagged.
    I leaned across my desk toward Liam. “Can you believe Kirk got out of this?”
    He turned a page in his notebook, making swift marks with his pen. One long arm lay over the desk between my eyes and his paper.
    “Were your parents mad?”
    His pen crawled to a stop. “No.” His solemn expression turned to frustration. He sat motionless for a long beat.
    I waited with rapt attention as he chose the right words for whatever was on his mind. When he started writing again, I huffed.
    I pulled Haunted Ohio from my bag and opened to the table of contents.
    “Was your mom mad?” he asked.
    Surprise jolted through me. I steadied my nerves a moment before I responded. Being near Liam put me on edge in a strangely exciting way.
    “A little.”
    “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” he mumbled.
    “You didn’t. She’s mad Principal Mansfield punished me. She’s big on taking responsibility for our actions, and she’s a dedicated feminist. Fighting over a girl is a hot button. Blaming the girl is like throwing gas on a fire.” I stopped. “Not that you were fighting over me.” I looked away, wishing for a rewind button.
    “It was nice to be someone’s protector for a change.”
    I didn’t look up when he spoke. He had been fighting over me. He’d admitted it, but what did he mean about being a protector for a change? As opposed to what? He seemed awfully, er large, to need a defender.
    Liam’s voice was soft, almost inaudible. “I meant what I said about being friends.”
    I struggled to put the syllables together. Friends? “I’d like that.” Very much. Too much. I smiled, looking his way again.
    “You probably haven’t noticed, but I’m not always very sociable.” Liam squinted as he spoke, giving his chiseled face an awkward edge.
    I mocked shock, shaping a little “o” with my lips and placing a palm over my chest. “No.”
    His cheek lifted slightly into a perfect crooked smile. “It’s true.”
    “Brand new information.” I gasped, drawing the shop teacher’s eyebrows into a warning frown. I leaned over my desk and pretended to read. When the teacher went back to cleaning his nails, I lowered my voice and turned to Liam.
    “Where’d you learn to hit like that?”
    He smiled, slowly turning his eyes on me. “I’m a boxer and I fence. Long arms come in handy, given the right occupation.”
    I remembered his long, steady strokes in the pool and checked the clock. Twenty more minutes until we were back in the water. I wanted Liam’s friendship almost as much as I wanted to be his friend. Swimming posed a great opportunity for both.
    Images of his strong arms wrapping me in an embrace replaced images of his fierce freestyle. I shut my eyes, thankful he couldn’t know my thoughts. What was going on with me? When I dared a look in his direction, he glanced away. He read for the rest of our detention and I laid my head on the desk, redirecting my thoughts. Liam was an enigma and I was hooked on the intrigue. One minute he built a