Free The Dead Girls' Dance by Rachel Caine Page B

reminded yourself. What were you doing up?’”
    â€œTalking,’” he said. “Michael needed to talk.’”
    Oh. Guy stuff. Stuff Michael hadn’t wanted to share with the girls. Okay, fine, not her business. Claire hitched up her backpack and edged toward the hallway.
    â€œWhere are you going?’” Shane asked without lifting his head.
    â€œYou know where I’m going.’”
    â€œOh no, you’re not!’”
    â€œShane, I’m going . Sorry, but you don’t get to tell me what to do.’” Technically, she supposed he could; he was older, and in Michael’s absence he was sort of the owner and operator of the house. But…no. Not even then. Once she started letting that happen—or happen again—she’d lose whatever independence she’d earned. “I have to go to class. Look, I’ll be fine. Amelie’s Protection’s still good, and the campus is neutral ground, you know that. Unless I screw up, I’ll be okay.’”
    â€œIt’s not neutral ground for Monica,’” he said, and looked up. “She tried to kill you, Claire.’”
    True. Claire gulped down a hard little bubble of fear. “I can handle Monica.’” She didn’t think she could, but at least she could avoid her. Running was always an option.
    Shane stared at her with bloodshot, tired eyes for a few long seconds, then shook his head and flopped back against the couch cushions, arms spread wide. “Whatever,’” he said. “Call if you get into trouble.’”
    Something in his tone made Claire want to shed the backpack and crawl up on the couch next to him, cuddling close, but she straightened her spine and said, “I will,’” and marched to the door.
    Two hard, fast chills swept over her. Michael, telling her a firm no .
    â€œBite me,’” she said, shot the brand-new locks that Shane had installed, and exited into the warm Texas morning sun.
    Â 
    English class was boring, and she’d already read through everything in the curriculum, so Claire spent her time writing out her thoughts in the back of her journal. A lot of them centered on Shane, and Shane’s lips, and Shane’s hands. And curses on the fact that she wasn’t eighteen yet, and that it was a stupid rule anyway.
    She was still thinking about the injustice of all that after class, when she ran into trouble.
    Literally.
    Claire turned the corner, head down, and collided with a tall, firm body that instantly grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her, hard, backward. Claire nearly lost her balance, but skidded to a shaky and upright halt, bracing herself against the wall. “Hey!’” she yelled, more in shock than anger, and then her brain caught up with her eyes and she thought, Oh, crap .
    It was Monica.
    Monica Morrell looked polished and perfect, from her shining straight hair to her flawless makeup to the cute, trendy sheer top over baby doll T she was wearing. No backpack for Monica. She had a designer bag, and she looked Claire up and down, glossed lips twisting in disdain. Of course, she wasn’t alone. Monica never went anywhere without an entourage, and today it was her usual wing girls, Jennifer and Gina, as well as a hovering flock of hard-bodied boys, most of them athletes of some kind or other.
    Everybody was taller than Claire.
    â€œWatch it, freak!’” Monica said, and glared at her. And then started to smile. It didn’t lessen the menace in her pretty eyes. “Oh, it’s you. You ought to watch where you’re going.’” She half turned to her little gaggle of followers. “Poor Claire. She’s got a syndrome or something. Falls down stairs, hits her head, nearly burns down her house…’” She focused back on Claire as Jennifer and Gina giggled. “Isn’t that right? Didn’t your house burn?’”
    â€œLittle