Free Dirty Blood by Heather Hildenbrand

my
English book. “We broke up.”
    “I figured that much. What happened?”
    I straightened and stuffed my book into my bag before
facing her. “You mean besides the fact that his head has grown too
big for his body? Nothing.”
    She gave me a sympathetic look. “Are you okay?”
    “I am, actually. I thought I’d be more upset but
mostly I just feel bad that it might’ve ruined our friendship, you
know?”
    “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better. I was worried
you were just upset about the breakup. I almost came over after
school to check on you.”
    I tried not to seem relieved that she hadn’t so I
shrugged. “I was probably sleeping it off.”
    Angela’s reference to the previous day did weird
things to my stomach, but I tried to ignore it and fell into step
next to her, headed to class. I’d spent the entire night basically
wide awake and fending off crazy thoughts, like visions of training
with a Werewolf to learn how to fight Werewolves. Or of not
training, and being attacked by a pack of them in an alley
somewhere.
    And of course, Wes. The way he’d looked at me when
I’d gotten out of bed and the comments that might or might not have
been evidence of his interest in me. And then there was the weird
pull between us that only seemed to intensify when his eyes held
mine for a particularly long moment. Was I actually attracted to
him? Or was it all a product of simply feeling his animal
presence?
    The more I thought about it, the more I decided there
was no way he’d been flirting. Making fun of me? Likely. Flirting?
Not so much. I mean, I was pretty sure he’d been somehow involved
with Liliana. Which of course brought me back to the fact that I’d
killed somebody. The fact that the ‘somebody’ was also a
‘something’ made it a little easier to process but part of me felt
guilty enough to march right into the police station and hold out
my wrists for cuffs. All of it just added up to complete,
impossible, surreal weirdness; I had no idea what to do about
it.
    “Tara, did you hear anything I just said?” Angela
asked.
    We were standing outside the English room now. I
forced myself to pay attention under Angela’s scrutiny. “Sorry, I
guess I’m still a little out of it.” I would’ve felt guilty for the
lie I kept perpetuating about being sick, but the statement I’d
just made was actually the complete truth. I definitely felt… out
of it.
    “I said, Sam was asking if we wanted to go to the
mall and get dresses for the dance next weekend,” Angela said, a
little impatiently.
    As if the mention of her name had summoned her, my
friend Sam waved at us from across the sea of bodies that crowded
the hallway and began weaving towards us. “Hey guys.” Without
waiting for a response, she rushed on. “You would not believe what
Cindy Adams wore to school yesterday.” The first bell rang and Sam
ignored it. “Ohmygosh, it was this plaid homemade thing.
Hi-larious. I have a picture on my phone. Look.” She held her phone
out.
    “You weren’t even here yesterday,” said Angela.
    Sam shrugged. “I know, but Jenny Slater was, and she
has homeroom with Cindy so she sent it to me. I laughed for like
twenty minutes.”
    “You weren’t here, either?” I asked.
    Sam winked. “My Tuesday night was sort of
draining.”
    I shook my head. “Your social calendar makes me
tired.”
    “Which is exactly why I’m entitled to a day of
recuperating,” she said, flipping her hair.
    “Plus, Macy’s had buy one, get one on the eye shadow
I love.”
    I rolled my eyes and at her prompting, glanced at the
phone she was holding out. It was pretty bad. “Wow, nice,” I said
with a laugh.
    To be fair, Cindy Adams was the closest thing I had
to an arch nemesis. When we were in sixth grade, she and I had run
against each other for student president. I hadn’t even wanted to
do it, but the teacher hadn’t given us a choice; our office had
been assigned to us. Cindy couldn’t have been happier.