I stood by my locker, fumbling with the lock, and trying to deposit the load of school supplies I had in my arms. The halls were crowded and noisy. Finally I was able to wrench open the sticky door and unload my stuff inside. Mumbling to myself I piled it all in and then slammed the stupid door shut. It echoed in the hallway and I spun around. My peers had fallen still and silent, looking towards the main doors at the end of the rows of lockers. A single guy was walking down the hall slowly and the student body parted to let him through. Rumors had been flying since the last week of summer break about the new kid in town. She'd heard somewhere that he had been to juvie and that he'd killed two people and was found not guilty by trial. And of course, they couldn't charge him for the second murder . . . double jeopardy. Girls had been whispering that he was just covered in tattoos and that he was silent and moody. Dangerous.

I watched him approach, awed, like everyone else. He towered well over everyone else in the hall, and for once I didn't feel like an alien. I wasn't so tall next to him. He was wearing a black t-shirt and dark blue jeans, and black loafers. They seemed out of place on his tall, lithe frame. My eyes worked up from those loafers to his waist and his shoulders to his head. He had short dark hair that barely brushed his ears and skimmed his forehead and a strong, square jaw, a sharp nose, and high cheek bones. I searched for a moment, looking for his eyes, and suddenly they locked with mine. He came closer, his eyes never leaving mine. I swallowed and stepped back until I hit my locker. A smirk flitted across his face before returning to it's original stoicism. It wasn't only the cool metal pressing into my back that made me shiver. His eyes. They were yellow. He stared for what seemed like hours, but it couldn't have been more than just a few moments. Whispers were spreading around me. Uncomfortable I looked down, hearing him snicker before he continued his walk down the hall.

Letting out a sneeze, I glanced around the hall. A few people close to me were staring, open mouthed. "What?" I asked, confused, sneezing again.

Angie, the freshman who had the locker next to mine, asked, "Do you know him?"

Confused, I shook my head, looking down the hall after him. "Never seen him in my life."

"Oh . . ." Angie said, sounding disappointed. "He's really hot."

"Yeah, I noticed." Understatement of the year. I definitely noticed. He'd been breathing down my neck! I sneezed again, and then again, and then again. I stood there by my locker, sneezing uncontrollably until the five minute bell rang. Calculus. First period. Lovely.

Mr. Howard was waiting behind his desk, shuffling through some papers and muttering under his breath. He had thick glasses, and stood sorta stooped, and liked to wear sandals and socks, but he was really funny, and a good teacher, so most people didn't really mind that much. "Morning Mr. Howard." My voice was sorta nasally, probably a symptom of all of the random sneezing. What the heck was I allergic to?

"Caleigh. Nice to see you. I'm a little surprised you're not in Mrs. Lands' class this year."

I smiled. "I'm not ready for advanced calculus, yet. I'll save that for next year."

"Did you have a good summer?" he asked, still looking through that stack of papers. "Dang it, where did I put that stack of syllabus?"

I sat down in my usual seat (I had been in Mr. Howard's pre-calculus class my sophomore year) as other students began to file in. "It was nice. I worked a lot though. I think . . . are those them, sitting on the podium?" I asked, pointing at a stack of white paper on the podium at the front of the class.

He turned around and spotted them. "Thank you, Caleigh!" He picked them up and smiled as the final bell rang. "OK, kids, find a seat, and make yourself at home. This is calculus. If you don't know what that means, I think you're supposed to be next door with Mr. Williams. He teaches pre-calculus."

I waited and a few, sheepish looking students, hurried out of the room. Mr. Howard started talking again. "Now, please, take one of these, and we can get started-" He stopped talking as the door to the classroom opened. It was him. I leaned down in my seat and tried to make myself unknown. "Mr. Wainwright, is it? You're late."

"Sorry . . . I got . . .held up." He didn't sound sorry at all. He turned away from Mr. Howard and his socks-and-sandals look, and scanned the room. I looked away, trying not to let his gaze catch mine. Too late. He took the empty seat next to me, of course. I sneezed.

Calculus was relatively boring. Mr. Howard explained the course outline, and we reviewed basic algebra for most of the class. I answered questions, if there were any, but mostly we just listened to the lecture. The new kid, Mr. Wainwright, as Mr. Howard had called him, was silent. I glanced at him too often, and each time I did, his eyes would meet mine, and he would smirk, raising an eyebrow, before nodding back to the board. It infurriated me.

By the time the first block was over, I was more than ready to find Abby Greene, who had been my best friend since kindergarten. We were supposed to have World History together second period. I left the math wing and slipped into the crowds, trying to lose myself, which, as it turns out, is not an easy thing to do when you're 5' 9" and taller than almost every other girl in your school. Being tall was nice, I didn't need to use a stool to reach something in a tall cupboard, or worry about not being noticed (sometimes that was a downside as much as it's a perk), and I don't really ever need to wear high heels, which is great, because they really aren't my thing. Ms. Hall taught World History. It was an optional class, usually taken by seniors who had slacked by not taking enough history credits to graduate, but I like History. It's all about memory.

Ms. Hall was fresh out of college, by three years actually. A lot of guys liked to take the class just to make fun of her passion for it. That, and they liked to check her out. I set my stuff on an empty desk and looked around for Abby. Sometimes it was hard to find her. She was short, with really curly red hair, and glasses. Her favorite color was green, but that didn't help me find her much,, because usually she was wearing cute little sweaters in varying colors. Pink, orange (not often), brown, black, white, teal. She was really into fashion.

"Caleigh!"

I turned at the sound of her voice. She was wearing a cute flowered skirt with a matching coral sweater. Her hair was down, and she was wearing flip-flops in the spirit of summer. "Abby! I was just looking for you!"

"Oh, my! Did you see the new kid? I just saw him in third hall. He's so tall."

"Abby."

"His eyes though, they're a little bit . . . unsettling. But he has nice arms . . ."

"Abby!" I said, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer. "He—He's in my first period class! He sits next to me."
"Oh."
"Yeah, and this morning . . . he-" I frantically thought of a way to explain the encounter. It had been frightening and intriguing. It left me . . . curious. Wanting to know more . . . "He cornered me. And stared at me. Just stared."

Abby's eyes widdened. "No wonder! You're tall. He's tall . . .It must have been one of those first sight things."
I sighed, turning pink. "Ugh. Abby, be serious for a moment, please. He makes me sneeze uncontrollably."

Abby giggled. "You just asked me to be serious and then you say that."

Frustrated I scowled at her. "C'mon, Abs . . ."

"Ok. Ok. The sneezing thing is a little weird. Maybe he has a dog?"

"I don't know . . ."

"It'll be fine. Don't worry."
I sat on my desk and stared at my dark blue jeans. Just then, Ms. Hall came in, carrying a stack of heavy, old looking books. "Morning, girls." she said, cheerfully.

"Morning." we answered in unison.

"These are for our second unit; Myths and Legends. Should be fun, huh?"

I nodded. "Sounds like it."

"You do the summer homework, Abby?"
"Of course, I did."
Ms. Hall looked at Abby skeptically. I didn't blame her. "Did you?" she asked looking at me. "I'm sorry, I've never had you before."
"I'm Caleigh. Caleigh West. Summer homework?" I jogged my memory, trying to remember if I had done anything besides swim and read during the break.

Ms. Hall opened a cupboard and pulled out a file. "I'll give you an extension, but only because you're Abby's friend." She handed me a packet of papers. "Two weeks, Ms. West."

"Got it. Sorry,"

More kids came in, most I recognized as seniors, but there were a few other juniors as well. Mostly girls, too. Abby and I sat down and Makenna Greer joined us. "Did you see-"

"The new kid?" Abby asked. "Yes! He has the hots for Caleigh!"

I groaned and blushed. "No he doesn't!"

Makenna winked. "Oh, do tell."

"They had a moment. In the hall this morning."

"Ugh. Abby, would you stop it! I don't want everyone to know."
"Girls, quiet please." Ms. Hall said, as the final bell rang.

"Caleigh!"

"Shh!" I hissed, turning my head back to the overhead.

"We're going to play a little game, a quiz over the summer homework. I'll need someone to pair up with Ms. West. It seems she didn't realize we had any. Mr. Louis, please."

My eyes scanned the room until I saw a hand in the back go up. I stood and made my way over, carrying the packet of papers. Brad Louis was a senior, a fairly cute senior. He was smart, got good grades, and played lacrosse. "Hey," I whispered.

"Hi," he answered, pulling up a spare chair for me. "You saved me."

"I—what?" I asked, confused.

He nodded to his left and I looked. The new kid. A desk away. Brad smiled. "He's not very friendly."

I nodded. "I know. So what was the homework?"

"Um, a couple books to read, and some questions. Not horrible as far as summer homework goes. I also had to read two plays by Shakespeare and then compare and contrast them using literary analysis in a fifteen page paper."

"Oh, yikes. Guess thats what I have to look forward to next summer . . ."

Brad smiled. I liked his smile. It was nice. "It's not too bad, if you like Shakespeare."

"Thanks for the heads up."

"Ok, class. We're gonna play a little trivia. The person who answers the most questions right will be exempt from this weeks homework." Ms. Hall said, starting the power-point and turning off the lights.

My classmates started to whisper excitedly. The prospect of no homework the first week back at school was really good incentive. I looked at Brad. "Well, good luck."

He grinned. "Thanks, but I totally expect to ace this. I won't lie."

"So, you're gonna brag about your superior knowledge instead?" I asked, trying to hold back a smile.

"I'm wounded, Caleigh, truly wounded."
"Ok. First question." Ms. Hall changed slides and I scanned the question. I didn't know the answer. I looked around the room to see who was actually playing and who was avoiding. I looked at the new kid. He was staring at the screen. Suddenly he turned and looked at me. In the dark room his odd colored eyes only seemed to stand out even more. My stomach flipped as his eyes dropped briefly from my face and then back up. Did he like what he saw? His gaze held mine longer, at least until I sneezed.

"Bless you," Brad murmured.

"Thanks," I replied, looking back at the strange boy two desks away. The empty desk separating us didn't seem like much. He was still staring me, but his brow was furrowed slightly, wrinkling his tan skin.

"Cole Wainwright, do you know the answer?" Ms. Hall asked, finally reveling his first name to me. She quirked a brow, without a doubt thinking that he had no clue what the answer was, as I did. His eyes left me and fell on Ms. Hall.

"Napoleon Bonaparte." he replied, shocking both of us. His voice was deep and like liquid, like water. As if he had practiced the phrase over and over. No hesitation.

"V-That's correct. Thank you." Ms. Hall put up the next question, no doubt a little flustered by the way Cole had answered the question.

"Wow." Brad murmured. "Isn't he the new kid? I mean, I wasn't confusing him with someone else, was I?"

"Nope," I said, a little too loudly, causing Cole to turn his head slightly in out direction. "He's definitely the new kid."

When my last class of the day, P.E., was over, I gladly left the school and heading out to my little jeep. It was old, and rusty, and didn't like to start when it was cold outside, but it got me from point A to point B, and really that's all I cared about. I unlocked it and threw my backpack into the back seat. I started the engine and turned up the radio. Classical. There was something about it that made me think. I threw it into reverse and started backing out of my space. Suddenly, two people rushed behind my jeep, pushing and shoving. I slammed on the brakes and put it in park. I got out and walked around the back. A small crowd had gathered.

It was Cole. The new kid. And . . . Brad? There was blood. "Stop!" I yelled, pushing past two girls. Brad didn't look like he was fairing too well. His nose was bleeding and it looked like he had a busted lip. "What are you doing?" I demanded, reaching out for Cole, forgetting in that instance that he towered over me. I grabbed his arm. "Stop!" I yelled, pushing on him. He turned and looked at me briefly, but I don't think he even realized who I was, because he pulled his arm back and sent a punch flying into my jaw. I reeled backward and fell to the ground, clutching at my burning face, tears welling.

Gasps flooded through the surrounding people and just then the administration broke through and pulled Brad away from Cole, even though both of them had stopped fighting. My eyes were wide as I stared at Cole. Monster. I thought. His expression flickered, bordering on something between anger and anxiety before settling back into his original scowl. Only then did I realize that I had said that out loud.

Someone came up to me, a few girls closest crowding around and trying to help me to my feet. I pushed them away and stood up, turned toward my jeep and got in. I started the engine, but I stayed there for a long time, letting tears seep down my cheek. I was stunned more than anything. I understood now, the rumors that had been flying. Cole Wainwright really was dangerous in the most literal sense of the word. I touched my cheek tenderly and winced at the pain before flipping down my visor and looking at my face in the mirror. An ugly welt had already started so spread across my skin. My honey blonde hair, which I had curled that morning for the first day of school, was a mess, and my mascara and eyeliner and dripped down my cheeks a little, drawing out the startled blue of my eyes.

A tap on my window drew my from my reverie with a jump. My heart pounding I looked out my window, half expecting Cole to be there. It was Mrs. Conway, the principle. I meekly rolled down my window.

"Caleigh, are you alright?"

"Yeah," I whispered, looking any where at her familiar brown eyes. "Please, don't call my parents. Or the police." Technically my parents were the police, at least my mom was. "I'm fine really. I was just trying to break it up. I didn't want Brad to get hurt . . . how is he?"

"Bradly is fine. Nothing major. Mr. Wainwright, however, has not made a good first impression with me."
I felt an odd feeling come over me suddenly. "Please, don't expel him. I'm sure there's an explanation." The words tumbled out of my mouth, but it didn't really feel like I had made them . . .

"The incident will be reported, and I'm sure your mother will explain what your choices are."
"Mrs. Conway, please. Really. I'm fine. I'd just like to go home."

She sighed. "Alright, Caleigh. Go."

"Thank you." I said, watching as she walked away, ordering students back to their after school activities. I remembered then that I was late for swim practice. On the first day. Coach would love that . . . Deciding that it really didn't matter, I pulled out of the parking lot and headed home, wondering how I was going to explain to my parents just how I had obtained the bruise on my face.

We lived pretty far from the school, twenty minutes on a good day, on a small amount of land surrounded by open fields of waist high grass and cherry orchards. The road home was a back road, seldom traveled, and curvy. I took the turns perhaps faster than I should have. I came around one of the sharpest and saw something in the middle of the road. It looked like a huge black dog. I slammed on the brakes and swerved into the other lane, trying to avoid the animal. It worked. I slowed down and then pulled over, getting out of the car I looked back at the dog. It was nearly the size of a great dane, but twice as thick. It looked at me, it's ears perked. It's yellow eyes seemed ot lock onto mine. I stayed by the car. Maintaining a good distance from the dog didn't help. I sneezed. And sneezed, and sneezed. Then, I got back in the jeep, hoping the odd looking dog wouldn't get hit by a car, and continued home. It was a good thing we didn't own a dog. My allergies would have spiraled out of control.

When I pulled into my driveway, I saw mom's patrol car parked outside the garage. Uh-oh. It seemed that Mrs. Conway had called the police after all. I got out of the car, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. I opened the side door, took off my shoes, and stepped in. Mom was at the counter.

"Honey! What happened? Mrs. Conway called me and said that there was a fight. Who on earth were you fighting?" She stood up and came closer. "Oh my. Caleigh Anne, what happened?"

"It's nothing, mom." I tried. But, anyone who has a mother or father who works for law enforcement knows that "nothing" doesn't work. At all.

"Caleigh." she said sternly.

I sighed. "There was a fight between two guys at school, and I tried to break it up, but one of the guys didn't realize I was . . . me."
"And you got hit?"
"Yeah."

Mom came closer and inspected my jaw. "Get some ice. It's gonna be a nasty bruise. Who was it?"

"Huh?" I asked, thinking about the moment that my eyes had met Cole's, that instance where he didn't recognize me as a friend. Instead, I'd become a foe. "Who hit you."

"Uh. A new kid." I answered. I didn't want to give any names . . . why was that exactly? I had a bad feeling in my stomach, that feeling I got when I was doing something wrong. The words weren't mine. But that was silly. Of course they were mine. I was saying them. Thinking them.

"What's his name?"
Uh-oh. Couldn't avoid that one . . . "Cole."
"Cole?"

"I—uh. I don't know his last name. I forgot."

"Oh sweety," she said, touching my cheek tenderly. "Get some ice and some advil. I'll take care of this before I go back to work."

"No!" the words were out before I could stop them. I slapped my hands over my mouth, my eyes widening. "I mean, really, it was an accident. I don't want anyone to get in trouble."
She sighed, running a hand over her dark hair. "Alright. Go get some rest. And finish your homework. I'll call Coach Brandon and tell him you won't be making it to practice tonight."

I nodded and went into the kitchen to get a bag of frozen peas and a towel. Then I went upstairs to my room. It was big, more than enough room for me. I'd always wondered if my parents had considered having more children, thus the large rooms, but it was just me and Ian, my older brother. He'd moved to Oregon two summers ago. I turned on my stereo and pressed the towel wrapped bag of peas to my jaw. It was throbbing.

I fell asleep early that night after taking an advil p.m., with the slowly melting bag of peas between my face and my pillow. It wasn't the greatest. It was a deep sleep, riddled with dreams that hovered on the edge of nightmares.

I was sitting outside my house, underneath one of the cherry trees, reading. It wasn't a very good book. Either it wasn't very good, or it was that I was restless. I couldn't focus on the book. I kept shifting on the grass and looking around. Suddenly a breeze picked up, swirling my curls around my face. Squinting, I tried to tuck the locks behind my ears, but the wind tugged them loose again. I looked around, noting the bend of the trees and saw something else entirely unexpected. Four rows ahead of me was a black dog. Huge and menacing. It stood, looking at me expectantly, staring at me with regal, yellow eyes. The dog lay down on the grass and put it's head on it's paws, it's eyes never leaving me for a second. Unnerved, I stood. As I did so, so did the dog. Frightened, I dropped my book and made for the edge of the trees where I could see my driveway, sprinting as fast as I could. But, I was not a runner. I was a swimmer, and before I knew it, the dog had leaped at my back and tackled me to the ground. I screamed and panicked, struggling under the weight of the dog, expecting at any moment to find his teeth sinking into my neck-

"Caleigh!"

I jolted out of my dream and sat upright in my bed. Dad was in my doorway. "Dad? What's wrong?" I asked, pushing my slightly damp hair out of my eyes.

"Honey, you were screaming. Like mad."
I frowned and shivered, remembering the dream. "It was just a nightmare. That's all."

He nodded. "Okay. Good night. Sleep well."

"Night." I said, laying back down and groaning when I realized my pillow was wet. "Stupid frozen peas." I muttered, pushing the bag onto the floor and flipping my pillow over so I could settle back down. I lay awake for several minutes thinking about the dream and the dog. It looked like the dog I had seen on my way home from school. Why on earth had I dreamed about a dog? Was it my subconscious acknowledging my allergies as some sort of fear? Deciding I would try and answer that question in the morning, after I had truly woken up, I closed my eyes and tried as best I could not to think about the dog or about Cole Wainwright.

I woke in the morning to purring in my ear and something heavy sitting on my chest. "Louie." I muttered, cracking my eyes open. Sure enough sitting on my chest was a fat, seventeen pound, orange tabby. "Good morning, Louie." I murmured, pulling my hands out of my blankets and reaching out to rub his head. Halfway there, I noticed something odd about my hands. I brought them to my face for further inspection. They were scratched and dirty. Like I'd been running and had fallen on gravel. "What the . . ." I pushed Louie off of me, ignoring his sharp yowl of protest, and threw the covers back to reveal my knees. They were scratched and scabbed over too. Had it happened yesterday, when Cole had hit me?

I thought about this for a few moments, still staring somewhat sleepily at my knees, until I remembered that I had fallen straight backwards onto the pavement, landing on my butt. Not on my hands, not on my knees . . .

Confused, I got out of bed and walked down to my bathroom. The clock on the counter said 7:45. Perfect. Just enough time to shower, get dressed, eat, and work out an explanation for the scrapes on my hands. I turned on the shower and then flipped the switches for the heat lamps in the ceiling. While I was waiting for the water to heat up, I washed my hands and picked out little pieces of gravel. The cuts didn't sting. Even when I washed them with soap. I peeled off my tank top and then my shorts, but something in the mirror caught my attention. I turned my back to the mirror and slipped out of my bra and underwear. Then I turned my head and looked. There were long red marks down my back, eight of them. Red and angry, they stretched from my shoulder blades to nearly my hips. Like the scrapes on my hands and knees, they didn't hurt.

Odd. I thought, as I grabbed a towel and slung it over the shower door. I stepped in under the hot spray and shivered. Goosebumps broke out across my skin. What in the world is going on? I wondered. I reached for the shampoo and pumped some into my hand and started scrubbing my hair. I felt something move down my leg, a feather light touch, yet it was steady and almost sharp. Letting out a yelp I lifted my leg and rubbed it with my hands. Nothing. No spiders. No worms. No bugs. Then right before my eyes a long red mark became visible, tracing from my thigh to my ankle. I screamed again. What was going on? How was this happening? Was I going crazy?

I rinsed my hair and didn't even bother to condition it. I wanted out of that shower. I wrapped a towel around my torso and barreled out of the bathroom. Dad!" I yelled.

"What is it, Caleigh?" I heard him call back from the den downstairs.

"Um," There it was again. That feeling . . . poking and prodding at my mind, putting words in my mouth. "Never mind. Sorry." I gaped. "Dad—something-is-wrong-is Mom at work?" I hadn't meant to say that either! Frustrated, I went back into my room to get ready for school. Something was really, really wrong.

I pulled on a pair of dark wash jeans over purple underwear and then a silky purple shirt. I glanced at my clock. 8:05. I was going to be late. Awesome.

I slid my feet into gray sandals and pulled on a stiff gray coat. My hair. Shoot. I ran a brush through it and ran downstairs. "Dad, I'm gonna be late. Can you write me a note."

"Cal, it's the second day of school." he said, looking up from his bowl of cereal.

"C'mon, Dad. Please."

"You sure you want to go to school with that bruise? You rmother told me what happened. You can stay home, you know."

I'd forgotten about the bruise. Remembering what had occurred in the shower, I told him, "No thanks. I have a . . . pop quiz today. Can't miss it."

"Are teachers really telling you kids these things? In my day, a pop quiz was supposed to be a secret." Dad said, pointing his spoon at me.

"Thanks, Dad!" I said, dropping a notepad in front of him. "I'll be right back."

"What's the excuse this time?"
I paused in the doorway of the kitchen. "Flat tire."

He nodded. "Okey-doke."

I hurried back upstairs and went into the bathroom. I quickly applied foundation until I thought that the bruise wouldn't be that noticeable, and then went back downstairs. I grabbed a granola bar, my backpack, and the note from Dad. "Bye! See you this afternoon!"

I was fifteen minutes late to math. Luckily, Mr. Howard liked me enough not to embarrass me in front of the class. I pushed open the classroom door and and stepped inside, hoping that no one would notice. I closed the door quietly and turned around to find all eyes on me. Blushing, I hurried to Mr. Howard's desk and handed him the note. "Sorry," I whispered. He nodded.

I looked around the room for an empty seat away from the one Cole sat in. All the seats were filled. Except one. Next to Cole. Cringing slightly, I made my way to the empty desk, sat my stuff down, and slid into the chair. I kept my eyes glued to the projector until they hurt and until I sneezed. People were whispering around me, murmuring about the bruise on my face. I was turning red. Halfway through the remainder of the class, I saw a hand slide a folded piece of paper across my desk. I looked at Cole quickly, but he was looking at Mr. Howard's notes, not me (thank goodness). I picked up the paper and unfolded it, holding back yet another sneeze. The handwriting was neat, but definitely male. Meet me in the parking lot. 10:25. CW. CW? Oh. Of course. Cole Wainwright. My eyes darted towards him and the same moment his flickered to mine. I gasped, feeling heat flood my veins briefly, before I forced myself to turn away. I could feel his eyes on me for the rest of the class. My thoughts surrounded the note that he had given me. The parking lot? 10:25? That was right after second period had started . . . no one would be in the parking lot. No one would be out of class.

Except us.

I shivered. I didn't like that idea at all. The guy was a criminal. A murderer. He had tattoos. He skipped class. He's smart, though. And good looking. And I'm sure there's an explanation for the rest . . . My mind was working against me. Part believed he was dangerous, and the other felt he was a curiosity. A normal person trapped in a different body.

I jumped when the bell rang, and picked up my notebook and pencil off my desk, dropping them into my backpack. I was about to turn around and leave when a shadow fell in front of me. I looked up into Cole's yellow eyes. I swallowed. "Y-yes?"

His eyes stayed trained on me. "Well?"
"Well what?" I asked quietly, knowing very well that he was talking about the note.

"Are you coming or not?" he asked gruffly, raising one hand to rub his neck. I flinched and then sneezed. He frowned. "Allergies?"

I ignored that comment. "No, I'm not going anywhere with you."

His eyes narrowed. "You can rethink that, you know."
I stood up taller. "I'd rather not, thank you."
I watched him, a muscle worked in his jaw. "Caleigh, you're making a mistake."
Blood flowed to my face and my heart seemed to freeze for a moment. "No, I don't think I am."

"Is there a problem?" Cole and I turned to look at Mr. Howard at the front of the class. He was watching us closely, but I was sure that he hadn't overheard much of the conversation.

"No, sir." Cole answered.

I wondered if he was mocking the teacher. Taking that chance, I grabbed my backpack and slipped around Cole's hulking frame. I was almost to the door when Cole grabbed my by the arm and swung me around. "Caleigh, please."

I searched his unnerving eyes for any trace of anger or deception. He seemed honest. The place where his hand touched my skin burned. My pulse was hammering through my veins and I felt like I would have trouble breathing. "Five minutes." I said evenly.

He smirked. "What I have in mind might take longer than five minutes."

Gasping, I pushed on his shoulder. "Knock it off."

His grip around my constricted slightly and he gave it was squeeze. The feeling made me want to cower. He bent his head down so his mouth was next to my ear. "Don't worry, Caleigh, I'll take it slow."

With that said there was only one thing left I could do to defend my honor (since Mr. Howard seemed to be conveniently ignoring us). I kneed him in the family jewels. And then, I booked it. I ran as fast as I could from Mr. Howard's room, all the way to Ms. Hall's. I got a lot of weird looks from my peers, but I didn't exactly care. I burst into Ms. Hall's room where Abby was sitting at her desk reading. "Abby!" I hissed.

She looked up, her brow furrowed. "Why, were you just running?"
I sat down to catch my breath. "Bit of a long story." I told her, glancing back at the door. "I think . . . I think I'm allergic to Cole."
Abby laughed out loud. "Cal, did you ever consider the fact that he might have dogs?"

I frowned and crossed my arms, pouting a little. "Well, there goes a good excuse to stay away from him . . ."

"I don't think he's all that bad . . . He's in my symphony class . . . he plays the cello, can you believe it? And, he's amazing."

The cello? Cole Wainwright, supposed murderer, bad boy with tattoos, played the cello? "Are you sure, Abby? Because that doesn't really fit his profile . . ."
"Yes, I'm positive. It's him." She went back her book for a minute. "Oh, Brad asked me for your number yesterday. I think he likes you."

I scoffed. "Uh-huh. Sure thing . . ." But, my eyes couldn't help wandering over to Brad's seat in the back. He was talking to some one I didn't know, probably another senior. He was kinda cute. Light sandy hair, about the same height as me, lean. Good sense of fashion . . . I stared at Brad until the final bell rang and Ms. Hall started taking roll. I glanced at the clock. 10:23. I couldn't help the nerves that sprang forward. My heart started pounded and I continually glanced from Ms. Hall's lecture to the door. At ten twenty-five, the door to her class room opened and Cole stepped in. "Sorry, Ms. Hall, but Mrs. Conway asked me to come get Caleigh."

I gulped. This was definitely some sort of ploy. A trick. I stayed in my seat until Ms. Hall said, "Well, Caleigh, what are you waiting for? Get going, I don't want you to miss any more of this class than we can help, alright?"
I nodded and stood from my desk without taking my backpack, and walked slowly toward the door. I could hear them whispering again. I closed my eyes tightly for a second, wishing they would just shut up. But they didn't. Once in the hallway, Cole grabbed my arm and began steering me toward one of the smaller exits into the back parking lot. "Would you stop it!" I demanded, pulling on my arm.

"You kneed me in the groin, Caleigh, you really think I'm going to let you go now?"

"It was payback. That's what you get for punching me in the face!" I snapped.

He pushed me out of the doors and I stumbled over the sidewalk, catching myself on a nearby car. "Let's take a drive, Caleigh."

He walked over to a shiny black SUV that reminded my vaguely of spy movies, and opened the passenger door. I stayed where I was. "Come on, Caleigh. You can run, but out here, I'm in my element."

What the heck did that mean? In his element? Was he also a cross country runner? I licked my lips and my eyes darted around, looking for a safe place I could hide. I turned and checked the door back into the school. Locked. There was no one around to see. The nearby classrooms had their shades drawn to keep the September sun out and their windows closed to keep their students from getting distracted. I looked in the doorway and under the eaves. The spot was blind. No cameras looked down on this area of the parking lot. No one would see. I felt cornered, like a dear being stalked by a mountain lion.

"I have a life to live, you know." I called to him.

He sighed and shut the passenger door, walking across the lot towards me. "I know."

"I have friends, and family, and I'm on the swim team. I could go to State this year. What makes you think that you can change any of that?"

He came closer and closer, until he was only inches away. "You're in danger, Caleigh, and I need to save you."

I laughed nervously. "My mom's a cop. I think she can protect me well enough."

"She works at night, Caleigh. Your father is a cherry farmer, how can he help you?"
I pushed him away. "How do you know so much about my family?"

"It's not hard to do a little research,"

I swallowed. How much else did he know? I held out my hands, to keep the distance between us. "You're creeping me out."

He smirked and then let his gaze drop from my face to my hands. His expression hardened. He grabbed my hands and turned them over, looking at the cuts and scrapes on my palms. "How did this happen?"

"Uh-" Would he think me crazy as well? "I don't know. I woke up like this."

His yellow eyes narrowed and that muscle began working in his jaw again. "Are there more?"

I nodded, pressing my lips together. "Yes."

"Show me." he ordered.

I dropped to the ground and began to roll up the legs of my jeans. I bared my peach colored legs to the knees. The scratches were still there, though the long red one on my leg had vanished. He knelt next to me and reached out to touch the scrapes. I shivered at the touch and closed my eyes. It felt sorta nice. Then I felt his fingers leave my legs and one hand covered my cheek gently where the bruise was. I flinched and opened my eyes. His forehead was still wrinkled and he stared at me with such concentration he could have been a statue. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Caleigh. I didn't want to."

I nodded before I realized I had. An apology, of sorts. "There's more." I told him, thinking of my back. I unrolled my jeans and he stood up, looking at me expectantly. I stood as well and turned my back to him, lifting my shirt to bare my back. I heard him hiss with anger. I dropped my shirt back down and turned to face him. "What's happening? What's going on?"

"Go back inside, Caleigh. Go back to class. I'll see you around." And, with that he jogged back to the black SUV and climbed inside. I stood there until the SUV pulled out of the parking lot and was out of sight, then I tried the door into the school, just on the off chance the lock had been sticky.

It opened, like a breeze.