Teen Frankenstein (High School Horror Story #1)

He snatched his hand back to his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Victoria. I didn’t mean to.”

I cupped my eye like I was a pirate, but when I looked at him through my other eye, the one that wasn’t streaming tears down my face, he immediately switched to staring at the floor. I stanched the flow of tears and wiped my cheek. Adam didn’t so much blush as go splotchy around the neck.

“Adam,” I said. “I have seen you in your boxers.” The way that this was related to the kiss was so obvious to me it seemed beyond the need for explanation.

Adam methodically picked up each of his books without glancing at me once before standing. I followed, adding a single notebook to his pile. He stacked them in his locker.

I tilted my face to the ceiling. “I’m sorry I tried to make out with you!” I said, shaking my fists. The space around me fell to a hush. Heads swiveled. Adam’s eyes bugged. I stepped in closer. “I thought you would feel something. That’s the only reason I did it, and I promise not to do it again.”

“It felt funny.”

“Right. Off the list. I’m your creator. Strictly your creator. We’ll think of something else. Something better.”

“Like food?”

I pushed him toward the cafeteria. “Is that all you ever think about?”

The lunchroom stank of French fries and pepperoni pizza. We got both, and Adam got mashed potatoes and gravy, which he’d now at least learned to use a fork to shovel in. We met Owen at the end of the line, where he handed me an extra Diet Coke he’d snagged from the vending machine.

“Thanks,” I said, falling in alongside him to walk back to our usual lunch table near the row of overflowing trash cans.

“Wait,” Adam called. Owen and I both turned, and I was surprised to find Adam still lingering several feet back. I felt a question mark form on my face. “You said we could eat with them, Victoria?”

“You did?” Owen asked.

“I did.” I groaned. “A moment of weakness.” I tilted my head and jutted my lower lip. “But wouldn’t you rather have a root canal instead?” I asked.

“No.” As usual, he didn’t get the joke. Spending time with Adam was like bombing a stand-up routine in a comedy club night after night.

I closed my eyes and counted to three. “You coming?” I asked Owen.

He raised one eyebrow. “I think I’d prefer to see about that root canal. You go.”

I scowled but followed Adam to the other table, one that was nowhere near the trash cans.

He pulled out my chair for me to sit. Paisley stopped and set her fork down in the Tupperware salad bowl she’d brought from home. She gawked at Adam. “Well, isn’t that refreshing.” She turned and smacked Knox in the shoulder. “When was the last time you did that for me, jackwad?”

Knox stuck his arms up in a cross, shielding himself. “Relax, woman. This isn’t the fifties.” He tossed his head, and his shaggy hair swooped to the side.

She stabbed her fork into a pile of leafy greens. It was always difficult to tell whether Knox and Paisley loved or hated each other. They’d been dating since the eighth grade and were known for loud fights in the hallway that featured slamming locker doors and a thesaurus full of synonyms for male and female genitalia. Afterward, Paisley would brag about the expensive makeup gifts Knox bought for her. A gold ring. A new phone cover. A steak dinner.

I scooted in my chair. The screeching it made sounded dangerously close to passing gas. I flattened my butt against the seat, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. But Cassidy was busy eyeing my pizza.

I glanced at her and then the pizza. “Uh, do you want some?” I asked, pushing the plate in her direction.

Cassidy jolted to attention. She licked her lips. “No, sorry, I brought lunch.” She pushed the plate back in front of me and pulled out hummus and a ziplock baggie full of carrots.

“Really? Because world hunger is an issue very near and dear to my heart.” I pressed my palm to my chest.

Catching our conversation, Paisley smirked.

Cassidy snapped off a bite of carrot. “World hunger, huh? You sound like a Miss America contestant. I guess there’s a pageant girl in all of us.” When I looked blankly at her, she continued. “Former Little Miss Atascosa County at your service.” She sat up razor straight and interlocked her hands on the table. “If I had one wish,” she recited, “it would be for world peace and to end hunger for little girls and boys everywhere.”

“That’s two wishes,” I said.

She relaxed her posture and waved a hand. “Please, at eight years old, I was better at math than all the judges combined. I wouldn’t have done pageants at all, but the winners get scholarships that my mom put into my college fund.” She shrugged. “Hard to pass up.”

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