Fearless The King Series Book One - By Tawdra Kandle Page 0,5

afternoon didn’t hold any real surprises. I liked my History teacher right away; he was an older man with a wickedly dry wit. I knew his class would be a challenge, but at least I wasn’t going to be bored.

Math was a different story. Anything with numbers was an anathema to me. The teacher didn’t seem too bad; she was young and energetic, and assured me with a snap of her fingers that I would “catch up just like that!” I didn’t share her optimism, but I smiled and nodded anyway.

I recognized some faces from my morning classes in History and Math, and some of them even nodded to me vaguely. I wasn’t exactly thrilled to see that Nell was in my History class. This time she was on her own, with none of the girls from Science or lunch surrounding her. She sat aloof, her eyes forward, and she didn’t even blink when I walked past her to my seat. I made a concerted effort not to pick up any thoughts or feelings from her direction.

I lingered for a few extra minutes at my locker, pretending that I was searching for a book. I didn’t even admit to myself that I was hoping to see Michael again. But when someone tapped me on the shoulder, my heart did give a little leap, and I turned expectantly.

But it was not Michael. My Chemistry teacher, Ms. Lacusta, stood behind me, her eyes bright and somehow knowing.

“Hello, Ms. Vaughn. And how was your first day in King?”

I frowned. I couldn’t hear anything coming from the teacher’s mind, just some odd kind of static. It made me dizzy, as though I had expected solid ground and instead had stepped into emptiness.

“Uh—good. Thanks. It was good.”

Ms. Lacusta smiled, and a chill snaked down my backbone.

“I’m glad. I think King will prove to be very interesting to you. If you need anything—any help in adjusting—please, don’t hesitate to come and see me.”

I didn’t know how to answer, so I just nodded and stuttered my thanks. After a moment, Ms. Lacusta turned and glided away.

That was weird, I thought as I slammed my locker door and headed toward the parking lot. I’d heard of involved teachers, but there was just something a little off about that woman. I shivered even as the mid-afternoon sun beat down on me.

My mother had parked near the front of the student lot. As I walked toward her, squinting in the glare of the sun, I picked up a loud thought at the same time that I heard my name.

“Hey, Tasmyn!” A light blue older model car slid up alongside me. It was a convertible and the top was down. Michael smiled up at me from the driver’s seat.

“Hi,” I answered. From across the parking lot, I could feel my mother’s shock and trepidation and from the car, I could feel Michael’s warm interest. It was like being pulled in opposite directions.

“Did you have a good afternoon?” Michael’s eyes were hidden by sunglasses, but I could just imagine the kindness there.

“Um, yes, I did. How about you?”

He shrugged. “Not bad. So, your mom’s here?”

I gritted my teeth and nodded. “Yeah, she’s over there.” I waved vaguely in her direction and struggled to save myself from total humiliation. “She doesn’t usually drive me to school, but since it was my first day here—and I didn’t know how long it was going to take—”

“Hey, it’s cool! My mom or dad drove me to school for years. We live too far outside of King for me to walk. And then my sister drove me once she got her license.”

“But now you’ve got your sweet car.” I touched the door. “It’s—is it an antique?”

Michael slapped a hand to his heart and feigned a look of horror. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what kind of car this is.”

I felt the flush returning to my cheeks. “I’m not much of a car expert.”

“Well, let me educate you. This, my dear, is a 1965 Mustang, the best car that ever rolled off a line in Detroit or anywhere else.”

“It’s… nice.” I knew I sounded lame, but I couldn’t think of anything else. The pressure of knowing my mom was watching this whole scene unfold was making me panic.

“Nice.” Michael rolled his eyes. “Let me take you for a ride soon, and I bet I can get more than ‘nice’ out of you.”

“Sorry.” I glanced over my shoulder at my mother, who was sitting with her hands folded