Fearless The King Series Book One - By Tawdra Kandle Page 0,86

eyes were locked. As the bell rang, Mrs. Cook raised her voice, telling us to finish the assignment for homework. I finally stood, closing my notebook and gathering my books, but keeping my gaze on Amber, who hadn’t moved at all. Before I left, I touched her shoulder lightly.

“There’s always a way out,” I murmured to her. “I’m here if you need to talk.” When I turned to leave the classroom, she was still sitting there.

I was later than usual to lunch, and as I went into the cafeteria, I saw Michael looking worriedly toward the door. His face cleared when he saw me. The lunch table was its normal noisy, chaotic place, and I tried to play along as usual, although my mind was still on Amber.

Jim caught my eye as I nibbled on some carrots. “Is your head feeling better?” he inquired. Michael turned to me, frowning.

“Do you have a headache? Are you okay?”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “I’m fine. It was just a little one, and it passed after I left speech.”

Jim smirked at me. “Yeah, that class hurts my head, too. But you looked pretty out of it there at first.”

I gave him my finest shut-up look, disguised by a brilliant smile. “Thanks, Jim. I am fine.” I enunciated clearly, in case there was any doubt.

Michael was looking at me suspiciously, and I turned my smile to him. “We’ll talk later. Nothing to worry about,” I muttered, just loud enough to reach his ears. And then I heard him, quite clearly.

I hate that she’s getting mixed up in stuff that might not be safe. I hate that I don’t know what happened this morning. And I hate that I can’t hear what she’s thinking like I bet she’s hearing me right now.

I looked away, fast, trying to keep him from seeing the red in my face. I hadn’t been trying to hear him; it just happened the way it did so often these days.

Michael leaned over to bump up against my shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “Nothing I wouldn’t have said to you anyway.”

“Sorry,” I said in the same tone. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know. But I’m starting to realize when you’re listening. It’s a different look than when you’re concentrating on not listening.”

“How is it different?” Our heads were very close, and to anyone sitting around us, it looked as though Michael was just leaning into me, playing idly with my hair.

“When you’re trying to block, you look almost… blank. Your face is nearly expressionless. When you’re listening, you’re intent. And you look—conflicted. Maybe almost guilty.”

My face warmed. “Hmmm, too bad,” I said, regretfully.

Michael leaned his forehead against mine. “How so?”

“Now that you’ve figured me out, I must eliminate you. Not that I won’t miss you, of course…”

“Of course…” he echoed. “Eat that grilled cheese, while you’re figuring out how to get rid of me.”

I sat up away from Michael and picked up the sandwich. People were meandering out of the cafeteria, and I saw that Brea had left. Dan was talking to Cara, I saw with satisfaction, and Jim was looking at Anne, who had her head bent over some last minute homework. The yearning in his eyes convinced me that I was right about his feelings toward Anne. Something had to be done there.

I finished the grilled cheese in just enough time to rush off to class, with a quick promise to Michael that I’d see him after school.

I had decided to compromise with my mother on the issue of the upcoming dance and my hair. I didn’t want a fussy hairdo for that night, and my mom had agreed that a simpler style would suit the dress. However, she strongly suggested that at least I should have my hair trimmed before the big night. Since this was something I had been thinking about anyway, it was easy to give in.

I knew that Anne’s mother owned a hair salon in town, and so on Wednesday after school, Michael dropped both of us off at the corner of Main Street and Second Avenue. Anne had promised to stay with me and make sure nothing radical happened to my hair.

“My mom is pretty good about listening to people and what they want,” she promised. “But still, sometimes people get talking and get carried away… I’ll have your back.”

Second Avenue Rose was a small but quaint salon, tucked on a side street and bearing only a simple wooden sign over the door. Two operator