Hot Blooded (Wolf Springs Chronicles) - By Nancy Holder Page 0,11

on his chin he looked good. As the sun rose, they shared coffee and toast with her grandfather, then left for Wolf Springs.

As soon as they were in the car he turned to look at her. “I’m sorry.” He shrugged. “For whatever I did that got me big-time dissed.”

“We’re good,” she said, but she had a struggle to know what to do or say after that. She couldn’t pull him close, but the thought of pushing him away was a cold, sharp blade just under her heart. Finally she gave up and kept herself busy on the drive by texting Kimi, her best friend back in Los Angeles. But it was five in the morning in L.A. so there was no reply. And there might not be. When Katelyn had moved to Wolf Springs, they had drifted apart, and she missed the contact.

Niki and the Dove was on Trick’s iPod, filling the Mustang with quirky Swedish voices singing in English. Blasting through the forest as usual, he kept glancing at her as he drove. But whenever she looked back over at him, his attention was fixed on the narrow, winding road. He seemed to be on the verge of asking or saying something, but he was holding back; she fidgeted with her phone just for something to do.

She and Trick sped into the foreboding tunnel of trees that completely blocked out the sun. The space left for vehicles was impossibly narrow, yet Trick shot through it as if they were being fired out of a cannon. He seemed incapable of driving slowly.

Wolf Springs High consisted mainly of a large, two-story wooden building with a pitched roof encrusted with overhanging turrets and dormer windows. There were wrap-around porches on both floors. On top of the building an LED sign glowed scarlet through the early-morning gloom, the zipper of letters reading W-O-L-F-C-O-U-N-T-R-Y.

Heads turned as they walked into school together and Kat supposed people were beginning to speculate that they were a couple. She wondered if Trick thought they were.

When she’d arrived in Wolf Springs, she’d been the five hundredth student. Now, by her count, they were down to four hundred and ninety-six. Two dead, one moved, one kicked out of the house. But it felt to Katelyn as if the entire remaining student body was crammed into the narrow corridor: the din of voices and slamming lockers, the body heat — it was oppressive, smothering. Before her change last Friday, she hadn’t minded it all so much. But now every sound, every jostle from passing students, assaulted her like a body blow.

“Take care, darlin’,” Trick said, and he bobbed his head closer, as if he were about to kiss her. Then he stopped himself, gave her a mock-cautious salute, and walked the other way. Part of her was still poised in hope, waiting for that kiss.

Katelyn had braced herself to see Cordelia’s empty desk, but as she slid into her seat beside it, the reality of what had happened hit home. She heard the bell ring, but couldn’t tear her attention away from the vacant space. Around her, people were still talking; life was going on. Moving on.

But that desk was empty.

Somehow, class hadn’t started yet. Then Mrs. Walker, the office lady, came bustling in. She explained that she was subbing for Mr. Henderson, who was absent.

Katelyn rose unsteadily, gathered up her things, and went over to Mrs. Walker, who was putting her stuff down on the desk. Mrs. Walker smiled at Katelyn and lifted her brows.

“I — I don’t feel good,” Katelyn told her. Mrs. Walker was also Wolf Spring High’s equivalent of a nurse. “Headache . . . possible migraine. Can I go lie down?” There was a sick room with a cot next to the principal’s office.

Mrs. Walker pulled a concerned face and nodded. “Okay, but check in with me once you’re feeling better, all right?”

“I will,” Katelyn promised.

She left the room and trudged down the hall. Smells rolled down the corridor like waves on the beach — perfumes, body odors, coffee. Now that she had said she had a headache, a real one was threatening to erupt.

She entered the darkened room, which contained an old wooden desk and matching chair, and a cot facing a blank chalkboard. The top drawer of the desk held a thin blanket and a fresh pillowcase for the pillow, and Katelyn got the cot ready and lay down. Staring up at the old plaster ceiling, she traced faint images the way she and