Demon Kissed - Katie May Page 0,1

asks, “So, what did you do today, Katrina?”

I swallow and blink, hoping that my blue eyes look flirty or engaged or hell, just not empty, as I try to answer. I didn’t do anything but watch Adam today, like every day, but I’m about to come up with a hilariously witty lie when…William Washington grabs my cup.

William Washington grabs my cup.

The heavens open, and light beams spill out and angels sing and—ohh shit, he’s talking to me.

“Looks like you could use a refill. What’s your poison?” he asks with a smile.

Gah. That smile. I mentally take a picture for my internal stalker shrine. It’s where I keep little moments, like the time he opened the door for me when we walked into fifth period at the same time, and the time he laughed at my joke in English Lit.

I somehow get my vocal chords to stammer out, “Surprise me.” I try to give a sultry smile and maybe it works—I’m not sure—because William smiles back before clapping Jason on the shoulder and wandering off between the gravestones toward the kegs.

Jason takes a step closer to me. “So…you were gonna tell me about your day?”

I can’t keep the beaming smile off my face as I answer. “Yeah. It was great.”

“Great?” Jason grins. “Awesome.” He puts an elbow on the top of a gravestone and leans casually sideways. But his ankle gives out, and he ends up doing an awkward little shimmy for a second.

It’s kind of nice to see when the cool kids slip up, isn’t it? It makes me more comfortable around him, and he seems a little more human. “Yeah, I babysat my brother as usual, and we created a fort, then he declared himself a tank named Blood Eater, and he smashed that fort down before we stuck candles on blueberry muffins and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to ourselves. All in all, a good day.” Damn. I’m blubbering on.

Stacy turns around and captures Jason’s attention, swooping in and saving me with some sports rivalry blah blah football game babble. If she’d have started a conversation about academic decathlon teams, then I could have talked smack, because The Milton School is going down like a hooker in a parking lot. But football isn’t my jam, in case that wasn’t clear.

Jason straightens up as he talks to Stace, getting animated about stats and spreads. My eyes disengage from the pair and start roaming the gravestones, looking for William.

There is a stone cherub, a huge owl grave marker, and a carved stone bench currently holding a macking set of my classmates that blocks me from seeing my “double W” clearly. I only ever call him that in my head because it’s too pathetic a nickname to ever say out loud. I don’t even love it. I kind of hate the fact that I even came up with it, but my brain does whatever the hell it wants sometimes, and ‘double W’ is one of those things.

William refills my cup and then hands it to Sarah, another senior with legs for days and a Day-Glo purple skirt. What the fuck?!!

I take a step to the side, intending to get a better look, when I bump into Jason—when did he get that close?—and send him tumbling forward. His face nearly smashes into a headstone. Mine would have. But his football player reflexes pay off, and he ends up doing a half push-up off the thing instead, springing right back up like one of those inflated clown toys that rebound when you punch it.

“Whoops! Sorry. So sorry.” I reach out a hand to help, but then, thinking that might make things worse, retract my hand, and press my lips together, embarrassment flushing my cheeks as a couple of the popular girls look my way and sneer. Ugh.

“He’s fine. Boy toy’s not broken. Dick’s all yours later.” My snark pops out like a Jack-in-the-box, surprising me with a brand of rude I usually never whip out in public. Decathlon tournaments are not considered public since we only have like five attendees.

Janie St. James, resident queen bee, lets her painted red lips fall open in a dumb, shocked look, as if she wasn’t aware I could speak, much less insult her.

Stacy gives me a wide-eyed “shut the fuck up” glare. My best friend is telling me to abort mission.

It’s good advice.

I turn to Jason, intending to apologize and book it. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to almost kill you. Or insinuate your dick has their diseases all over