Home > Craved (The Vampire Journals #10)(12)

Craved (The Vampire Journals #10)(12)
Author: Morgan Rice

“Hey Scarlet,” he said with a lisp.

He was nice enough, though Scarlet was not remotely attracted to him. But she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

“Hi Spencer,” she said matter-of-factly.

“So like I guess we’re partners, huh?” he said, proudly.

“I guess so,” Scarlet replied.

Scarlet sat there, burning up inside, hoping that Maria appreciated the supreme sacrifice she had just made for her.

As she sat there, out of the corner of her eyes, she could not help but notice Sage. Oddly, he wasn’t looking at Maria, but rather looking diagonally, directly at Scarlet. His staring at her was obvious, and Scarlet was flustered. Clearly, Maria would see this, and she knew it would upset her.

“So did you like hear about this big dance tomorrow night?” Maria asked Sage.

Scarlet watched his reaction. He was expressionless, clearly not wanting to engage Maria.

“I did,” he said back to her, leaving it at that.

Scarlet wondered if Maria would have the courage to follow up, to flat-out ask him if he wanted to go with her. But an awkward silence followed.

She heard Maria swallow; clearly, she was too nervous to ask him.

“Okay class!” Mr. Sparrow yelled out. “Boys, you of course are Romeo and girls, Juliet. In this scene, Romeo and Juliet are in a lavish costume ball. They see each other for the first time. It is love at first sight. And although they don’t know each other, in their first words, they express their undying love for one another. Clearly, we are not going to re-enact the dance in this room.”

The class erupted into a giggle.

“But,” he continued, “try to read the lines with meaning. Feel how it feels to be Romeo, feel how it feels to be Juliet. Feel how the language feels when you pronounce it aloud. What is the difference between pronouncing it aloud and reading it to yourself? This will take us to the end of class. Feel free to begin.”

A chorus of voices erupted around them, as everyone began reading.

“O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear…” Spencer began to read to Scarlet.

His voice was so nasally, and his pronouncement so stiff, she had to suppress a smile. It was possibly the worst reading she had ever heard, and the farthest thing from romantic she had ever encountered—it sounded robotic, as if a computer had recited the line. She bit her lip, forcing herself not to smile, not wanting to embarrass him.

She read her lines back to him quickly, without any expression of meaning.

Scarlet stole a glance over at Sage, and as she did, she saw him staring right at her.

“Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night,” he read, right to her, with perfect intonation and the deepest meaning.

There was no mistaking it: he was staring at her when he said it.

Scarlet’s heart raced. She glanced over at Maria, wondering if she’d seen it. Luckily, Maria, nervous, had her head buried in her book, looking down, too nervous to look up at Sage. She hadn’t seen it. But Scarlet had. Sage was reading his lines to her. Scarlet.

“Saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss,” Scarlet read. She couldn’t help it: as she read the lines, she found herself looking back at Sage, reading them to him.

“That’s not the line you’re supposed to read!” Spencer corrected loudly. “You’re reading the wrong line!”

Scarlet looked over at him, her face turning red. What a pest. He was beyond annoying, and ruining her moment.

“My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss,” Sage read. Again, as he read it, he stared right at Scarlet.

This time, Maria looked up, and saw. She realized that Sage was not looking at her, but at Scarlet. And as she did, her face turned red with anger.

The bell rang, and suddenly everyone rose from their seats. Maria grabbed her book, stuffed it into her backpack, and stormed past Scarlet.

“I thought you were my friend,” Maria hissed at her as she passed.

Scarlet was so flustered, she hardly knew what to do, or how to respond. She went to talk to her, but Maria was already gone, storming out the room. If possible, Scarlet felt even worse now than ever.

“Hey Scarlet, that was like really cool!” came the nasally, chipper voice.

She looked over to see Spencer standing way too close to her, grinning, his braces in her face, and his breath smelling like Salami. “We should like hang out more often!”

He stood there, grinning, leaning in even closer until he was just inches away—and Scarlet finally turned her head away, revolted. She conspicuously bent over and gathered her books, and finally, to her relief, Spencer disappeared.

Scarlet was even madder, wondering if Spencer had now also managed to scare Sage away.

But then suddenly she heard a voice—a soft, gentle, mature voice.

“Your friend is upset,” Sage said.

Scarlet looked up and saw with relief that he was still there.

“But you did nothing wrong. I never wanted to be with her. I want to be with you.”

Scarlet stopped as she looked into his eyes. As she did, she felt her whole world melting. She had been thinking the same exact thing.

“I’m sorry,” Scarlet said, breathless. “But she’s my friend. And she likes you.”

“But she’s not the one I like,” Sage replied.

Scarlet was overwhelmed with the desire to ask him why. Why did he like her? How was he so sure? How was all of this possible? Especially when they didn’t even know each other?

She desperately wanted talk to him, to ask him questions, to stand there and be with him. She didn’t want to leave this room.

But it was all too much for her. She was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions, and she couldn’t help feeling disloyal to Maria for even talking to him.

So despite every bone in her body, she turned and hurried from the room, out the door and into the never-ending stream of kids, feeling her heart tearing into a million little pieces.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Scarlet walked with her mom down the cobblestone pathway to the church’s front door, feeling self-conscious. She had never been to church before, even though it was just two blocks from her house, and she didn’t want any of her friends to see her walking up to it now. The church was so conspicuous, right on main street in the middle of town; she lowered her baseball cap, which she’d snatched off the coat rack at the last second, hoping nobody saw her. It wasn’t that she thought there was anything wrong with going to church—it was just that it just wasn’t her. It wasn’t her family. She thought it would be weird for some of her friends or neighbors to suddenly see her walking with her mom to church in the middle of the day. After all, why would anyone do that? Unless something was wrong with the family.

   
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