highly air-conditioned air almost comfortable as it whipped over my skin. Skating made me feel less paralyzed than I had in a long time. It made me not hate myself for almost dying. Or for living. I just felt like me, and that was really nice for a change. The only complaint I had was that my helmet kept slipping without any hair to help hold it in place. I took it off and began fiddling with the straps, making my way toward the benches.
Then I saw a guy standing at the railing. He had a surprisingly pale face under tousled surfer-boy hair. He was gorgeous, with the kind of angular features and broad shoulders that belonged in an ad for Abercrombie & Fitch, or maybe I just thought that because I was drooling over how his chest muscles filled out his Abercrombie tee. I knew I hadn’t seen him before, because who could forget a face like his, but he couldn’t have been too much older than me. I pegged him as a senior, or maybe a college freshman at the oldest. Frankly, I didn’t care how old he was; he was made of hotness.
I rounded the track, drifting closer to get a better look. His white skin stretched over sleek cheekbones; his inhuman perfection reminded me of a mannequin.
Something wasn’t right.
He noticed me looking at him, and his eyes widened. “You’re bald.”
I would have been offended if I hadn’t been so busy trying to control the urge to shriek and run for it. It was the kind of voice that could defrock a nun. I’d felt something like this before, and it hadn’t ended well. His voice and face weren’t exactly the same as those of the man from the alleyway, but they were close enough to give me a serious case of the heebie-jeebies.
Any minute now, this guy was going to start crying lava, and I didn’t want to be on the receiving end.
More than just about anything else, even the word “moist,” I hated being scared. Fear had always hit me really hard. That was why I’d started taking ninjutsu. After our town house had gotten broken into, I’d been frozen with terror. Finally, after about a week of my not leaving my room, my dad had enrolled me in martial arts classes. That was in eighth grade. After that, I got into all kinds of extreme sports. I’d started freerunning, bungee jumping, and skydiving, and I wouldn’t have stopped if my faulty bone marrow hadn’t made me.
So the fact that I was running from this guy made me hate myself, but I couldn’t help it.
The guy was standing next to the only rink exit, watching me. I pretended not to stare as I rolled up, but I couldn’t helpnoticing the way his skin stretched to ripping point over the delicate bones of his face. He was still gorgeous up close, but it looked like someone had airbrushed his skin on.
I stepped onto the carpet, my hands nervously fluttering up to my newly repaired necklace. His eyes followed the movement, widening as he looked at the katana. I clenched the charm tight for reassurance. He started to say something, but then Ruthanasia interrupted him, leaning inappropriately close to whisper something in his ear.
While his attention was elsewhere, I fled. The best way to win a fight is to avoid it. I made my way across the matted carpeting as quickly as possible without falling over and didn’t look back until I’d reached the ladies’ room.
No one followed me. No one even seemed to notice I was gone.
But then the guy started twisting his head, scanning the room over Ruthanasia’s shoulder while she continued to whisper sweet nothings at him.
Maybe he was looking for someone else—there was no reason to believe I’d captured his attention in a room full of wannabe derby girls in wild outfits—but my pulse thumped nonetheless. I pushed open the door and rolled into the bathroom before he could pin me with his eyes.
The longer I stood at the sinks, the angrier I got. I’d never run from a fight, so why was I so scared now? When had I turned into such a wuss? All because I thought this guy looked like a
Then I saw a guy standing at the railing. He had a surprisingly pale face under tousled surfer-boy hair. He was gorgeous, with the kind of angular features and broad shoulders that belonged in an ad for Abercrombie & Fitch, or maybe I just thought that because I was drooling over how his chest muscles filled out his Abercrombie tee. I knew I hadn’t seen him before, because who could forget a face like his, but he couldn’t have been too much older than me. I pegged him as a senior, or maybe a college freshman at the oldest. Frankly, I didn’t care how old he was; he was made of hotness.
I rounded the track, drifting closer to get a better look. His white skin stretched over sleek cheekbones; his inhuman perfection reminded me of a mannequin.
Something wasn’t right.
He noticed me looking at him, and his eyes widened. “You’re bald.”
I would have been offended if I hadn’t been so busy trying to control the urge to shriek and run for it. It was the kind of voice that could defrock a nun. I’d felt something like this before, and it hadn’t ended well. His voice and face weren’t exactly the same as those of the man from the alleyway, but they were close enough to give me a serious case of the heebie-jeebies.
Any minute now, this guy was going to start crying lava, and I didn’t want to be on the receiving end.
More than just about anything else, even the word “moist,” I hated being scared. Fear had always hit me really hard. That was why I’d started taking ninjutsu. After our town house had gotten broken into, I’d been frozen with terror. Finally, after about a week of my not leaving my room, my dad had enrolled me in martial arts classes. That was in eighth grade. After that, I got into all kinds of extreme sports. I’d started freerunning, bungee jumping, and skydiving, and I wouldn’t have stopped if my faulty bone marrow hadn’t made me.
So the fact that I was running from this guy made me hate myself, but I couldn’t help it.
The guy was standing next to the only rink exit, watching me. I pretended not to stare as I rolled up, but I couldn’t helpnoticing the way his skin stretched to ripping point over the delicate bones of his face. He was still gorgeous up close, but it looked like someone had airbrushed his skin on.
I stepped onto the carpet, my hands nervously fluttering up to my newly repaired necklace. His eyes followed the movement, widening as he looked at the katana. I clenched the charm tight for reassurance. He started to say something, but then Ruthanasia interrupted him, leaning inappropriately close to whisper something in his ear.
While his attention was elsewhere, I fled. The best way to win a fight is to avoid it. I made my way across the matted carpeting as quickly as possible without falling over and didn’t look back until I’d reached the ladies’ room.
No one followed me. No one even seemed to notice I was gone.
But then the guy started twisting his head, scanning the room over Ruthanasia’s shoulder while she continued to whisper sweet nothings at him.
Maybe he was looking for someone else—there was no reason to believe I’d captured his attention in a room full of wannabe derby girls in wild outfits—but my pulse thumped nonetheless. I pushed open the door and rolled into the bathroom before he could pin me with his eyes.
The longer I stood at the sinks, the angrier I got. I’d never run from a fight, so why was I so scared now? When had I turned into such a wuss? All because I thought this guy looked like a
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