The Lance Temptation Page 3

  “Cis, what’s wrong? You’ve gone all tense again.”

  I pushed against him. “I need to leave. I honestly need to leave now.”

  “An attack of conscience?” He laughed softly. “It’s okay, Cis, I won’t tell a soul. I like you. You can trust me.”

  He moved in to kiss me again, but I pulled back and stood up. My legs wobbled, and for a panicked moment I thought I might fall right on top of him.

  “Can your brother take me home?” I detested the pleading tone in my voice, but I had a burning desire to talk to Marc, to make this right somehow.

  “Maybe, but why not stay?”

  Confusion clouded my brain. What should I do? This thing with Lance couldn’t, shouldn’t go any further. I stared again at the bedroom door.

  Lance grabbed my hand and pulled me back down. I landed right on top of him. He breathed heavily and circled my waist with his arm, holding me tight. He nuzzled into my neck, kissing my shoulders under my T-shirt. Then his lips found mine.

  Time stopped and I melted into him.

  The computer on the table buzzed, breaking the spell.

  What am I doing?

  I scrambled up. “I have to go.”

  “Pete’s occupied. Stay longer — just a few more minutes.”

  I shook my head and went to the bedroom door and knocked. “Farah, let’s go,” I called through. “It’s getting late…”

  I heard some scuffling and the door opened. It was Farah. Her cheeks were flushed and her fierce red hair fell messily across her face. Her eyes were shooting fire. “What do you mean late? The evening’s hardly started.”

  Then she seemed to truly look at me. Her face softened and she sighed. “Oh, all right, Emili, we can go. You look pathetic. Pete, can you take us to Emili’s house?”

  It took a minute before Pete appeared at the door. He was straightening his shirt. “You got it, babe. But I want a rematch.”

  “Goes without saying,” answered Farah.

  I didn’t utter a word on the way home. My brain screamed, proclaiming me a cheat and a liar. It was relentless. My insides hurt, like sandpaper had taken up residence. I could feel Lance’s eyes boring into me, but I kept mine straight ahead.

  “Wait,” I cried as we neared my house. “Just let us off here. Don’t take us all the way.”

  “Come on, Emili, why not?” Farah asked.

  “Mrs. Sander doesn’t drive a Mustang.”

  “You think your parents are glued to the window? You think they care what kind of car lets you off?” Farah asked.

  Lance laughed.

  “No problem, Emili,” Pete said. “I can drop you guys here.”

  He pulled over to the curb, and I practically tripped crawling out of the car.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled. Was I actually thanking him for letting me prove I was disloyal?

  Farah opened the car door and got out. She tugged on her skirt with one hand then ducked halfway back into the front seat.

  “Pete, great evening — too short, but great.” She twisted around, shot me a pointed look, then leaned back into the car to smother Pete with a long kiss.

  Finally, she came up for air. “I’m holding you to a rematch.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” he replied.

  Farah shut the door, and the car peeled off. I could see Lance looking at us through the back window. We started down the block, Farah following me with huge overblown moans.

  “Honestly, Emili, you’re such a party-pooper. We were having a great time.”

  I stopped and glared at her. She raised her eyebrows, her eyes wide. “Just saying,” she said.

  We got home and went inside. No one was in the living room. “Mom, we’re back,” I called. I didn’t see her, but I knew she’d hear me. I shoved Farah down the hall into my bedroom.

  Farah plopped on the bed. “Pete is absolutely better than I ever dreamed. We were having such a great time until you…”

  “I know,” I said sharply. “I’m the poop who ruined your evening.” I sat down on the bed. “Did you…”

  Farah peered at me and rolled her eyes. “It’s rude to kiss and tell. But Pete’s not a total fool. He knows he’s older than me and it wouldn’t be smart.”

  Why did I get the feeling she was reciting a line instead of telling the truth?

  She gazed off into space. “But oh, the preliminaries.”

  “Preliminaries? Are you kidding me? That’s what you’re calling them?”

  “Oh grow up,” she said. “You’re so busy judging every single thing in this universe you can’t enjoy anything.”

  I sat there, silent.

  “Well, it’s true Emili,” she continued. “I’ve been trying for months to get you to shake it off and have some fun in life.” She leaned back on her elbows. “Why do I even bother?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  She sat up and tugged on my sleeve. “But you have to admit, it was fun wasn’t it? I know you like Lance.”

  Her face radiated playful eagerness, and I couldn’t help smiling. “I don’t want to like him. I have a boyfriend.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. The perfect and proper Marc Rounder.”

  I closed my eyes and inhaled. “Marc’s nice; even you have to admit it.”

  “I never said he wasn’t nice. He’s just not, well, interesting. He’s boring, Emili. I’ve said it a million times, and it’s true.”

  “Maybe a little, but not as bad as you make it out to be. He’s nice and doesn’t deserve to be treated this way.”

  “Good grief, Emili, can’t you have any fun at all?”

  I grabbed the over-sized stuffed bear off my pillow and hugged it. “The thing is, Farah, I’ve always wanted a guy like Lance — steamy and popular, and oh, he’s gorgeous, isn’t he? I never dreamed I’d actually have a chance with him. I can’t help it, I like him. He makes me feel… uh, I can’t put it into words.”

  “Then why not just go with it?”

  I put my cheek on the bear’s soft fur.

  Farah scooted closer. “Were you making out while I was with Pete?”

  I walked to the desk, pushed her suitcase aside, and began tinkering with my jewelry box. “We kissed. I wouldn’t call it making out.”

  “Well, I would.” She laughed. “I think you make a delightful couple.”

  I swirled around. “We’re not a couple. I’m already a couple with Marc. And I need to talk to him.”

  “Of course you do.” Farah stood and pulled off her skirt and top, dropping them in a heap on the floor. Then she kicked off her shoes and crawled into my bed, closing her eyes.

  For once, I didn’t straighten up her mess. I simply climbed into my sweats and shoved her over. There wasn’t room for the both of us, but I squeezed in. I laid there for a long time with my eyes wide open before falling asleep.

  ****

  The next morning, I didn’t wake up until ten-fifteen. I stretched my arms over my head. How could I have slept so long? I figured I’d be awake all night stewing.

  I glanced at Farah who was still asleep. Her mouth was slightly open, and I could hear her deep breathing. She was an inch away from snoring. I wriggled out of bed and pulled on my slippers. Then I retrieved my phone from my purse and with a stomach full of dread, turned it on.

  Six texts from Marc.

  Oh, please don’t let him know.

  I opened the first text. Hey Emili, I’m missing you. Did you come to the game? No one I know texts with full-out spelling except Marc. I shook my head in amusement. Farah called Marc perfect, and maybe he was. It did carry a certain charm.

  I read through the next five messages. He told me he’d gone to the game after all. There was no mention of seeing me leave. My breath gushed out with relief.

  I felt like sleaze. I knew I’d have to break up with him because it was the right thing to do. But Marc liked me, and this wasn’t going to be easy. One thing was for sure — I had to get to him before he heard it from someone else. And big-mouth Jeannie wa
s ever ready to pounce, especially if it was juicy news.

  On Monday, I’d break up with him when we were face to face. I owed him that much at least. I texted him saying I’d see him Monday. I knew he wouldn’t question me. He’d just dive back into his homework.

  Farah woke up at eleven and went home at noon. I wasn’t sorry to see her go. In fact, I was relieved and I didn’t hide it too well, either.

  Well, add it to my sins.

  ****

  On Monday morning, I was hopeful. No fall-out so far. Maybe I didn’t need to break up with Marc.

  I’d thought about it all day Sunday. I knew Lance was completely out of my league, so it couldn’t go anywhere. Besides, Farah had practically forced me into his arms or him into mine. I wasn’t sure which. He’d never have come after me if she wouldn’t have paired off with Pete.

  It could be like it never happened.

  I walked into school looking for Marc. As always, he was leaning nonchalantly against the outer office wall waiting for me.

  “Mmm, you smell nice. New perfume, right? What’s this one?”

  “Don’t you remember? It’s the rose and cinnamon blend.”

  “Whatever it is, it smells great. Hey, I missed you.” He tugged lightly on my sleeve. “I missed our Friday night date, and I was busy studying the whole weekend.”

  “I missed you, too.” I giggled, my spirits rising. I actually had missed him.

  “You’re in a good mood.” He pushed me playfully on the back, guiding me to my locker. “Let’s unload your stuff. How’d you do on the history assignment?”

  I paused. “Didn’t quite finish it.” I saw his look of disbelief. “Don’t worry, I have study hall before class, I’ll get it done.”

  “I know.” He gazed at me with pride. A sudden cramp knotted my stomach, and Lance’s slow smile filled my mind. I shook my head. No, I’d stick with my new plan — Lance never happened and never could happen.

  And then, there he was, right in front of me. He drifted over as if Marc was nowhere in sight.

  “Hey, Cecily, how was your weekend?” His voice was soft and his eyes searched mine.

  I nearly choked.

  “Cecily?” Marc questioned. “She’s Emili.”

  “My mistake,” Lance said and chuckled. He slowly ran his finger down my arm, then turned and sauntered off. His touch left a burning trail and my eyes clung to his back as he walked away.

  Marc stiffened and took a step back. I looked at him and cringed when I saw the confusion in his eyes.

  “Emili? What gives?”

  Chapter Four

  Marc grasped my elbow. “Why is he calling you Cecily? He acts like he knows you.”

  I ducked back inside my locker and started re-stacking my books.

  “Emili, please answer.”

  I placed my algebra book on top of Great Expectations and squared the corners. I twisted around and gazed up at him.

  “I don’t know. Just being a weirdo I guess.”

  He craned his neck above the crowd to watch Lance move down the hallway.

  “It’s not important,” I said. “Let’s get to class.”

  I swallowed past the block of guilt in my throat and closed my locker with a clang. Marc had leaned against the tile wall close by, his soft brown hair spilling over his left brow. He looked back at me with his intense bronze eyes, and I began to blink rapidly. Oh no, was I going to start crying?

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Fine,” I assured him and started walking. “Just tired.”

  He came after me. “You look like you’re going to cry. Is there something going on? Something I should know?”

  Marc. Marc. Please don’t be so nice.

  “Everything’s fine,” I repeated.

  “Lance Jankins isn’t bothering you, is he? I don’t trust him.”

  I wiped at my eyes with my free hand. “He’s not bothering me. Like I said, I’m just tired.”

  “Okay then, if you’re sure. I’ll see you later.” He gave me one last puzzled look and left. I went into class and sat stiffly on the edge of my chair. I was afraid if I so much as moved, I’d burst into tears. Everyone around me was talking and giggling and trying to copy each other’s homework, but it faded into a noisy blur. I glanced down at my arm where Lance had touched me. It burned and I half expected to see the imprint of his trailing fingers. Lance wasn’t a passing fancy after all — not when a mere brush of his hand could make me almost faint with wanting him.

  My new plan was garbage.

  There I sat, insanely crazy over a guy who wouldn’t even call me by my real name, and feeling like a criminal over a boyfriend who was a good, decent person.

  I was a worm.

  ****

  By ten o’clock, I began to worry. Farah hadn’t come to school and she never missed class. Between third and fourth period, I pretended to dig in my locker for books, but in reality I took out my phone and texted Farah. She didn’t text back. Farah always answered a text no matter what time of day or night. I’d even known her to text right under Mrs. Binder’s nose in Algebra like some kind of magician.

  During lunch, I hid in the bathroom and called her. No answer. What was going on? I shoved my phone back in my pocket. Something wasn’t right, and I couldn’t think of one person to confide in.

  I pulled my purse onto my shoulder when I heard someone come into the bathroom. I could tell it was Jeannie Sander when she hollered, “I’ll only be a sec!” I flushed the toilet and walked out of the stall.

  Jeannie was standing over the sink leaning close to the mirror. Her uniform blouse was easily one size too small and stretched tightly over her thick waist. She was studying her eyes. “What do you think I’d look like if they were blue?”

  Since I was the only other person in the bathroom, I figured she was talking to me. “I don’t know.”

  “You know they have contacts to change the color of your eyes. Some of the seniors use them. Have you seen Brittany? She looks downright creepy. Hers are yellow, and they turn her into some kind of ghost woman.”

  I started washing my hands. “Then why use them?”

  “Boredom, I suppose.”

  I yanked off a paper towel.

  She continued, “You know — boredom. It makes you do stupid things sometimes.” Her eyes probed mine in the mirror.

  “Yeah, I guess,” I said. I threw the paper towel in the trash and headed for the door. I could feel her eyes still watching me.

  “Where’s Farah today?”

  I turned back. “Out sick,” I said, wondering if it was the truth.

  “Too bad. I imagine you feel lost.”

  I frowned at her. “Why would I?”

  “Come on, Emili, you two are like Siamese twins.”

  “No, we’re not.”

  She ignored my words. “Yeah, I imagine you’re feeling the boredom something fierce.”

  I started for the door again.

  “But then, you always have your boyfriend Marc. And oh yes, the new guy, Lance — we can’t forget him. Weren’t you with him at the game Friday night?”

  I stiffened, and then turned back to her. “Jeannie, I meant to talk to you about the other night. I wasn’t going to—”

  She held up her hand. “Emili, you always did underestimate me,” she said. “But no need for explanations. I’m not your mother confessor. Tell it to Marc.”

  She smiled ever-so-sweetly and paraded right past me out of the bathroom.

  Oh my word.

  The rest of the day was endless. I see-sawed between worrying about Farah and feeling like slime because of Marc. When I went to the bathroom during sixth period, I tried texting Farah again. Still nothing.

  My head hurt. I even felt my forehead to see if I had a fever — which was lame, because I knew having a fever had nothing to do with it.

  At the end of the day, I burst through the school doors and called Farah the second I got outside. It went straight to voice mail. “Where are you?” I
asked. “Why aren’t you answering? I’m going to kill you for this. I’m getting freaked out.”

  I figured Farah’s mom would know where she was. I knew my mom had Mrs. Menins’s cell number, so I called her at work. “I need to talk with Farah,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Her phone’s messed up so can you give me her mom’s cell?”

  “Isn’t Farah at school?” Mom asked.

  “I think she’s sick, and I want to check on her.”

  “Give me a sec,” Mom said. Then, “Okay, got it. It’s 765-3129. Honey, if she’s sick, maybe you shouldn’t call. You don’t want to disturb her.”

  “I’ll only talk a minute. Thanks.”

  I started to punch in Mrs. Menins’s number, then froze. Farah would never in this lifetime want me to call her mother. Mrs. Menins was, well, less than nice. What if Farah was skipping school, and I called asking where she was? Farah would dump me faster than all of her old boyfriends put together.

  I tucked my phone away, but a bad feeling pressed on me. I should be doing something; I just didn’t know what.

  Maybe Lance would know where Farah was. I glanced at the crowds hanging by the doors. Since Lance was tall, he’d be easy to spot.

  The thought of him made my heart begin to dance. Worry for Farah was edged out by delicious memories of kissing Lance. This was the ideal excuse to talk to him. It wouldn’t be like I was stalking him — it’d only be one friend asking about another. Perfect.

  While this parade of thoughts marched through my head, I caught a glimpse of him. Somehow I’d missed him at the door because he was already heading down the sidewalk towards town. He was beautiful, walking tall and easy, his hands swaying loosely at his sides.

  “Lance,” I called and started running after him. “Lance!”

  He slowed and turned around. When he saw me, he tipped his head and narrowed his eyes, hiking his backpack higher on his shoulders. I ran too quickly and nearly slammed into him. I put my arm out to stop myself and ended up grasping his solid bicep. Jerking my hand back, I felt the blood rush to my cheeks.

  Lance grinned. “Well, Cecily, nice to see you, and alone this time.”

  “Uh, hi, Lance.”

  “Need something?”