Элисон Ноэль - Blue Moon

And I will absolutely, positively, not dwell on all of the beautiful, worldly, experienced women he knew over the span of those years.

Nope.

Not me.

I refuse to even go there.

"Shall I pick you up at six?" he asks, gathering my hair at my nape and twisting it into a long blond rope. "We can go to dinner first."

"Except we don't really eat," I remind him.

"All, yes. Good point." He smiles, releasing my hair so that it flows back around my shoulders and drops down to my waist. "Though I'm sure we can find something else to occupy our time?"

I smile, having already told Sabine that I'm staying at Haven's and hoping she doesn't try to follow up. She used to be so good about taking me at my word, but ever since I was caught drinking, got suspended, and basically stopped eating, she's been prone to following through.

"Are you sure you're okay with all this?" Damen asks, misreading the look on my face as indecision, when it's really just nerves.

I smile and lean in to kiss him, eager to erase any lingering doubts (mine more than his), just as Miles tosses his bag on the table and says, "Oh, Haven, look!

They're back. The lovebirds have returned!"

I pull away, my face flushing with embarrassment as Haven laughs and sits down beside him, her eyes scanning the tables as she says, "Where's Roman? Anyone seen him?"

"He was in homeroom." Miles shrugs, removing the top from his yogurt and hunching over his script.

And he was in history, I think, remembering how I ignored him all through class, despite his numerous attempts to get my attention, and how after the bell rang, I hung back, pretending to look for something in my bag. Preferring the weight of Mr. Munoz's penetrating stare and his conflicted thoughts about me (my good grades versus my undeniable weirdness) to dealing with Roman.

Haven shrugs and opens her cupcake box, sighing when she says, "Well, it was nice while it lasted." "What're you talking about?" Miles looks up as she points straight ahead, her lips twisted to the side, her eyes completely dejected, as we all follow her finger, all the way to where Roman is talking and laughing with Stacia, Honor, Craig, and the rest of the A-list crew. "Big deal." He shrugs. "You just wait, he'll be back."

"You don't know that," Haven says, shedding the skirt from her red velvet cupcake, her gaze still focused on Roman.

"Please. We've seen it a million times before. Every new kid with the slightest potential for cool has ended up at that table at some point. Only the truly cool never last long —because the truly cool end up here." He laughs, tapping the yellow fiberglass table with the tips of his bright pink nails.

"Not me," I say, eager to steer the conversation away from Roman, knowing I'm the only one who's happy to see he's abandoned us for a much cooler crowd. "I started out here from the very first day," I remind them.

"Yeah, go figure." Miles laughs. "Though I was referring to Damen. Remember how he got sucked over to the other side for a while? But eventually he came to his senses and found his way back, just like Roman will."

I gaze down at my drink, twisting the bottle around in my hand. Because even though I know Damen was never sincere about his brief flirtation with Stacia, that he only did it to get to me, to see if I cared, the images of the two of them standing so close together are forever burned into my brain.

"Yes, I did," Damen says, squeezing my hand and kissing my cheek, sensing my thoughts even if he can't always read them. "I certainly came to my senses."

"You see? So, we can only have faith that Roman will too." Miles nods. "And if he doesn't, then he was never truly cool to begin with, right?"

Haven shrugs and rolls her eyes, licking a glob of frosting from her thumb and mumbling, "Whatever."

"Why do you care so much anyway?" Miles peers at her. "I thought you were all about Josh?"

"I am all about Josh," she says, avoiding his gaze as she wipes some non existent crumbs from her lap. But when I look at her and see the way her aura wavers and Hares a deceitful shade of green, I can tell it's not true. She's smitten and that's all there is to it. And if Roman becomes smitten too, then it's adios Josh, hello creepy new guy.

I unzip my lunch pack, going through the motions of pretending I'm still interested in food when I hear: "Ay, mate, what time's the premiere?" "Curtain's at eight. Why? You coming?" Miles asks, his eyes lighting up, his aura glowing in a way that makes it pretty obvious he hopes that he will. "Wouldn't miss it," Roman says, sliding onto the space beside Haven and bumping her shoulder in the smarmiest, most insincere way. Clearly aware of the effect it elicits and not afraid to exploit it. "So how was life among the A-list? Everything you dreamed it would be?" she asks in a voice that, if you couldn't see her aura, you'd think she was flirting. But I know she's serious, because auras don't lie. Roman reaches toward her, gently pushing her bangs away from her face. A gesture so intimate her cheeks flush bright pink. " Wot's that now?" he says, his gaze fixed on hers.

"You know, table A? Where you were sitting?" She mumbles, struggling to keep her composure while under his spell.

"The lunchtime caste system," Miles says, breaking their enchantment and pushing his half-eaten yogurt aside. "It's the same at every school. Everyone divides into cliques designed to keep others out. They can't help themselves, they just do. And those people you were just with? They're the top clique, which, in the high school caste system, makes them The Rulers. As opposed to the people you're sitting with now —" He points at himself. "Who are otherwise known as The Untouchables."

"Bullocks!" Roman says, pulling away from Haven and popping the top on his soda. "Complete rubbish. I don't buy it."

"Doesn't matter if you do. It's still a fact." Miles shrugs, gazing longingly at table A Because despite how he goes on and on about our table being the truly cool table, the truth is, he's painfully aware that in the eyes of the Bay View student body, there's nothing cool about it.

"It may be your fact, but it's not mine. I don't do with segregation, mate. I like a free and open society, room to roam around and explore all my options." Then, looking at Damen, he says, "What about you? You believe in all this?"

But Damen just shrugs and continues gazing at me. He couldn't care less about A-lists and B-lists, who's cool and who's not. I'm the only reason he enrolled in this school, and I'm the only reason he stays. "Well, it's nice to have a dream." Haven sighs, inspecting her short black nails. "But it's even nicer when there's a remote possibility of it coming true." "Aw, but that's where you're wrong, luv. It's not a dream at all." Roman smiles in a way that makes her aura beam a bright shimmery pink. "I'll make it happen. You'll see."

"So what? You fancy yourself the Che Guevara of Bay View High?" My voice contains a sting I don't bother to hide. Though to be honest, I'm more surprised by my use of the word fancy than the tone of my voice. I mean, since when do I talk like that? But when I glance at Roman and see his expansive, overwhelming, yellow-orange aura, I know he's affecting me too.

"I rather fancy that, yes." He smiles his languid grin, his eyes gazing into mine so deeply, I feel like I'm naked —like he sees everything, knows everything, and there's nowhere to hide. "Just think of me as a revolutionary, because by the end of next week, this lunchtime caste system will come to an end. We're going to break these self-imposed barriers, push all the tables together, and have ourselves a party!" "Is that your prediction?" I narrow my gaze, trying to deflect all of his intrusive energy away. But he just laughs, not the least bit offended. A laugh that, on the surface, is so warm, engaging, and all-encompassing—no one would guess at the subtext beneath—the creepy edge, the hint of malice, the barely concealed threat meant solely for me. "I'll believe it when I see it," Haven says, wiping red crumbs from her lips.