bitch. But here, among humans with no supernatural abilities, I’m powerless to retaliate. It’d be the same as a Master Witch taking on a five-year-old barely beginning to levitate objects.
“Hey.”
I sigh inwardly as I turn and see a blond, surfer-ish boy standing next to me. “Hey.”
“Looks like we’re on the same team.”
“So it appears.” Captain Obvious.
“I’m Eric. I’m a friend of Keller’s and Toni’s. I saw you sitting with them at lunch.”
The memory of his face clicks into place. I’d nearly knocked him down as I fled the lunchroom. “Oh, yeah, sorry about the near collision. Can’t say lunch agreed with me.”
“Takes years of practice to develop the required steel stomach lining.”
I smile at his comment. He’s flirting, that much is clear, but it’s on the light side and I sense he’s a good guy at heart. Not like some of the others who’ve been ogling me, maybe planning various ways to get me alone.
“So, you any good at baseball?”
“Not really,” I say as I take a spot on the bench to wait my turn up as batter.
It’s always been a mystery how I can perform ballet moves without flaw, but when it comes to sports I become the Queen of Clumsyland. I actually like it though, because it makes me feel normal, even if it did make me a potential target in my coven.
A glance across the field reveals Keller standing at second base. Even from this distance, I see the firm set of his jaw and the hard stare he levels at Eric. It shocks me, the intensity of his reaction—not because I haven’t seen other guys shooting invisible daggers today, but because it feels so similar to my own reaction when Stacy attempted to move in on him.
Fear and excitement partner for a tango inside me as I consider the attraction between us. I imagine I feel the lick of the flames as I play with that particular fire.
I keep up my end of the conversation with Eric, who I’ve decided I like, but I rarely take my eyes from Keller. I love how he looks as he runs for a fly ball, how much taller and leaner he appears when he stretches out to make a catch. My body flushes warmer than even the warmth of the day can account for. For a moment I fear my power is generating the heat, but no, it’s just good, old-fashioned lusting.
I also notice the ugly looks Stacy’s giving me. People living on the International Space Station can probably see them they are so obvious.
When it’s my turn to bat, I dampen my natural strength as I walk to home plate. Now is not the time for an All-Star moment on the off chance the bat actually connects with the ball. When the pitch comes, I take aim and miss it. Same with the second one.
“Come on, Jax,” Eric encourages from the bench, like he believes I can do this. And suddenly I want to not suck so bad at sports. I feel like another potential friend is depending on me. So I eye the pitcher’s movements, then the trajectory of the ball as I take aim. Somehow, I manage a hit that should safely get me to first base.
Of course, I trip over my own feet as I try to head for my goal. When I untangle my legs, I have to remind myself to run at such a slow pace for me that it’s ridiculous. Halfway to first base, I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. And then a ball hits me in the side of the head. I spin toward the person who’s thrown it, remembering only at the last second that I should fall and indicate pain. In fact, my temple does sting a little.
“Oops, sorry,” Stacy says from a few feet away. “Guess I haven’t figured out where I should be aiming.”
For a blessed moment, I imagine roasting her alive, but bank that urge as the coach and my classmates rush up to make sure Stacy hasn’t bashed in the side of my head.
“Are you okay?” several of them ask in unison.
“Back up, everyone,” the coach orders. “Give me room to get her inside.”
I gently but firmly push at the man’s hands. “I’m okay. It barely hit me, just startled me
“Hey.”
I sigh inwardly as I turn and see a blond, surfer-ish boy standing next to me. “Hey.”
“Looks like we’re on the same team.”
“So it appears.” Captain Obvious.
“I’m Eric. I’m a friend of Keller’s and Toni’s. I saw you sitting with them at lunch.”
The memory of his face clicks into place. I’d nearly knocked him down as I fled the lunchroom. “Oh, yeah, sorry about the near collision. Can’t say lunch agreed with me.”
“Takes years of practice to develop the required steel stomach lining.”
I smile at his comment. He’s flirting, that much is clear, but it’s on the light side and I sense he’s a good guy at heart. Not like some of the others who’ve been ogling me, maybe planning various ways to get me alone.
“So, you any good at baseball?”
“Not really,” I say as I take a spot on the bench to wait my turn up as batter.
It’s always been a mystery how I can perform ballet moves without flaw, but when it comes to sports I become the Queen of Clumsyland. I actually like it though, because it makes me feel normal, even if it did make me a potential target in my coven.
A glance across the field reveals Keller standing at second base. Even from this distance, I see the firm set of his jaw and the hard stare he levels at Eric. It shocks me, the intensity of his reaction—not because I haven’t seen other guys shooting invisible daggers today, but because it feels so similar to my own reaction when Stacy attempted to move in on him.
Fear and excitement partner for a tango inside me as I consider the attraction between us. I imagine I feel the lick of the flames as I play with that particular fire.
I keep up my end of the conversation with Eric, who I’ve decided I like, but I rarely take my eyes from Keller. I love how he looks as he runs for a fly ball, how much taller and leaner he appears when he stretches out to make a catch. My body flushes warmer than even the warmth of the day can account for. For a moment I fear my power is generating the heat, but no, it’s just good, old-fashioned lusting.
I also notice the ugly looks Stacy’s giving me. People living on the International Space Station can probably see them they are so obvious.
When it’s my turn to bat, I dampen my natural strength as I walk to home plate. Now is not the time for an All-Star moment on the off chance the bat actually connects with the ball. When the pitch comes, I take aim and miss it. Same with the second one.
“Come on, Jax,” Eric encourages from the bench, like he believes I can do this. And suddenly I want to not suck so bad at sports. I feel like another potential friend is depending on me. So I eye the pitcher’s movements, then the trajectory of the ball as I take aim. Somehow, I manage a hit that should safely get me to first base.
Of course, I trip over my own feet as I try to head for my goal. When I untangle my legs, I have to remind myself to run at such a slow pace for me that it’s ridiculous. Halfway to first base, I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. And then a ball hits me in the side of the head. I spin toward the person who’s thrown it, remembering only at the last second that I should fall and indicate pain. In fact, my temple does sting a little.
“Oops, sorry,” Stacy says from a few feet away. “Guess I haven’t figured out where I should be aiming.”
For a blessed moment, I imagine roasting her alive, but bank that urge as the coach and my classmates rush up to make sure Stacy hasn’t bashed in the side of my head.
“Are you okay?” several of them ask in unison.
“Back up, everyone,” the coach orders. “Give me room to get her inside.”
I gently but firmly push at the man’s hands. “I’m okay. It barely hit me, just startled me
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