That was just one of the many things I liked about Bri. The guy who’d grabbed her ass was now walking with a very pronounced limp. At least she’d gotten in a lick of her own, I noticed with satisfaction. That was yet another hazard of rainy days: dorks with more hormones than sense. “Hey, watch it!” I heard Bri yelp from behind me, and I glanced back in time to see some freshman jerk cop a feel as he scooted past her. Now the idea of getting soaked to the skin-again-was almost as unappealing as the idea of giving up everything and jumping into the ocean like my mother had so many years before. That didn’t stop most of us from trying to squeeze under, which led to major traffic jams, assorted pushing and shoving, and at least one or two fistfights on every rainy day.Ī year ago, I would have preferred walking in the rain over trying to maneuver my way through the sardine-can passageways, but a lot had changed in a year. The areas close to the buildings were covered, but trying to fit three thousand adult-size students under a series of narrow overhangs was impossible. Because it’s sunny in San Diego something like three hundred days of the year, most of the high schools are built with outdoor hallways-and ours is no exception.

It was still raining, so things were an absolute disaster. I nearly snarled at the thought-getting sick after everything else that had happened today would just be the icing on the crappy cake that was my life. I ran my hand over the part that ached and it did feel a little warm. My underwear was wet, I looked awful, and to top things off, my neck still hurt like crazy. I was in a bad mood and I didn’t want to see anyone.

“Thanks,” I said, gathering up my books and heading for the hallway with an awkward little wave. Too bad it didn’t do me any more good this time than it had the other times. Mortified, I pulled the jacket closed again and cursed my mother-and the freaky metabolism she’d given me-for what had to be the millionth time. My shirt was clinging to my chest like it had been painted on, and the fact that I was still too cold was … more than obvious. Her voice trailed off and I glanced down, shocked to realize she was right. Your shirt is still pretty damp and it’s kind of …” I was almost dry and only reasonably cold, so I was pretty sure I could make it through the rest of the day without it.īut she gestured for me to keep it. Shoving the thought away-there wasn’t anything I could do about it, anyway-I started to shrug out of Mickey’s jacket. What did it say about me that the prospect was a lot less daunting than what I actually had to face in the next few weeks?

Tempest Rising by Tracy Deebs