Not Meant To Be

“How could you?”

Dalen turned around at the sound of the trembling voice of a boy behind him. Anger laced the tone, coupled with fear. He frowned at the boy standing before him. He was short and thin, with a mass of pimples. His blond hair was on the greasy side, and it didn’t look like it had seen a comb this morning. He couldn’t be much past fourteen, so he was probably a freshman. “What? Are you talking to me, kid?”

Though shaking, the kid straightened his spine. “You bastard. She told me what you did to her.” He looked nauseated. “How can you do such a thing? How can you play with people like that?”

He had to struggle not to yawn. “What’re you talking about?”

“Denise Handy,” the kid spit out furiously. “She was part of your game last weekend.”

“Oh.” Dalen shrugged. “So what?”

The kid’s hands balled into fists. “She was a virgin. We were waiting for Homecoming—”

Dalen shrugged again. His eyes narrowed when the boy lifted his arm, and he caught his wrist easily. He applied enough pressure to make the kid cry out with pain before he twisted and pushed him against the locker. “Look, kid, I know it was a big deal for her, and you too, but you should thank me.”

His eyes were wide with fear, but he didn’t seem any less angry. “I should thank you for raping my girlfriend?” The last word emerged as an outraged squeak.

Dalen didn’t bother to turn around to see if anyone had heard the kid’s words. Who would care if they had? “Breaking in virgins isn’t any fun. My way was easier.” He grinned at the boy. “Be thankful she doesn’t remember it all, or she wouldn’t want you.”

The boy cried out with anger, but it turned to a muffled whimper when Dalen shoved him more forcefully against the locker. “You hurt her—”

He interrupted before the kid could prattle on about his girlfriend’s emotions. “See, the truth is, the game was a big deal for both of you. It might be the single most earth-shattering moment of her life.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a confidential whisper. “But I can’t even remember what she looked like. I wouldn’t know her name if you hadn’t said it. I’ll remember her as number twenty-one.”

Tears rolled down the boy’s face, and he seemed ashamed by them. He ducked his head, refusing to meet Dalen’s eyes. “You’re a monster.”

Dalen laughed and released the kid. He gave him a not-so-gentle shove down the hall, causing the freshman to stumble and fall to his knees. “Don’t bother me again.”

With one last angry glower, the kid picked himself up and hurried away.

Dalen turned back to his locker to take out his books for first period. He shook his head at the kid’s balls, wondering how a freshman had the nerve to stand up to him. Despite his annoyance with the boy’s behavior, part of Dalen admired his moxie for trying to protect his girlfriend.

He wondered if he would ever love anyone enough to risk everything for them. His eyes scanned the halls automatically, but all he saw was a plethora of spoiled, self-centered, rich girls chattering inanely. Not one of them was worthy of his heart, and he moved on, dismissing the idea of finding the love of his life at Breckridge Academy.

With a sigh of dissatisfaction, Rory dropped the brush onto her dressing table. She examined her appearance in the full-length mirror that ran along one wall of her room in her parents' new house. “I look horrible.” Maybe she just felt horrible, clad in the required uniform, getting ready to endure her first day at Breckridge Academy. She cocked her head and tried to be more objective about the outfit.

She didn't really look that bad, she decided, though she didn’t like the ensemble. The red skirt was short and pleated. The tie was made from plaid material with hunter green, navy, and maroon. The simple blouse was white silk and paired with a red blazer. The color of the blazer clashed with her red-gold hair. Fortunately, she had good legs from all the dancing she did, and the skirt looked good on her.

The final touch was a pair of court shoes. Until her enrollment at Breckridge Academy, Rory had never heard of court shoes. They turned out to be plain shoes with blocky heels. The male students were required to wear loafers, but at least they didn’t have to wear white tights with their red slacks. Rory thought it was a particular torture the faculty had reserved for the female students. After all, until ten years ago, Breckridge Academy had been an all-boys’ school called Barneby-Hudson.

“Rory, breakfast is ready,” her mother called up the stairs. “Hurry down and eat. You don't want to be late on your first day.”

Rory rolled her eyes and ignored her mother as she applied make-up. One would think her mother had been slaving over a hot stove since daybreak from her long-suffering tone. In reality, the brand-new cook had been the one in the kitchen. She had been “purchased” to match the deluxe kitchen. Rory had laughed when she first met Maria, because the woman's hair was the same shade as the accent color of walnut brown featured heavily in the kitchen’s décor.

Finally, with a disgusted sigh, Rory grabbed her leather backpack—one of the few things the students were allowed to pick for themselves—slung it over her shoulder and tromped down the stairs. She took a seat in the dining room, longing for the days when her family ate in the kitchen of their old house in Los Angeles. She sighed, knowing things wouldn’t go back to the old way now that they had settled in Breckridge.

“I still don't know why I have to go to Breckridge Academy,” she said to her father, who hid behind the Wall Street Journal. “We only live forty minutes from my old high school. With the car you bought me, I could be there and back in no time. I wouldn't mind getting up early to commute.”

With a long sigh, Dan folded his paper and looked at her. “Part of the reason we moved to Breckridge was to get you and Ricky out of the public school system. It isn't safe there. Breckridge Academy has a wonderful reputation.”

Rory rolled her eyes as she picked up a piece of toast, tearing at it absently while she tried to persuade him. “But, Dad, I'm going to hate it here. I don't know anyone, and I won't fit in with all those rich kids.”

Dan smiled. “That's not true, Rory. You're worth a lot more than most of the kids at that school, so you’ll be one of them.”

“I want to go home. I hate this place.”

Her father picked up his paper again. “You had all summer to get out and make friends. You're the one who chose to spend most of your time with your friends in Los Angeles. I don't mean to sound harsh, but you wasted an opportunity. You'll do fine,” he added encouragingly, seemingly as an afterthought.

“But Dad—”

He flicked his paper. “I don't want to hear another word, Aurora. You'd best find your place here, because this is your home now.” He returned his attention to the stocks, and Rory subsided into silence as her mother joined them for breakfast, followed quickly by her little brother.

Ricky, with the appetite of a fifteen-year-old boy, wolfed down a huge breakfast in the time Rory ate two pieces of toast and a boiled egg. “You ready?” he asked around his last mouth of food, before gulping a third glass of orange juice.

“I guess.” She made no effort to hide her lack of enthusiasm. She rose from the mahogany table, pushing back her velvet-cushioned chair.

Leigh raised her cheek for a kiss, and Ricky smacked one on her before rushing from the room. A bit more sedately, Rory folded her napkin and brushed a peck on her mother's cheek.

Leigh put a hand on her arm. “It will be fine, darling.” She squeezed her arm gently. “You'll make friends in no time.”

Rory snorted. “Whatever.” She strode out of the dining room, stopping to pick up her backpack from the hall table on her way out of the house. She resisted the urge to shout out her anger as she rounded the house and walked down the driveway to her car and waiting brother.

Ricky sat in her black Mustang, and he had lowered the top. “Hurry up.” He practically bounced with excitement. “I want to get there before class starts. I told Billy and Erick I'd meet them.” Unlike Rory, Ricky had thrown himself into the social life at Breckridge within his first week after the move. The boy next door, Billy, had befriended him, and Ricky was ecstatic.

When they lived in L.A., he'd never been popular, nor had any friends at all for that matter. Ricky was chubby and on the short side, but he had Dan's intelligence. Academic success had not been a sought-after talent for popularity, and he had been a target for lots of kids' meanness. Here in Breckridge, he had two friends already and had spent so much time running around, he'd lost twenty-five pounds over the summer.

With a start, Rory noticed Ricky wasn't the fat kid anymore. He was still chubby, but he looked different. He had grown three inches, which further contributed to the appearance of weight loss. He was cute, she realized with shock. “You had a good summer, didn't you?” she asked as she slid behind the wheel. “You're looking good, Ricky.” She avoided meeting his eyes, embarrassed by the praise and assuming he would be too.

Ricky didn’t acknowledge her compliment, but there was a catch in his voice. “It was a great summer. I love Breckridge. There're all kinds of hiking trails outside of town, and most of the people are really nice here.”

Rory reversed down the long drive and pulled out onto the street. “I guess,” she said blandly. She hated all things Breckridge. It was her senior year, for goodness sakes. She was supposed to be enjoying it surrounded by her friends. After all, she'd had an easy schedule picked out, and she’d planned to continue with her dance lessons. She had even had the perfect part-time job arranged, teaching ballet and tap to the four to seven-year-olds.

All that had changed now. Breckridge Academy had much tougher requirements, so she was stuck taking math, science, foreign language, history, and English classes when she should have been taking mostly electives. Gone were the plans of hanging out until all hours with her friends, only to be replaced with mental images of toiling over thick books late into the night.

As for dancing, she had tried not to think about it. She hadn’t even stretched or practiced during the three months they had lived in the small town. She hadn't bothered to look for a dance teacher because she doubted any would be as good as Tabitha Rassmouseau. Because of the move and subsequent upheaval, she hadn’t been able to start teaching the ballet class that summer. Tabitha reluctantly gave the job to one of Rory’s former classmates, who wasn’t as talented, but was dependable. That meant her part-time job wasn’t available.

Her mouth twisted. In light of recent events, she didn’t have to work. That should have mollified her somewhat, but it didn’t. Instead, she felt resentful of her father’s success. It had altered her life completely.

It took less than ten minutes to get to the school going down Maple Street, and Rory parked in the nearly full lot. Most cars were late-models or new for the year. Not one car was less than twenty thousand when purchased new, and she rolled her eyes again. It was pathetic to buy all these rich kids expensive cars to destroy on the weekends. The irony of it was, she drove an expensive car, but it had been a seventeenth-birthday present. She awoke that morning to find her rusty old Volvo towed and replaced with the Mustang. Of course, she liked the Mustang, but she missed Vee-Girl.

“See you.” Ricky hopped out and hurried into the school almost as soon as she shut off the engine. He was soon lost in the crowd of students spilling into the school. With a sigh, Rory tamped down the desire to ditch and dragged herself out of the car after raising the top and locking the doors.

Her backpack was heavy, filled with the books she needed, and she trudged into the antique-façade building, keeping her head down and ignoring everyone. In the activity center, she plopped her pack on a free table and dug out her registration packet from the side pocket. It also contained her locker number and combination.

Last week, Rory's mother had dragged her and Ricky in to tour the school so they could find their classrooms and know where everything was. As she glanced at the people milling around the activity center, she was relieved her mother had insisted she come along when she resisted.

Rory pushed through the crowd and made her way to the senior hall, to the seniors' lockers. It had to be a bottom locker, she thought with a sigh as she crouched to input the combination. The knob resisted her efforts to turn, and it wouldn’t click on 38.

When she finally got the three numbers in correctly, the lock didn’t want to open. She struggled to pry it open and jumped with surprise when someone pinched her buttocks. She whipped around in outrage, but there were so many people flowing through the hall she couldn't tell who might have done it.

Her gaze settled on a group of jocks moving towards the door, all wearing varsity athlete jackets. She decided they were the most likely culprits. That didn’t help her, since she had no proof and couldn’t do anything about it. Why bother anyway? She knew how it worked for the elite, no matter which school or situation. They were above the rules.

With a muttered curse, she returned her attention to the lock.

“Need some help?” someone asked.

Rory looked up into a sculpted male face, complete with dark-green eyes, and sandy-brown hair. He smiled down at her, and Rory nodded, speechless. When he knelt beside her, she inhaled his cologne, and her heart rate accelerated.

He made short work of the lock. He grinned at her. “For the tuition this place charges, you’d think they could afford new locks.”

She nodded, feeling unaccountably shy. He held out the lock, and she eventually remembered to take it from him. “Thanks.”

He shrugged and stood up, extending a hand to help her up too. She grasped it, and he lifted her to her feet. “No problem. I'm Carson Winslow.” He still held her hand, and he turned it sideways to shake it.

She blushed, enjoying touching him. After the pain of breaking up with her first and only boyfriend, she had decided she wouldn’t date for a while. She hadn’t counted on feeling the tingle of instant attraction that accompanied his light caresses. “I'm Rory Abramson.”

“Are you new?” he asked as they walked down the hall to the exit that led to the main buildings.

“Um hmm.” She nodded. “We moved here this summer from L.A.”

“Welcome.” His green eyes seemed to drink in the sight of her face as they stopped walking and turned to each other. It wasn’t until someone bumped him that he shook his head, breaking the spell. “I have to get to class, but I hope to see you again.”

“So do I,” she said, blinking. He walked away from her with a wave, and she watched him go until he was out of sight. Then she returned her attention to the schedule to locate her first class. After noting the classroom number of her Literature class, she made her way down the hall, stopping to view the map once or twice.

The first two classes passed in a blur, with Rory learning little. In first period, she overheard the strategies of the cheer team as two members of the squad whispered about the subject through first period. They didn’t even glance her way when they left the classroom, but she didn’t fail to notice them as they walked past her desk. The tall, imposing blonde wore her cheer uniform, though the girl she had spoken to wore the required school uniform.

Nothing enlivened her second-period Calculus class, and she found herself writing Carson’s name on an empty page and doodling around it. When she found herself changing the O to a heart, she ripped out the page and crumpled it in her hand. She didn’t want to like anything or anybody in Breckridge.

Rory's third class of the day was Perspectives in American Government, and she immediately spotted the two girls from the cheer squad in her first-period class. They were deep in conversation with a black-haired young man with incredible features and strange blue eyes. He looked up and saw Rory, taking time to examine her. He licked his lips and winked.

She took a seat on the other side of the class. His actions were lightly flirtatious, but a predatory glint in his eyes carried to her across the distance of the classroom. She could feel his gaze on her throughout Mr. Tinge’s lecture on expansionism.

Rory was relieved when the bell rang, and she was on her way out the door when the two girls from her first class stopped her.

“Are you new?” the blonde asked.

Rory nodded, trying not to notice the way their friend stood behind them, eyeing her breasts. “Yes. I moved here from L.A.”

The girl’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Really? Don’t you hate this backwater town? It must be such a shock after living in a cool place.”

She nodded again, unable to speak as the girl continued.

“I can’t wait to get out of this place.” She eyed Rory for a long moment. “Make sure you make the right connections here, um…what was your name again?”

“Rory.”

She frowned. “Strange name. I’m Jeri.” She didn’t bother to introduce her companions. “We’ll be seeing you, Rory.”

“Okay.” Rory headed for the door. She could feel their gazes drilling into her, and she struggled to stand upright and walk straight. Overall, they were intimidating.

Rory made it through Latin and Advanced Biology unscathed, though with a depressing amount of homework. She spent the lunch period huddled in the bathroom, listening to three girls speak excitedly about a party on Friday, while she attempted to concentrate on reading Beowulf to catch up with her literature class. When the first bell rang, she waited for them to leave before she emerged from the stall. The bathroom was empty, and she took time to brush her hair before hurrying to her next class.

When she walked in her French class, she saw Carson sitting in the back row, and he waved her over. She smiled at him and took a seat beside him. “Hi.” She plopped her books on the desk, having discarded her backpack and the other books in her locker after last period.

“How's the first day going?”

She groaned. “It’s boring as hell. All the teachers do is drone on. Haven’t they ever heard of interactive classes?”

He grinned. “Breckridge Academy is still entrenched in the past. It took a lawsuit to make the school co-ed. Aside from the introduction of breasts, nothing much has changed here in the last hundred years.” Red tinged his ears when he said that, and he dropped his gaze. “Uh, sorry.”

“No problem.”

After an awkward silence, he said, “So, tell me something about you.”

Rory gave him a brief history, trying to gloss over her anger about the move and hide her childish resentment over the success of her father’s engine design. She ended her summation with: “That brings me here, to this crappy town.”

“It’s not all bad.”

She snorted, but didn’t answer.

“I’m here.” His expression was comical, but his cheeks reddened. Fortunately for both of them, he didn't have time to say anything else that might embarrass one or both of them, because the final bell rang and the teacher started speaking in French. Rory was lost and her confusion showed. They were at least a year ahead of her last class.

The arrival of a late student interrupted the teacher’s lecture in mid-sentence. She frowned at him and switched to English to berate him. “You're late, Dalen, and I don’t appreciate it. Let's not have a repetition of last year, shall we?”

She recognized him as the young man who had given her the once-over in third period, and Rory shifted uncomfortably as he flashed a grin at the teacher, shrugged, and strutted to the seat behind her. He sat in silence, but there seemed to be a subtle battle of wills between Dalen and the teacher. The hour passed slowly, and she wasn’t able to concentrate on the lesson. She swore his gaze didn’t leave the back of her head, though she didn’t know why she was certain of that.

After the class ended, Carson waited for her to gather her things, and they began talking again as they walked to the door. He was just telling her about the limited fun one could have in Breckridge when someone pushed in between them.

Dalen shoved Carson and turned to face him. “If it isn't Scholarship Carson?” he asked in a mock-friendly tone. “What’ve you been up to this summer? Slumming with the poor people, no doubt. Did you go to Chicago and visit your dad?” A cruel chuckle slipped from Dalen. “Oops. I forgot he doesn't acknowledge you since he left your mom for his new wife and kids.” He shoved Carson once more, a bit more than playfully, and headed out the door after winking at Rory.

“What a jerk,” Rory whispered to Carson.

“Yeah.” He sounded bored, but his eyes burned with anger. “See you.” When they stepped into the hall, he took the opposite direction from her without so much as a “bye,” though he had been friendly before the incident. With a confused shake of her head, Rory headed down the hall to Interpretive Dance, her one fun class.

She was at the doorway when the jerk stepped in line beside her. “Hey,” he said.

“Witty,” she whispered under breath.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

“I said hello.” She kept her tone level.

Dalen smiled. “I'm Dalen Hudson. Welcome to my school.”

“Your school?” she asked with a quirked brow.

Dalen paused to open the door for her. “My mother is the headmistress, and my father is on the board. My great-grandfather was a founding member, along with his friend Hugh Barneby. Breckridge used to be Barneby-Hudson.” He displayed perfect white teeth when he grinned. They were a sparkling contrast to his tanned skin, thick black hair worn to his collar, and light-blue eyes rimmed with dark blue. He was muscular and almost a foot taller than her own five-two. The way he loomed over her was disquieting, and she realized she was afraid of him. She didn’t know what it was about this man that frightened her, but she wanted to get away from him.

Her eyes darted around their location, seeking someone nearby to call on for assistance, though the urge was illogical. He hadn’t done anything to her. Her gaze moved downward, and her eyes narrowed when she saw a letterman's jacket hanging over his arm. Was he the one who grabbed her bottom this morning?

She cleared her throat and focused on taking deep breaths. They were in a public place, and she had no reason to fear him. She sensed hiding her fear was important, and she struggled to react normally to his revelation. “That must be nice for you,” she said blandly, concentrating on taking smooth steps as she hurried to the gym.

He followed behind her. “It can be nice to have sort of a free pass.” His voice dropped an octave. “I’m generous though, and my friends receive the same consideration.”

“Of course they do.” Even in her old school, with thousands of students, a handful had been granted privileges simply because they were who they were—sons and daughters of powerful people who sent their children to public school for whatever reason; natural athletes that could take the school to new heights of glory; and those with the attitude to demand special treatment and receive it. She hadn’t fallen into any of those groups in L.A., and she didn’t want to here.

He continued to follow her, seemingly not put off by her lack of enthusiasm for their conversation and his presence. Frustrated, she turned on him. “I'm going to Interpretive Dance. I doubt that's your class, and I don’t need an escort.”

“I have Weightlifting.” His expression was a combination of amusement and confusion as he scooted entirely too close to her. Apparently, he couldn’t understand why she wasn’t falling over herself for him. “In the gym, right next to your classroom.”

“Hmm.”

“Jeri's having a party Friday,” he said as the beige brick building came in sight. “Are you coming?”

Rory shrugged. “I don't know who Jeri is. I haven't been invited.”

“You met her in Government.” He smiled crookedly. “But that doesn’t matter, ‘cause you've been invited by me.” He touched her arm briefly before disappearing into the boys’ locker room. Rory shook her head and made her way into the girls’ room. It wasn’t so easy to dismiss the chill of fear remaining at the base of her spine or her racing heartbeat as she walked to the cage in the center of the room.

She was given a locker by a harried looking assistant teacher and quickly undressed, putting on white tights and a black leotard. As long as the uniform was modest, there was no restriction on what the students could wear. She had worn an outfit similar to this for the past eleven years, since enrolling in her first dance class.

As she was lacing up her toe shoes, a pretty brown-haired girl sat on the bench beside her, stripping off her clothes. “Hi,” she told Rory shyly.

Rory smiled. “Hello,” she answered and stood up.

“I'm Korith Bursey.” She held out a hand, wearing her jeans and bra.

“Rory Abramson,” Rory told her. “See you in class,” she added and went into the gym. There were blue mats scattered on the floor and Rory sat down on one, going through her stretching routine. She was ready when the last students came in the room and each selected a mat. Rory watched their warm-up routine and discovered it wasn't much different from her own.

Korith was three mats away, stretching her legs, and she smiled over at Rory. “Watch out for her,” a voice warned. “She's a lesbo.” Rory spun around to see a petite blonde girl contorting her body.

“She seems nice,” Rory said lamely.

The girl puckered her mouth. “Whatever,” she dismissed. “You were warned,” she added. Their teacher began to talk then and Rory was soon absorbed in the class. It was the first time all day she felt able to relax and didn't have to worry about making a fool of herself. As she watched the other students, she realized she was way ahead of most of them. Only three or four seemed to be her equal, including Korith.

“All right, ladies and gentleman,” The teacher waved to Ross, the only male student, “That's enough for today.” Rory followed the others into the locker room and showered before dressing in jean shorts and a T-shirt she'd packed in her bag that morning. Since dance was her last class of the day, she didn't think anyone would mind if she shed the uniform. She noticed several other girls had done the same.

She was leaving the locker room when the blonde girl stepped in line beside her. “You're good,” she complimented.

“Thanks,” Rory said politely. “So are you.” The girl nodded, then catching sight of her friends, hurried off. Rory noticed she was dressed in a cheerleader uniform and she was meeting another group of people clad in the same maroon and blue uniform.

Rory hurried to her car where Ricky and Billy were loitering. “Can we give Billy a ride?” Ricky asked sweetly, looking hot and rumpled in his blazer and navy slacks.

Smiling, Rory unlocked the doors. “Sure,” she agreed. They climbed in and Rory started the car, putting the top down. She accelerated out of the parking lot and got behind a red BMW. “Imagine having a BMW when you're in high school,” she uttered idly.

Billy, a tall, lanky kid with red hair and freckles, nodded enthusiastically. “I'd love it,” he told them. “But I'd rather have a Porsche like Dalen Hudson.”

“He has a Porsche?” Ricky asked with a degree of excitement Rory had never seen. Her brother began regaling about the features in a Porsche and Billy joined him. She rolled her eyes at their conversation, but she was pleased that Ricky had a good friend. She'd never realized her brother had an interest in cars but it shouldn't surprise her. Ricky and Dan were both mechanically inclined. In fact, it was Dan's invention that had elevated their income to the current level.

They were two blocks from home when Rory caught sight of a Dairy Queen. Ice cream sounded like the best thing in the world to her and she licked her lips. “You guys want ice cream?” she offered. “My treat.” They nodded enthusiastically and Rory turned into the parking lot.

They trooped inside and studied the board. They stood at the counter for a couple of minutes before someone came to help them. It was Carson and Rory smiled at him. “We meet again,” she teased and he smiled back, obviously in a better mood than when she'd last seen him.

“Hey there,” he said cheerfully. “What can I get you?” Billy and Ricky placed their orders while Rory studied the menu. Finally, she selected and gave him her order. “Sounds good,” he commented with a wink and took her money. He returned shortly with their ice cream, making sure to brush his hand against her fingers. Rory smiled and blushed, stuttering a thank you. Billy and Ricky had a table, so Rory joined them, still blushing.

She liked Carson but didn't want to make the first move. She'd broken up with her boyfriend over the summer, less than two months ago, and she didn't know if she wanted the pressure of another relationship again already. Still, Carson would be a nice one to go with, she thought to herself with a small smile. She shook her head, thinking she was acting ridiculous. After all, she'd only known him one day and didn't even really know anything about him.

It took forever to get the boys to leave and it was nearly four-thirty when they headed for the door. Rory saw Dalen and an entourage of people walk through the door and bit back a groan. She pretended like she didn't see him but he saw her and grabbed her arm. “Hey, Rory, why don't you join us?” he invited while pulling her closer.

“Thanks, but I was just leaving,” she told him ultra-politely and tried to pull her hand away. He tightened his grip, frowning at her. She bit her lip and jerked out of his grasp. She glared at him and turned away.

“Wait up,” Dalen called as his friends went to the counter. He followed Rory outside and took hold of her from behind, wrapping his arms around her. “Come back in for a little while,” he cajoled.

Rory struggled against his hold. “Let go of me,” she hissed at him as Ricky looked up from the Porsche he and Billy were studying. His eyes narrowed as he took in Rory's stance.

“What's up, Rory?” he asked timidly as he approached. Even he could see he was no match for the guy who was holding his sister but if she was in trouble, he had to try to help. After all, he was now taller than Rory.

Rory whispered. “Let go of me, Dalen,” as Ricky got closer. “I don't want him involved in this.”

Dalen nuzzled her neck. “Is he your boyfriend?” he asked casually while squeezing her wrist.

“He's my brother.” She gasped as he squeezed harder before releasing her. She stepped away from him so quickly she stumbled and he caught her. She was plastered against him in a parody of a lover's embrace and she shuddered with revulsion. “Nothing,” she told Ricky as he stood shakily by her side. “This is a...friend,” she finished lamely.

“Okay,” he answered uncertainly as Dalen continued to hold on to Rory. “Can we go now? I need to do my homework.”

“Sure,” Rory responded with relief as a white convertible squealed into the lot. Four of the girls from cheerleading piled out, taking in the scene. “I'm more than ready,” she added and wrenched away from Dalen, hurting her shoulder in the process.

“You move quickly, Dalen,” Jeri called on her way in with the others. Rory's face burned as she and Ricky hurried to the car. She got behind the wheel and pulled away without fastening her seat belt. She stopped a block later and put it on. She wanted to cry and couldn't stop shaking. She felt violated by Dalen though he'd most likely just been flirting with her. Rory rubbed her wrist as she reminded herself she didn't know Dalen. Maybe that was his way of being friendly. If so, she didn't want to be friends with him.

Ricky and Billy were subdued, either picking up on her mood or realizing for themselves that something had happened at the Dairy Queen. When Rory pulled the Mustang into the drive, the boys climbed out without using the doors. “I'll be home later,” Ricky said over his shoulder as he and Billy cut across the yard to Billy's house.

Rory went inside, taking time to drop her books on the bed upstairs before going back down the stairs and into the kitchen to have a snack. Sitting at the oak table that resembled the one that had been in their old house was comforting. So was eating apples slathered with peanut butter and drinking homemade iced tea. When she'd finished her snack, Rory returned to her room and opened her books. She had a hard time concentrating because she couldn't dismiss the incident with Dalen from her mind. He scared her and she didn't know why. She wasn't a timid person normally but something about Dalen worried her.

She was engrossed in Beowulf, enjoying it more than she'd expected, when her mother tapped on the door and came in. Leigh threw herself across Rory's bed and for just a moment, barefoot and wearing old jeans, she looked like the mother Rory remembered from L.A. before the money came. “How did it go?” Leigh asked as she idly thumbed through Rory's advanced biology book.

Lately Rory and her mother had not spoken. They'd talked to each other but the words they'd said had no meaning. Rory had still not forgiven her parents for moving her to Breckridge, as unreasonable as that was. Feeling closer to Leigh then she had in months, Rory told her about her day, from start to finish.

When Leigh heard about Dalen she frowned. “Be careful,” she cautioned her daughter. The boy sounded like trouble to her. “He sounds...dangerous.” Perhaps the word was a tad melodramatic, Leigh acknowledged to herself.

Rory nodded emphatically. “I don't know if he is, and I don't intend to find out.”

Leigh sat up, looking at her watch. “I have to get ready, honey, but if anything else happens let me know.” Rory looked at her and once again, Leigh had changed back into her pod-person costume, the rich society wife of Dan Abramson, inventor of the better airplane engine.

“What's for dinner?” Rory asked distantly.

Shrugging, Leigh rose from the bed. “Whatever you want. Just let Maria know. Your father and I are having dinner at the country club.”

“Of course,” Rory said bitterly. “Thanks for the talk, Mother,” she said coldly, forcing her attention back to the book. Leigh sighed deeply and left. Rory studied through nine o'clock just to get caught up then went down to forage from the fridge. She had yogurt and a ham sandwich before returning to the bedroom that had been decorated by some stranger.

The room was lavender and cream, with lace and satin everywhere. It would have been the average teen girl's dream but Rory had never cared for it. To be honest, she'd resisted every change that had been thrust upon her during the last eighteen months, but she didn't think she'd like the room under any circumstances. She preferred neutral tones and simple patterns. She didn't go for all the dainty ruffles everywhere. The only thing she truly liked in the room was the walk-in closet and full-length mirror. If she ever started dancing again, she could use it to study her form and techniques.

She fell asleep eventually and when the alarm screamed the next morning, she considered throwing it out the window. Since she had to get out of bed either way, she settled for shutting it off. After a shower, she put on a fresh school uniform and tucked another casual outfit in her pack. She brushed out her curly hair and put it in a ponytail.

Rory ate alone in the kitchen because neither of her parents were up yet and Ricky wasn't down. She turned on the television in the family room and waited for Ricky. Finally, he came down in the navy slacks and maroon blazer, heading straight to the kitchen. Rory almost laughed when she saw his face. He had toilet paper squares in three places. Obviously, this was the morning he'd picked for his first shave. She sniffed, noticing he was wearing some of dad's aftershave, and bit back a grin. It had to be a girl affecting her brother.

“Do you mind if Billy rides with us again?” he asked. “He won't get a car until he turns sixteen next month.”

“I don't mind,” Rory agreed, grabbing her pack from the floor and following Ricky out. They drove to the school, the boys chattering and Rory occasionally grinning. The name Moriah Kelley came up frequently and she laughed aloud. Rory parked in the same place as yesterday, next to a dusty Nissan. She had to look again to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was. Imagine having the nerve to park that in the Breckridge Academy parking lot, she thought with a giggle, loving the person’s chutzpah.

She got through the day without running into anyone unpleasant, like Dalen, until sixth period. Rory went to French class and sat by Carson. He grinned and winked at her and she leaned over to talk to him as Dalen brushed by, blocking her. “Rory,” he whispered intimately. “How are you today?”

She glared at him. “Fine,” she bit out, pulling back when she noticed how close her mouth was to the bulge in his jeans. The bell rang and Dalen sat behind her, scooting his desk close to hers. She looked over at Carson but he was no longer looking at her. She tried to get his attention but he acted like she didn't exist.

The teacher announced they would be seeing a film and a few people cheered. “You need to take notes,” she admonished and turned out the lights. The projector had been running for only a few minutes when Dalen's hands settled on Rory's shoulders. She twitched and scooted her desk up a little farther but he followed.

As the movie progressed, he continued to touch her and play with her hair. Rory tried to evade him but he always managed to touch her again. His hand slipped down to her breast and she grabbed it, digging in nails that were a decent length. Dalen's retaliation was swift and painful. He grabbed a lock of her hair and yanked so hard tears came to her eyes.

The light came on and he dropped his hands. Rory looked over at Carson and saw him glaring their way. She hung her head and rubbed at the spot where Dalen had pulled her hair. The bell rang and everyone filed from the class. Carson was one of the first out the door and Rory stared after him with sad eyes. Dalen waited for her to gather her books, and she ignored him as he followed her to the gym.

Rory made it through dance on autopilot. Afterwards she dressed in the leggings and matching exercise top she'd packed, throwing on her sneakers. She was waiting in the gym when the cheerleading committee started arriving. Three other girls sat beside Rory, and she smiled at them but no one spoke. Finally, Jeri arrived. “Okay, I'm Jeri Macklon,” she introduced herself. “If you impress me, you're in. The best of you will join our squad and the rest will be shunted to the auxiliary squad.” Jeri took a seat on the mat and Rory recognized her as the girl from class yesterday, who'd told her about the try-outs. Six more girls came in a giggling group and sat on the mat. One of the subordinates came around and picked up the registration form.

Rory was the third one called, and she went through the routine. One of the male cheerleaders, she thought Perry, came forward and lifted her. He nodded and Jeri wrote something. She was told to sit with the others who'd performed and Moriah Kelley was called next. Rory smiled as she saw the small girl with flyaway auburn hair go through the routine. So, this was the girl Ricky liked. When Moriah sat down beside her, Rory said. “You were great,” and it was true.

“Thanks,” she answered in a chirpy voice. Leaning closer she whispered. “Did that guy grab your...” She looked downwards and shuddered. Rory shook her head and the girl smiled again. “Then it was probably an accident,” she said with evident relief. “Did they say your name was Abramson? 'Cause there's this boy in my English class named Ricky. Is he your brother?”

“Yes,” Rory said as she halfheartedly watched the other girls. She was enjoying her conversation with the bubbly little Moriah far more.

“Oh.” She blushed bright red. “Just wondering,” she hurried to add and Rory smiled. The rest of the girls competed and after ten minutes, Jeri stood up.

“Okay, we'd like Rory and Moriah for the squad. Toni, Stacey, and Courtney will be placed on the auxiliary. The rest of you can go.” Rory watched as the five girls who weren't chosen filed out with slumped shoulders. Jeri turned back to the ones remaining. “Girls, the real practice won't start until next Monday, but I want to meet every day after school at the regular practice time to see what you can all do.” She smiled, making her stunning face even more beautiful. “I'm having a party Friday and I expect you all to attend. It's being held in your honor, after all.” She gave directions to her house and they were dismissed.

Rory and Moriah walked out of the gym together. “Do you need a ride?” Rory asked, trying to play matchmaker for her brother.

Smiling hugely, the perky redhead giggled and followed Rory to her car. Ricky and Billy had hung around, waiting for a ride, and she was a little surprised since they were boys. Their eyes popped out of their heads when they saw Moriah and Billy nudged her brother. “Hi,” they greeted nervously, shuffling their feet. “How are you, Moriah?” Billy asked, holding the door for her after Rory unlocked it.

“Fine,” she answered with another giggle and crawled into the back seat. Billy pushed Ricky forward then settled into the front seat beside Rory. Winking at her, he leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. Rory shook her head, and laughing, pulled onto the road, right in front of Dalen's red Porsche. He accelerated and passed her, obscenely flicking his tongue at her when he was even with her window. “He's such a jerk,” Moriah said emphatically. “My cousin Korith hates him.”

“Why?” Ricky stuttered.

Shrugging, Moriah flipped back her longish hair. “I don't know, she just does. She lives with us and one day she just came home hating Dalen. They used to go out I think.”

Rory listened intently as Moriah talked but the girl soon switched the subject to something else. At Dairy Queen, Rory pulled in and they piled out. At the counter she was disappointed to see a girl standing there. When it was her turn to order, she asked, “Where’s Carson?” in a casual voice.

The teenager shrugged. “I dunno. Probably with his band. What would you like?” Rory ordered a small cone and joined the others at the table. They talked as the ice cream quickly disappeared. Then they returned to the car and Rory was relieved neither Dalen nor Jeri had shown up. Not that she had anything against Jeri but she was friends with Dalen and it seemed wherever she went he was sure to follow.

Moriah gave directions and Rory pulled the car in front of her house a few minutes later. It was a nice three-story domicile with a two-car garage but not nearly as grand as Rory had expected. Moriah waited for Ricky to get out before bouncing out of the cramped back seat. “Thanks,” she called and waved before going inside. Rory was pulling out from the driveway when she looked across the street and saw Carson in the garage of the house, busy under the hood of a dusty Nissan. He never looked up and she accelerated, feeling unreasonably rejected.