She knew she was imagining things – Lily Star Morgan wasn’t the kind of girl a guy like him checked out – but she had felt eyes on her back quite frequently over the course of the morning, and when she’d been bold enough to turn, she’d met his eyes a time or two.
Come on, Lil. You’re just paranoid or delusional.
The annoying little voice at the back of her mind had a point. There was no way the new guy – who had been ogled, and quickly accosted by the beautiful trio of perfect girls next to whom he now sat – was paying attention to her.
He wasn’t hot; hot was too common a word for a man of his stature, his composure. If someone had blown a trumpet and announced that His Majesty the Prince of Some Kinda Country Out There had arrived, no one would have raised an eyebrow.
He wasn’t gorgeous either, the term lacked maturity; one couldn’t help picturing a pretty boy with a whitened smile and fake tan. He looked older than the average freshman, probably close to twenty-five, and he seemed intense, handsome, charismatic; and sensual, too. After meeting the green eyes under his dark lashes, she couldn’t possibly portray him without using that term.
In contrast, Lily was…
She sighed, dejected because the most accurate word to describe her was weird.
For a start, Lily was a witch; not a wiccan, but a full-fledged witch whose spells actually created visible, concrete results. She may not look like your usual stereotype, warts and all, but she exuded a vibe, an otherness that warned others to stay away.
It had been three months since she’d started trying not to be a witch; she hadn’t even casted a micro-mini spell, and well, it wasn’t exactly working out as planned. She felt on edge, restless, and irritated; which probably projected “the vibe” over a five mile radius.
Ignoring the fact that she was able to conjure fire and wind to exercise her bidding, she was your average nineteen-year-old, really. A light skin with a greenish tone, suggesting an exotic heritage – alas, her similarities to Mila Kunis thus ended. Her eyes were a shade of blue too piercing to suit her complexion and her hair just couldn’t make up its damn mind. Some strands were blond and other, actually black; after spending most of her teens covering it under layers of dye, she’d finally given up, and resolved to pretend that the multicolor mess was supposed to be a thing. It actually worked with the leather-jeans-boots combo she had going on, firmly establishing her as an edgy weirdo no one normal should want to hang out with.
All of that to say, there was zero chance of Mr. Come-To-Bed-Eyes actually checking her out.
Come on, the guy wore a shirt. If it wasn’t for the two open buttons at the top, and the fact that it hung loose around his chinos, she might have taken him for a lawyer.
Lily couldn’t help it, she turned again, and there he was, sitting three rows up, a perfectly poised blonde’s hand on his forearm: Nathalie Maine, admittedly the most attractive freshman at NYU, was trying to get his attention, and failing, because the aforementioned sexy green eyes were fixed on Lily.
The little voice she’d heard before conceded that she might have had a point; he was looking at her.
At the back of her mind, a little voice whispered one word, one simple word–
Maybe her life would have been simpler if she had paid a little more attention to her first impression.
She put her things away after the doorbell rang; it always took a little while because despite what the chaotic hair and the rock-chick image might suggest, Lily was quite organized.
Her mahogany brown satchel had cute little pen holders inside; she kept her gold trimmed Waterman fountain pen on the right, next to an assortment of Bic ballpoints, and there was room for just one pencil there.
Needless to say, she never used anything but the pencil.
A MacBook Air of the first generation, bought used three years back, took up most of the room, and next to it, she carefully fitted her textbooks upright.
“Getting your bag ready for a photoshoot?”
Lily started, almost dropping her satchel, because the voice sounded close, and she hadn’t felt anyone’s presence.
One of the many reasons why she was a weirdo: she knew where living things were, feeling their energy around her – which had made her the worst playmate, ever, as she owned the fuck out of hide-and-seek.
She lifted her head, her eyes narrowed as she took in one of the three pretty girls who’d hogged the new guy.
She was tall, with sleek platinum hair bobbed into submission and she wore bright red lips; classy and carelessly elegant.
Now she saw her right in front of her eyes, Lily totally felt her, but even so, her energy was wrong – different, somehow.
What are you?
She didn’t feel like a regular human, or a witch. Lily just itched to perform a scanning spell and…
No, she admonished herself firmly. You’re a boring, old, normal person and normal persons don’t do magic.
“Sorry, do I know you?”
It wasn’t the nicest thing she could have come up with, but come one – that girl was part of the pretty, popular trio; common sense dictated that they shouldn’t be on each other’s radar unless she planned on inviting her to prom and throw pig blood over her dress.
“Not yet,” Pretty Girl replied, extending her hand.
To her surprise, the girl’s nails were painted black. It so deliciously clashed with the rest of her persona, giving her a little edge.
“Raven,” she introduced herself.
Great. That girl was called Raven and she, the borderline goth, went by Lily Star, like your average fairly distressing maiden? There was something wrong with the universe.
“I know, I chose it. You don’t even want to know what my maker came up with. Anyway, I see the new boy and you had a little eye-fucking fest going on?”
And there it was, her reason for acknowledging her existence.
It meant that she really wasn’t crazy, the handsome newcomer had been looking at her. Right now, she had two options: brushing it off like she didn’t know what Raven was on about, or owning up to it.
Lily lifted her chin, waggling an eyebrow and replied, “And you have a point?”
Raven smirked in response.
“I like the attitude. I don’t have a point, not exactly. Just… be careful, okay? He’s after something – and if you’ve got it, he’ll stop at nothing to take it from you.”
When May isn't writing about sassy women and alpha males, she can generally be found playing with her cat, eating cake, or reading about sassy women and alpha males. Yep, she's that kinda recluse.