My Soul to Keep by Rachel Vincent

gotta go finish my chemistry homework,” I said, using the lock on the locker below mine to haul myself to my feet.
    Nash stood with me. “I’ll walk with you.”
    I wrapped my arms around Nash’s chest, content for the moment just to lean against him and breathe him in—until his next words drenched my warm, cozy feeling like a cold wave crashing over a sleeping sunbather.
    “Have you seen Carter this morning?”
    “No.” In fact, I hadn’t seen him since he’d torn out of thestudent lot on Monday afternoon. He’d skipped school on Tuesday—his parents were still out of town, but rumor had it he’d convinced the maid to call him in sick—presumably too ill from withdrawal to deal with the usual school crap. And I hadn’t given him a second thought so far today, thanks to my nearly sleepless Tuesday night.
    “His car’s in the lot,” Nash continued, voice low to keep anyone else from overhearing us as the hall filled with students. “But we don’t have any classes together till after lunch, and I’m afraid he’s—”
    “There he is,” I interrupted the moment I saw Scott Carter turn the corner from the gym hallway, strutting as confidently as he ever had.
    Nash followed my gaze. “He looks happy.” Which—assuming he hadn’t found a miracle cure for addiction or withdrawal—could only mean one thing. He’d found Doug’s supplier and made another purchase.
    “Maybe he’s just a quick healer,” I suggested, determined to be optimistic because the alternative made me want to rip out my own hair.
    “We’ll know in a minute.” Nash held one hand up and called down the hall, “Hey, Carter, where were you yesterday?”
    Scott threaded a path through the crowd toward us, greeting guys he knew on the way, and shared a hand slap with Nash, whose face froze the moment they touched. And if I’d had any doubts before, they were obliterated a second later when Scott’s hand brushed mine on its way to his side.
    His skin was freezing, and his breath smelled like he’d inhaled a hellion whole.
    “Sick,” Scott said, smiling broadly for no reason I could see.
    “I could barely get out of bed. Had to get Carlita to call me in sick. Good thing she’s picking up some English, right?”
    Nash shrugged. “You got a lot of makeup work?”
    But Scott wasn’t listening. He frowned, eyes narrowed and jaw tense as he stared over my shoulder. I turned to see what he was looking at and found only our own shadows stretched over the lockers, cast by bright light from the office window. But I couldn’t help wondering what he was seeing….
    “Carter?” Nash repeated, turning to follow my gaze while Scott shook his head, as if to clear it.
    “Nah,” he said finally, like he’d heard the question on some kind of time delay. “I don’t think they’ll make me do any of it but that quiz in civics.” He stepped back and made a sweeping gesture to encompass his entire body. “I’m Scott Carter, man. Nobody’s willing to piss off my dad until the football team gets those new pads and tackling dummies for next season.”
    “Jeez, you say your name like it should be written in all caps,” I mumbled, slapping a smile on at the last minute, hoping they’d think I was joking.
    Scott did. Sophie did not.
    “It should be,” she purred, stopping at Scott’s side to run one hand over his shoulder and down his back. “But I guess you usually see yours handwritten by some nut job with a half-eaten crayon. Isn’t that how they label stuff in the psych ward?”
    “Only when you’re in residence,” I snapped. I was too tired to put up with Sophie’s crap that morning, and for a moment, awe at my own nerve energized me better than three cups of early-morning coffee had.
    Scott laughed while Sophie fumed, cheeks hot enough to spontaneously combust. He slapped Nash on the back, still grinning. “Sounds like your little puss grew some claws! Does she purr when you stroke her? ’Cause this one sure does.” He