And two, which is really just a sidebar of number one, I have absolutely no idea how to work these things. I’m pretty sure one day in my Physics of Flight class does not qualify me to operate wings, even if they are on my own back.
Suddenly, I remember the pic Macy showed me and I reach up… Sure enough, there are the horns. Sigh. At least they don’t feel that big.
I don’t know how long I walk and stomp and twirl around as a gargoyle, but I know it’s long enough for my laundry to grow cold and wrinkle.
Long enough for Hudson to give up chasing me and slump down in the corner to watch, a non-sarcastic grin on his face.
More than long enough for my muscles to grow tired and shaky. Turns out it takes some serious effort to move this much rock.
I don’t want to turn back yet, though. I don’t know why or how, but there’s something ridiculously freeing being in this form. I thought I’d feel trapped or weighed down or claustrophobic, but instead I just feel…content. Like I’ve found a giant piece of myself that I didn’t even know was missing.
Eventually, though, I know I have to turn back to my human form. It’s late, Macy will probably be back from girls’ night soon, and I don’t want her to think I ditched her just to go hang with someone else. Plus, I have an early day tomorrow—we arranged to meet on the practice field at nine, and I want to get some sleep, maybe give myself a chance not to make a total fool of myself. Plus, Jaxon will be worried if he thinks I’ve disappeared again.
“Jaxy-Waxy keeps a tight rein on you, huh?” Hudson says, sarcasm back in full force now that he’s used up his decency quotient for the year—maybe even the decade.
I don’t answer him until I’ve changed back to human form—a process as easy as reaching for a bright gold string, which must be human Grace, and willing myself into my human body again. My clothes, which had turned to stone, shift back to cloth as well. “Jaxon worries ever since half the school, and his brother, tried to kill me.”
Hudson yawns. “To be fair, I was trying to kill him. You just got in the way.”
“Wow, I’m sure that makes both of us feel so much better.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t know making you feel better was my job.”
And just like that, I’m totally exasperated with him again. Also very confused. I mean, what was going on in his head earlier, when he burst in here and twirled me around the room like we were best friends or something? And what’s changed to bring him back to his oh-so-un-lovable self?
Not that I’m complaining. This Hudson I know how to handle. The other one completely freaked me out.
“Huh.” Hudson snorts from where he’s leaning a shoulder against the wall. “That’s what I get for being nice.”
“Yeah, you probably shouldn’t do that,” I agree. “It’s not a good look on you.”
“Please. Everything’s a good look on me and you know it.” He emphasizes the point by giving me what can only be described as a “male-model catwalk” look.
I burst out laughing—I can’t help it. And though Hudson pretends to be thoroughly disgusted with me, I’ve gotten to know him enough to recognize the gleam of humor deep in his eyes.
“I’m going to bed,” I tell him when I finally stop laughing.
“Is that an invitation?” he asks.
Suddenly my cheeks are burning and everything feels too hot. “To not be a total douche for the next six hours so I can sleep? Yes. For anything else? Not a chance in hell.” And with that parting shot, I pick up my laundry basket and head back to my room.
“Good. I didn’t want to break your heart anyway.” But he’s whistling as we make our way up the stairs, and it’s only after we get back to my room that I realize the tune is Flo Rida’s “Good Feeling.”
I don’t know why that makes me smile, but it does.
Which is probably why, when I slide into bed a few minutes later, I whisper, “Thank you, Hudson. I really appreciate all your help today.”
There’s a long silence, so long that I would think he’d fallen asleep if I couldn’t see his eyes. Eventually, though, he sighs and says, “Don’t thank me, Grace.”
“Why not?” I roll over so I can get a better look at his face as he leans up against the side of my bed.
“Because,” he tells me, indigo eyes burning hotly with a myriad of emotions I can’t begin to decipher, “if you do, I’m going to do something that you’ll regret.”