Page 82 of Shattered Stars

“By taking that, I’m only making more enemies,” I tell her. “Did you not see all those death stares?”

“It’s not like we’re popular, Rhi. We don’t have tons of friends to lose. So what if a few idiots are jealous about our mealtime bonus? They should take that up with the school, not us.”

She pinches a sausage from the plate and takes a big bite. A bite she’s soon choking on as her eyes alight on something behind my head. I remember my first breakfast in the hall and for a moment, I think it’s Stone towering behind me. Maybe he’s heard what happened with Summer after all and is here to confront me.

My bond strains towards him. My cheeks heat of their own accord. Only the sensation in my gut is much stronger whenever Stone’s near now we’re bonded. And this is … this is …

I grimace.

This is Tristan.

“Rhianna.”

I consider ignoring him, pretending I haven’t heard his voice, but Winnie’s eyes are practically bulging out of her head and I realize the Great Hall has fallen deathly silent. So silent, I canhear his breath behind me and there’s no way I can pretend I haven’t heard when he says, for a second time, this time louder, my name ringing around the huge, cavernous space, “Rhianna.”

Steeling myself, I spin around on my seat and peer up at him. I almost double-take. He looks different. Somehow even more handsome than he usually does. His hair combed back from his face, his cheeks shaven smooth, his tie neatly knotted. Shit, I think his shoes may even have been polished.

What the hell is going on?

“Y-yes?” I whisper tersely, aware every person in this hall is staring at us. In fact, some have risen from their seats, necks craning just to get a better view. They’re straining to hear every word between us too.

Before I have a chance to snatch them away, he takes my hands in his and tugs me to my feet.

A murmur ripples through the hall, people whispering to each other. The tension is palpable.

Tristan Kennedy never ventures anywhere near this section of the Great Hall. Why would he when his place is right in the center with the other popular kids? But here he is among us dweebs, dorks and losers and now he’s actually holding hands with one. And not just anyone. Pig Girl herself. No wonder there isn’t a person in the hall capable of dragging their eyes away from us.

“What are you doing?” I hiss, attempting to jerk my hands away from his despite the electricity skating between us.

“Rhianna Blackwaters,” he says, holding my gaze, projecting his voice so that every damn person in the hall can hear him. I wince, waiting for whatever verbal or physical blow is coming my way. Maybe Summer’s plan worked after all. Maybe he’s going to call me a slut in front of the whole school or start a new rumor of his own. Or maybe he’s going to accuse me of bewitching him. “Would you do me the honor of accompanyingme to the victory ball next Friday? Would you do me the honor of being my date for the evening?”

There are audible gasps all around the hall. One I’m pretty sure comes straight out of my own mouth, and one from Winnie’s too.

I glance at my best friend. She’s so shocked the sausage she was eating is still hanging from her mouth.

“Rhianna?” Tristan says and I look back his way. Is he for real? Or is this some kind of stupid joke?

Someone in the hall obviously seems to think so because a loud reel of laughter cuts through the whispering.

Summer.

She stumbles from her seat, clutching her stomach, laughing as loud as she can. Soon all the bouncing bunnies and half the dueling team are cackling too, obviously convinced this must be some kind of joke.

Tristan frowns, an expression that grows steelier as the laughter ripples across the hall.

I scowl at him, and keeping a tight hold of his hands, march out of the hall, dragging him behind me, everyone watching us go.

Summer yells out after us, “That was so freaking funny!” as we push through the doors.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss at him as soon as we make it out into the corridor away from all the prying eyes and ears.

“Asking you to the ball,” he says simply, like that isn’t the craziest thing he’s probably ever done in his whole entire life. Askmeout? In front of the entire school?

I stare at him in exasperation. “Will you just cut this out – the following me around, the attempts to carry my books, the food and now this! Just cut all of it out, Tristan.”

“I tell you what. I’ll cut it out if you actually stop and talk to me.”

“No,” I say. “Nope. No way.” I wrestle my hands free of his and start to walk away from him. I don’t owe Tristan Kennedy anything, least of all my attention, even if my body has different ideas about that and wants to give him every ounce of my attention.