Living Violet by Jaime Reed Page A

before I asked, “Are you a drug dealer?”
    He paused. “Why? Are you wearing a wire?”
    â€œNo. Did you give her something laced? Or did she have an allergic reaction?”
    â€œSam, I didn’t give her drugs. I was at the magazine aisle, she saw me, and we started talking—”
    â€œAbout?” I cut in.
    He stole a quick glimpse before he pulled out of the lot. “Grown-up stuff—not suitable for your young ears.”
    â€œYou’re only two years older than me. Now spill it.”
    He didn’t answer right away; in fact, he didn’t speak at all. Perhaps he was thinking of a good lie. If so, my BS meter had a hair trigger, and I would catch the first crack in his story. When we reached the interstate, he spoke up.
    â€œShe was flirting and touching me. One thing led to another, and well ...”
    I sucked my teeth in disgust. “I hate when people say that. It’s such a cop-out. People are fully aware of their actions.”
    He shook his head. “Not with me.”
    I cut my eyes at him. “Dude, really, how can you and your ego fit in this car?”
    â€œI’m just being honest. Females are drawn to me. It’s beyond my control.”
    I pointed to my chest. “Not this female.”
    â€œYou’re different.”
    â€œDifferent how?” I asked.
    â€œYou’re not open.”
    Leaning away from him, I stared him up and down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œJust what I said. You’re too guarded and cynical to let anything into your world.”
    â€œWhat’s that got to do with a woman suffering cardiac arrest in her car?”
    He combed his fingers through his hair, which the wind pushed back in his face. “Look, would you just relax and enjoy the day? It’s my day off, and I want to absorb the oncoming adrenaline rush. Don’t you ever have fun?”
    â€œNot with potential killers,” I mumbled.
    â€œI haven’t killed anyone.”
    â€œYet. And I intend to keep it that way.”
    He leered at me through the shades. “You really think I would hurt you?”
    â€œI wanna believe you won’t, which is why I agreed to come. As much as it pains me to admit, you’ve sparked my interest.”
    He chortled. “The kiss that good?”
    I crossed my arms over my chest and stared out the window. “That’s it. I’m done talking.”

6
    A side from the outlet stores, Europia Park was every kid’s first job in Williamsburg.
    However, no one else in their right mind would want to deal with that amount of people, not for minimum wage. Europia Park’s theme mimicked all the major countries in Europe: France, England, Italy, Scotland, Germany, Ireland, you name it. That fact left tourists asking the question, “Why are so many Mexicans and Asians working here?”
    Corporate America wanted to market Europe with family-friendly clichés with all the comforts of home. They didn’t anticipate the language barrier with the imported employees. Good luck asking directions in this place. If visitors couldn’t read the map, they’d be so screwed! So it made sense that Caleb brought me along as a tour guide. I could navigate through the park blindfolded. Regardless of how many times I came here, I still found the scenery breathtaking.
    Surviving twenty minutes of parking-spot hunting and a perilous trolley ride, Caleb and I strolled down the flowered path through the entrance. The first stop in our continental tour was ye olde England. Though he mentioned seeing the real thing before, he stood in awe at the medieval model of Big Ben near the entrance.
    I’ve had my paranoid moments, that eerie suspicion of being watched, but the feeling intensified while in Caleb’s company. Dozens of female eyes followed him through the park, where I tried to look everywhere but in his direction. When the fourth chick “accidentally”