What else had been said?
Had she asked him to get back together with her? Obviously she still loved him. But how did he feel about her?
Whether they’d done anything together since I’d come into the picture, I didn’t know and shouldn’t have cared, but…yeah, I cared.
“You should join her,” Kat said to Trina, and I knew she’d done it to remove attention from me. Any time I thought I couldn’t love her any more, she surprised me by winning another piece of my heart.
Trina was eating a sandwich and never even glanced over at Kat.
“Do you have to dive into every fight?” Frosty asked Kat. He’d been sitting beside Mackenzie, and now sat beside Trina—and tried to scoot away from her, as if he couldn’t stand the idea of Kat seeing him next to his alleged hook up. “Ali can handle herself.”
“Do you hear that pesky buzzing noise?” she asked me, ignoring him.
He gave a sad shake of his head. “You are such a child, Kitty Kat.”
“Buzz, buzz.”
“I have no idea what I ever saw in you,” he said.
She gasped and threw an orange at his head. He easily dodged. “You saw all of my wonderful qualities, you butt!”
A booming laugh escaped him. “You sure you’ve got any?”
“I’ve got plenty, and you know it!”
They weren’t officially dating, but anyone who saw them together knew they belonged with each other. She made him laugh, as proved, brought him out of his depression over Brent, and he distracted her from whatever had been bothering her. Too often lately she was pale and quiet, but anytime I asked, she waved me off and changed the subject.
I wasn’t sure what to do about her. Heck, I wasn’t sure what to do about anything.
* * *
Later that day I found myself back in the boxing ring with Cole, both of us in our spirit form, our bodies resting peacefully on gurneys, but I was too distracted to learn anything. I was stuck on Kat and kept replaying some of my conversations with her, trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong with her.
Wren and Poppy’s desertion hadn’t fazed her. “Honestly? I expected it,” she’d said. “I’d just hoped they’d learned how horrible their lives are without me the first time around.”
She’d missed several more days of school, but when I asked her why, she’d said, “My mom thought it’d be cool to spend some time together,” and once again waved it off.
“Ali!”
The snap of Cole’s voice jerked me out of my head. Just in time to watch—unable to react—as he kicked out his leg, knocked my feet together, and sent me crashing to the floor.
You need to concentrate, his expression said. We weren’t supposed to talk while we were like this.
My bad, mine replied.
He didn’t help me stand. He never did. I lugged to my feet under my own steam.
Every second I spent in here was designed to make me stronger. And you know what? I liked him so much more for it. I needed to be stronger. The zombies—
“Ali.” Cole’s booted foot kicked out again, and I crashed a second time, ending up flat on my back, the air blasting out of my lungs. He spread his arms, and I knew he was projecting “What did I just tell you?” at me.
Sorry, I mouthed as I stood.
He crooked his finger at me, a silent, You come at me for a change.
I nodded to let him know I understood. Knowing how fast he was, I didn’t give myself a moment to ponder how best to attack him. I simply attacked. Even then, he had the upper hand. I punched, he blocked. I kicked, he sidestepped. The few times he caught my fist, he should have shoved me away, twisted my arm behind my back, something. But he didn’t. He just released me and let me come at him again.
That aggravated me. For the first time since we’d begun training together, he wasn’t doing me any good. He was babying me.
More punching, more blocking. More kicking, more sidestepping.
“Wow. Gently remove your tampon, Holland, and throw her around like a man,” Frosty called.
I cringed at his volume, but only a little. I was adjusting to the magnification of my senses, even the intensity of the smells.
Lucas and Collins—who left their bodies at home, rendering the arrest anklets they wore ineffective in spirit form, as suspected—flanked his sides and snickered.
Cole glared over at Frosty.
He should have known better. I had already drawn back my elbow, couldn’t stop and didn’t think to angle. So, I finally landed a punch. In the ring, his spirit stumbled.
Over on the gurney, where his body rested, his head wrenched to the side, and blood spurted from his nose.
Okay, I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing. I laughed so hard I nearly peed myself, bending over, holding my stomach. And it felt good. So wonderfully good. I don’t think I’d ever laughed like this.
Cole sailed across the room and slipped into his body. He sat up on the bed, blood still gushing from his nose, and grumbled, “It wasn’t that funny,” but I could hear the amusement in his tone.
I followed the same path, and at the first touch of my spirit to my body, I was one being, the air warm, the sounds and smells back to normal. “It was,” I said. “It so was.” My giggles erupted all over again. When I at last calmed down, I asked, “Is your nose broken?”
“Nope. It’d take a sledgehammer to do much damage to me, and I’m sorry, cupcake, but you aren’t a sledgehammer.” He shook the cartilage back and forth, then wiped away the blood with the back of his wrist.
“I’d love another chance to change your mind,” I said sweetly.
“Please. I’m not stupid. Enough hand-to-hand. My face might not survive. It’s time for swords. Let’s see if you’ve gotten any better.”
I went to the Wall of Weapons at the far end of the barn while Cole moved a dummy to the center of the ring. And no, I wasn’t talking about him or one of his friends (har har) but a life-size combat doll.
Most times I worked with one of the living instead of a dummy, but yesterday I’d almost hacked off Cruz’s head for real. And not because my skills were awesome, but because I’d tripped, and then tripped him. So, today we concentrated on the basics I’d already gone over a thousand times.
I selected one of the shorter swords, with a lighter handle.
“If you’d bench-press what I tell you to bench-press—” Trina strolled out of the bathroom, dressed in her customary black tank and pants, a white towel draped around her neck “—you wouldn’t have to pick the wussy sword.”