Page 12 of Strange Love

Chapter 7

“Don’t Stop Believin’”

Ivy - Age 18, 1988

Agirl with straight, pitch-black hair sits down next to me, her leather jacket creaking as she adjusts in the seat.

“Hi. I’m Sascha,” she says, popping a french fry in her mouth. I can’t help but notice how striking she is. Her skin is pale compared to her inky hair, and straight bangs fall just above her emerald eyes.

I glance around to see if she’s talking to someone else before replying, “I’m, um, Ivy?”

She arches an eyebrow and smirks, “Are you sure? Because that sounded like a question.”

My cheeks flush in embarrassment, and I attempt to regain my composure. Am I really this awkward talking to new people? Apparently so. “I’m sure,” I say quietly.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ivy,” she says with a friendly smile. “Why are you sitting here all alone?”

“I’m new,” I admit, drawing an invisible pattern on the table with my finger. “And I’m not exactly outgoing.”

“That’s okay,” Sascha says reassuringly. “I am.”

As she catches me eyeing her all-black ensemble, she grins knowingly. “I prefer alternative stuff,” she explains, taking another bite of her fries. “But don’t worry, I won’t bite.” She pauses briefly before adding, “Unless you disrespect Depeche Mode.”

I laugh and shake my head. “I would never.” Pausing, I add, “Will your friends be alright with you sitting with me?”

She lets out a hearty laugh, “I have all kinds of different friends. If you’re cool and respect who I am, then I do the same.”

“I like that,” I reply, comforted by her energy.

“Good,” Sascha affirms with a nod. “We can be friends then.” She pushes her plate of fries towards me in a tacit display of our new friendship. “So, don’t look now, but you have caught the eye of this school’s hockey god,” she says teasingly.

“Not possible,” I reply automatically, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

Sascha chuckles and tilts her head towards a group of guys across the room. My eyes follow her gesture and I recognize one of them as the big guy who approached me before school. He introduced himself and asked me if I needed any help with anything. I politely declined. As my eyes continue past him, they land firmly on one particular guy with deep brown eyes staring directly at me. An intensity to his gaze causes heat to spread throughout my body, and I quickly look away, which only makes Sascha laugh harder.

“Who is that?” I ask, trying to play it cool.

“Oh, just the best hockey player in the entire area and resident heartthrob,” Sascha replies with a roll of her eyes. “He’s a little too pretty for me, but if you’re into that kind of thing—“

“I’m not,” I say hastily, but even as I say the words, my eyes automatically gravitate in his direction. I generally don’t seek out engagement with new people, so my actions are a surprise, even to me.

“His name is Corey Delacour,” Sascha says with a shrug. “He has a reputation for being really good with his hands.”

“Good with his hands?” I repeat in confusion.

“On the ice and in the bedroom,” she says with an arched brow.

Finally catching her meaning, I giggle, trying to hide my embarrassment, “I don’t know anything about hockey.”

“Maybe if you ask him nicely, he’ll show you his stick?”

My hand flies to my mouth as my eyes widen, and a deep laugh escapes me. At that moment, I realize I haven’t laughed like this in a long time, and it feels really good.

Sascha throws her head back and laughs as well, and by the time I’ve recovered, Corey Delacour, with the dreamy brown eyes, intense stare, and pillowy full lips, is walking out of the cafeteria. Still, I don’t miss the moment he peers over his shoulder, and those lips part in a slight smile in my direction.

Sascha’s eyes dart between the popular hockey player and myself. She giggles softly and leans in closer.

“Let me know what his stick is like,” she says with a sly smile.