Cassidy Jones and the Seventh Attendant (Cassidy Jones Adventures, Book Three) Read Free

to attend high school was an attempt to regain his lost childhood.
    “Slanguage always works, especially the oldies but goodies,” Emery teased, referring to the fact that when he really wanted to make me laugh, he used slang terms our parents or grandparents would have used when they were our age. He seemed to have an endless reserve, as if he had memorized the Urban Dictionary.
    “Not always.”
    “ Au contraire, ma beauté . You become putty in my hands.” He hooked my chin with a finger and tried to nudge it up, which would have been impossible for even a crane to do if I so chose.
    “Stop,” I said, swatting his hand away. “This is serious.”
    “Absolutely. You wanted me to look at you, so let me. Scout’s honor, I’ll give you an honest opinion.”
    “Don’t be lame.” I looked up into his sparkling black orbs, smiling.
    Pursing his lips, Emery pinched his chin between his thumb and forefinger and pretended to study me. “Honest opinion,” he said. “I see a very attractive redhead with a too-cute nose, a to-die - for complexion, and big, beautiful green eyes.” Swiping a finger across my cheek, he added, “Minus the black tears, of course.” He flipped over his finger, now caked with gooey mascara.
    Instantly, my woes were forgotten.
    “You gotta be kidding me!” I huffed. “That’s supposed to be waterproof.”
    Emery busted up. I spun to the mirror to a truly horrific sight. It looked like my eyelashes had melted and were running down my cheeks.
    And Jared will be here anytime.
    “Must we always have a crisis?” Emery sighed when he finished laughing. He kicked back on my bed and grinned at the sight of me scrubbing the mascara off my face with a sock I had swiped from the floor. It was probably clean.
    “Make yourself comfortable,” I retorted, barely resisting the urge to spit on the sock. The mascara clung stubbornly to my skin. “This is more like crisis diverted. Who’s going to notice my eye color if I can’t get this stupid stuff off ?”
    “Frankly, an even better diversion is what you’re wearing. A birthday gift?”
    I paused while scrubbing my skin raw to glance down and admire my new black yoga pants and tank top with a cool lavender stripe slashed across the front. I had even painted my toenails lavender to match.
    “A birthday gift from me,” I confirmed proudly before resuming my task. “I bought it with my mom last night. Good thing I have a job .”
    My job was a sham, like everything else in my life. Supposedly I cleaned house for Serena weekdays and Saturday afternoons. In actuality, she ran a battery of tests on me in her basement laboratory where she secretly studied my virus, fostering the slim hope of an eventual vaccine. Emery’s role was lab technician. He drew my blood two to three times a week. So we weren’t being totally deceptive, I did some housework for Serena, which she paid me for—generously—calculating in my lab rat duties, too, I supposed.
    “Happy birthday, by the way,” Emery offered, fiddling with his cell phone.
    “Yeah, a real happy birthday. I’m a fifteen-year-old mutant with spooky eyes.”
    “Beautiful eyes,” he corrected, scrolling through email. “Just remember to blink.”
    I barked a cynical laugh. “Thanks for reminding me that I’m a freak and my eyes are already cat - ish. So what do you think? Do you like it?”
    “Your latest purchase?”
    “Yep.” I watched him in the mirror as he looked me over.
    “Very much.”
    I beamed.
    “Now change into sweats and a T-shirt.”
    My smile flipped. “What? Why?”
    “Because I won’t be the only one who likes your outfit,” he said, returning to his email.
    I got what he was driving at and turned back to the mirror to see my cheeks burning crimson. To cover my embarrassment, I began scrubbing the mascara again.
    “You really don’t understand the inner workings of the teenage male mind, do you?” Emery continued. He didn’t embarrass easily, unlike me.
    “I