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deal.”
    “ Oh? Do tell.”
    “ I just, um, think of them as little people.”
    “ Well, I suppose I think of myself as a big animal. Very apropos, isn't it?” He smiled, then, and when it came it was more than a little suggestive. Val averted her eyes.
    “ Don't make fun of me.”
    “ Oh.” She felt his fingers brush against her cheek and the overly familiar gesture made her jump. “I'm not making fun of you.”
    What are you doing, then?
    Her phone bleeped, nipping the thought in the bud. Gavin dropped his hand from her face and it was as if a dark spell had been lifted, restoring both mobility and will. “I've got to go,” she blurted, and she grabbed her drink from him and walked quickly away, aware of his eyes burning into her back. As she'd made her departure, she had half-expected him to grab her.
    To not let her go.
    And perhaps the curse hadn't been lifted after all, because a small but significant part of her wouldn't have minded if he had. What's happening to me?

Chapter Four
    Val kept her eyes peeled in Art to see if Gavin really was in her class as he'd claimed.
    It took her longer than she would have guessed to locate him. For such a tall boy, he camouflaged himself with remarkable ease. A black t-shirt and dark jeans rendered him nearly invisible in a school where 90% of the population wore that color as a fashion statement.
    Locate him she did, though, and she took advantage of his distraction with his charcoals to study him raptly. He was sitting in the back, which didn't surprise her at all. He was a total mess, which did. At Petville, he struck her as rather fastidious (despite his obvious indifference to blood), but now his hands were smeared gray with the charcoals he was using to sketch. As she watched he adjusted his glasses, leaving smudges of charcoal on his face, as well.
    Val found herself with the wild urge to giggle and looked down at her own work in progress before said laugh could manifest itself. Stupid. If he didn't think she was an idiot already, obnoxious laughter and snorts were a surefire way to swing him in that direction.
    He probably thought her an utter child.
    Her expression sobered as she studied what little advancement she had made on her drawing. She had decided to sketch the kittens from the pet store — and then, later, paint them — but she was having trouble getting their expressions just right. Their eyes looked too human.
    Serious now, she tilted her head this way and that to study the painting from new angles. I suppose I could say it's intentional. That it's — what's the word? — anthropomorphic.
    But she would know, and the minor flaw would bother her until she got it right.
    A cold, wet sensation tickled her skin as she shifted her position. The paintbrush was still in her bunched fingers, forgotten until now. She'd been resting her cheek against paint for God knew how long. Val stood up, holding her hands gingerly in front of her, and rinsed herself off in the trough-like sink built into the far wall nearest to the door.
    The orange color dripped from her palms and spiraled down the drain, reminding her disconcertingly of blood. Specifically, from the iconic shower scene in Psycho . She shook her hands over the basin and tore off a paper towel from the nearby roll. She turned and came close to crashing right into James Lewis.
    “ Sup?” he said. “You've got paint on your nose.”
    “ Great.” She mopped at her face with the damp paper towel. “Did I get it off?”
    “ Yeah, you're fine now. Oh, by the way — I got your Facebook message.”
    Val poked a hole through the paper towel. “Did you?”
    “ Uh-huh. Sorry. I didn't get a chance to respond until this morning and then I had to hightail it to class. I've been busy. Football, you know.”
    Where Gavin was dark, James was fair. He had auburn hair, about two shades darker and browner than hers and tinged with wires of gold highlights. His eyes were a charming sea foam green and he had a