Beside her, Adam threads his fingers through his chin-length, light blond hair as it’s tousled by the wind, pinning it to his head so he can better see. From his huge grin, I’d gather that Genny’s giving the familiar menace standing in front of them a piece of her mind. I slip into their conversation and silently set my tray on the table.
“Like I said, you can’t sit here.” Genny shrugs, unrepentant, brows raised.
Eric Warner has clearly made the wrong decision by trying to confiscate our table, again. He shows absolutely no fear as he slams his tray down next to mine.
“This is not your table, you emo bitch.”
My head jerks back in shock, and Adam’s expression hardens. Genesis grins. Slowly, she leans forward, brazenly meeting Eric’s angry stare. And when she finally speaks, her voice is low and her tone controlled. “Let me explain it to you. First of all, I”—she gestures to herself—“am not emo. I’m punk. Check the internet before your next attempt to conjure an insult, Needle Dick.”
Eric glares, spurring Genny’s widening grin as she gestures to the surface below her. “And second, this is our table. Do you have a name of biblical origin? Because if you don’t, you can’t sit at the Jesus Table. I mean, it would be heresy if you did. Jesus said so. In the Bible.” She shrugs again. “Somewhere.”
I laugh. Adam laughs.
Eric does not.
His expression solidifies into one of unmistakable hatred, then he braces his weight, splaying both hands on either side of his tray. Slowly, he creeps into Genny’s space, his eyes sinister, his tone laced with loathing. “That’s golden.” He lowers his stare to the several track marks dotting her arms, her open display of the scars demonstrating just one of the many differences between her and me. “If anyone knows about needles, it’s you.”
I suck in a breath and narrow my eyes, boring holes into Eric’s pockmarked cheek. Adam, however, smiles shamelessly as he looks over my shoulder. At the exact same time, the sun above us is eclipsed, and I say a silent prayer that God isn’t too pissed we pulled His Son into our territorial dispute.
“Back off, Warner.”
Lukas. He towers above all of us. I squint with one eye shut while looking up at him, and my lips curl inward to hide my smile.
Genesis relaxes, shifting her weight on to her hands and easing back. Both brows arched, she silently dares Eric to say anything else.
He doesn’t. Not at first.
After this rather uncomfortable standoff, Eric finally grabs his tray, then pivots in Lukas’s direction. “One day, all of you assholes will pay. Mark my words. You’re all a drain on society, and the world would be better off without you.”
He aims a furious glare at each of us before finally turning away in search of another poor, unsuspecting table to infect.
Lukas remains standing, watching Eric over his shoulder. Eventually, Eric settles himself three tables away, right next to Leah Allen, head cheerleader extraordinaire. He mutters something under his breath, and in turn her ebony ponytail whips to the side as she looks in our direction. Eric turns as well, but it’s only Leah I notice. Her expression is glacial, bitter with disgust.
Why the hell does she hate me so much?
Lukas sets his tray next to mine, saving me from the throes of Leah’s diabolical, yet oddly hypnotizing glare. Slowly he shakes his head, his mouth lifting minutely at the corners. “Jesus would not approve.”
Genny gives him an encouraging nod. “Not my Jesus. Because while my Jesus excuses certain indiscretions, he can’t overlook someone being a complete prick!”
Eric scowls at us and Genny narrows her eyes menacingly in his direction, pausing before she adds, “Which is exactly why he’s not allowed at the Jesus Table. However, you assholes are welcome any time.”
Our collective laughter fills the air, and I slide onto the bench while Lukas does the same. Genny remains seated on her throne, chomping her carrot while eyeing the back of Eric’s head, and Adam takes his seat across from us. Once we’re all settled, I take a bite of my burger, chewing thoughtfully in an attempt to ignore the way Lukas’s presence seems to affect me.
How it always affects me.
Like the way goosebumps rise along my arm when his brushes against it.
Or how his scent is burned into my brain, you know, just for safekeeping. Or torture.
Or the way every single cell of my thigh tingles as his leg settles against mine.
All things I regularly dismiss, because there are certain lines not to be crossed within the Wildflowers.
I swallow my food while reinforcing my denial, but I feel myself blush anyway. As its warmth spreads across my face, Adam glances up from his BLT and locks eyes with me. He quirks a brow, sets his sandwich down, and grins.
I scowl back.
His smile widens, unapologetic. Not always one for the rules, this guy.
After inhaling a Zen-like breath, I scoot approximately five inches—the maximum distance allowed before any distancing becomes noticeable—then set my half-eaten burger back on my tray and finally break the silence.
“So…the Bible and our names. That’s new, and a bit overwhelming. Just gonna toss that out there.”
Genny turns her attention from Eric to me. Her expression morphs from anger to unconcealed excitement, the past few minutes clearly forgotten thanks to this new topic of conversation.
“Dude.” She twists on the cement tabletop, facing us completely before continuing. “It’s a sign. I know it. You know I’ve been on this name kick lately? Well, I was researching the meanings of our names, when it hit me. All of our names have biblical origins. Add in their actual meanings, and I mean, seriously, it’s a sign. We were meant to find each other.”
She points toward the sky and nods reverently.
I frown and shake my head. “There’s no ‘Chloe’ in the Bible.”
“First Corinthians 1:11. Check it, bitch.” Genny doesn’t miss a beat.
I laugh, noting privately that the mention of a name in a Bible is in no way the same as “biblical origin,” but to make her happy I simply agree. “Okay, well, I’ll take your word for it. That being said, I seriously doubt that God, in all His infinite wisdom, sat down one day and said, ‘Hey, I’m gonna make sure these four random kids have biblical names just so they can eat at the self-proclaimed Jesus Table.’”
Genny grins and swallows a mouthful of salad. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
“What? Now we’re the Jesus Freaks? I thought we were the Wildflowers, as ordained by you,” Adam says, finally releasing me from his stare as it’s redirected to Genny.
“We are. But our names cement the fact that we were brought together for a specific purpose. I just know it.”
“I still don’t understand this ‘wildflowers’ thing,” Lukas says. “And by the way, my name isn’t biblical, so that kind of shoots your theory to shit.”
“Eh, close enough.” Genny forks another piece of lettuce, then continues. “‘Lukas’ is a derivative of ‘Luke.’ An apostle of Jesus, who just so happens to be in the Bible. Hello?”
She looks at me, then adds, “And you’ll meet our wildflowers soon enough. Then you’ll understand.” She winks, and I smile.