Jaguar Moon

By Linda Palmer

Livvie Merrick hates the psychic gifts that make her different and cause nothing but trouble in her life. That's especially true when she has a vision that the school's star quarterback will break his leg. Naturally Livvie warns him--a warning misconstrued as a curse when it comes true.  That makes for a lonely senior year until Alex Sawyer moves to town.  Livvie is quickly lost in his big blue eyes.  And though it's clear that Alex is as attracted to her, she knows the day will come when he finds out what a freak she really is.  What neither of them knows is that Alex is different, too, and the psychic gifts Livvie despises may be exactly what she needs to save him. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Palmer
• Release date: Mar 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223341055

Linda Palmer

Linda Palmer admits it all started when she fell in love with Roy Rogers in the fifties. The family TV was boxy; the picture was black and white. That didn't matter. Roy's cowboy courage won the day and inspired her to  create elaborate scenarios when playing with her sisters and friends outside. Indoors, she read romances in every genre from Sci Fi to Gothic. Linda began writing for pleasure in the third grade, mostly poetry, and has letters from her grade school teachers predicting she'd be an author. Her poems eventually became short stories; her short stories became books. And even though a writing career was never actually a dream, it was something she pursued with intent after winning some writing contests and joining local and national writers' groups. Silhouette Books published Linda's first romance novel in l989 and the next twenty over a ten-year period (writing as Linda Varner, her maiden name). In 1999 she took a ten-year break to take care of her family, but learned that she couldn't not write. She began again in  2009, changing her genre to young adult/new adult paranormal romance. She has now written over a hundred novels and novellas ranging from traditional romance to erotica. Linda was a Romance Writers of America Rita finalist twice and won the 2011 and 2012 EPIC eBook awards in the Young Adult category. She was also a finalist in that category in 2013 and in 2014. Linda has been married to her junior high school sweetheart over fifty years and lives in Arkansas, USA with her family. Ever a hopeless romantic, she still falls for unattainable Hollywood heroes that inspire her to write romances about alpha males and the women who stand up to them. Linda hints that her current crush's name starts with Tom and ends with Hardy. Her website is www.lindavpalmer.com. You can also find her on Facebook: Linda Varner Palmer.

Book preview

Chapter One

There could only be one reason my classmates would stick a misfit like me on the school welcome team: revenge. Today a new senior girl needed showing around. At least that's what I assumed when the principal called me to the office on a Monday in late November.

Come in, come in. Keith Henson motioned to me when I got there. He sat at his cluttered desk. A boy stood nearby, zipping up a worn backpack that he slung easily over one shoulder though it looked very heavy. Puzzled, I glanced around, but saw no one else in the room.

I immediately sensed the awkwardness in the air and knew it emanated from Mr. H, who tried too hard to be friendly.

This is Alejandro Sawyer, he said. Alejandro, this is Olivia Merrick, a member of our welcome team.

Actually, I go by Alex. The boy turned in my direction. His ice blue eyes clashed spectacularly with the dusky tone of his skin.

And I'm Livvie. Welcome to Ridley. My mouth felt so dry I could barely get the words out, and my hand trembled when I offered it to him. I randomly wished I'd taken the time to straighten my hair that morning.

Thanks.

Normally, Tim Watson would show you around, Mr. H said. But he's sick today. I hope you're okay with a senior girl, instead. He acted as if I were the consolation prize, which I guess I was.

Sure. Whatever. The new guy, perfectly at ease, didn't look at me now, thank goodness. I knew my face probably matched my hot pink tee.

Here's a copy of Alex's schedule, Livvie. Our principal handed me a piece of paper. You two actually have PE together sixth period.

That told me two things: Alex wouldn't be working out with the jocks seventh period, and he'd get to see me wearing the standard gym gear. That obliterated any foolish hopes I might've had of wowing the guy. If my Disney princess curls hadn't already scared him off, the sight of me in baggy knee-length shorts definitely would.

What's your locker number? I asked.

Alex picked up a spiral notebook from Mr. Henson's desk and opened it. Forty-two.

Why don't we start there? I left the office with a little wave to our well-meaning, but misguided principal.

As Alex followed me to the locker area, I obediently tried out some of the so-called ice breakers we'd been told to use. Really lame stuff like Are you into theater? We put on a school play every year. Or I see you're taking art. Mrs. McEntyre, the teacher, painted that beautiful mural on the town square. Nothing drew him out, big surprise. I decided to wing it. How long have you lived in Mountain Lake?

Too long.

I feel your pain, I murmured without thought.

Alex looked a little surprised by my comment but said nothing.

I gave myself a mental slap and tried again. So what do you think of the school?

Exactly what I expected.

Which was...?

Brick. Concrete. Trees. Welcome team.

He looked neutral enough, but I felt his boredom. No one else would pick up on it unless they were empaths, too, an unwanted psychic talent of mine that I kept secret from my classmates.

So the daily drug test wasn't a shocker? Personally, I think the city cops have better things to do.

Alex stopped short and really looked at me for the first time since, well, the first time. You're screwing with me, right?

Yeah. I risked a smile. Though I think you'd prefer peeing in a cup every day to being shown around by the welcome team.

He winced. Sorry if I've been rude.

You haven't. Do you want me to bail? I mean, it's not like you'll get lost. The only hall runs east and west. Lockers through there. Most senior classes are on the second and third floors. The cafeteria is that way, and the music room and gym are out back.

Alex thought for a second. Better keep things the way they are.

His decision caught me off guard, but I didn't argue. He appeared to be exactly my type, physically speaking—tall, with wide shoulders and long legs—and I loved his stonewashed jeans, black T-shirt, and hoodie. More importantly, he didn't fear me yet. Why not enjoy his company while I could?

We walked outside to the sheltered courtyard that served as locker area and located his easily. I recognized it as the one Brent King used before he left town. What's up with that? I wondered before I remembered that I'd quit looking for hidden meanings in everything. Mom, the metaphysician, or Dad, the parapsychologist, would take care of that. Mr. Henson gave Alex this locker because no one else was using it. Period.

You can ditch the backpack if you want, I said. As tiny as this campus is, there's always time to get your next book between classes. We have ten whole minutes, and it's a great excuse to get out.

Alex hesitated and then took the backpack off his shoulder and set it on the concrete beneath our feet. He looked in his notebook again before turning the dial on the combination lock. In seconds, it opened in his hand. He tucked the backpack inside and started to shut the door.

I stopped him. English book.

Right. Alex located it before locking up.

Destination: stairs. I pointed out the way. We climbed the steps single file, neither of us saying a word. I took care not to get too far ahead since I had on a mini. To his credit, he wasn't trying to look up my skirt the one time I glanced back at him.

When we reached the third floor, I pointed out the senior English room. Your teacher is Mrs. Swinton. She's a sucker for good manners. I glanced at my watch. Thirty minutes of class left. I'll meet you right here when the bell rings.

Will you get in trouble if you're late to your own classes? he asked, pushing up the sleeves of his hoodie to his elbows. I saw he had a full-color tattoo of a man's face on his right forearm.

That surprised me so much that I didn't think before I spoke. Nah. That's just part of being on the stupid team. I slapped my hand over my mouth. Two goofs in five minutes. That had to be a record.

Alex almost smiled. See ya in thirty.

Right. I pivoted to get away from there as fast as I could. I might have a talent or two, but diplomacy was not one of them.

The second I slid back into my seat in calculus, my best friend Gillian Logan, who sat a few rows behind me, walked to the pencil sharpener, dropping a folded piece of paper in my lap as she passed. I kept my hands below my desk as I quietly opened it. I'd long since outgrown the need to pass notes in class, but Gilly apparently had not.

This one consisted of a single word: Whassup? I picked up my pen and wrote new dude. When Gillian walked by on her way back to her desk, I slipped it to her.

Not surprisingly, she caught up with me just outside the door when the bell finally rang. You're showing a guy around?

Tim's out.

Lucky you. Is he hot?

Tim? I knew better, of course. I'd felt the zing of her curiosity about Alex. No emotions got past me unless I worked hard at it, and I didn't bother when it came to Gilly.

The new guy, idiot.

Oh. From my POV or yours? Though we got along very well, it wasn't because of similarities. We actually had very different tastes in boys.

Yours, I guess.

Then he'll do. He'll definitely do.

Figures.

Gotta go. I now registered her disappointment. I headed down the hall to meet Alex and found him talking to Noah Allison, Drake Painter, and Kyle Cummings, senior members of the football team. I quickly raised my mental fences, a skill my mom taught me my sophomore year when we moved here from Louisiana.

Hi, Livvie, said Drake when I joined them. For some reason, he always spoke. I thought it very brave of him.

Hi.

"What do you want?" Noah scowled as usual.

I made myself look him dead in the eye. "I'm here for him. Official school business."

Kyle frowned. Where's Watson?

Out. I noticed that Alex looked from me to the guys to me again as if trying to figure out our animosity. Ready?

He nodded slightly.

I can't believe Henson's got you hanging with her. Noah glared at me. Bitch.

Hey! Alex's sharp tone told him to shut up.

I blinked in surprise. Drake grinned. Noah snorted. You haven't heard, have you?

Heard what? asked Alex even as I began to push him toward the stairs.

Watch your back, man. She's lethal. They left us, talking among themselves and glancing over their shoulders as they walked down the hall. I thought I heard Drake tell them to chill.

I guided Alex until I got us safely into the busy stairwell. Then I slipped past and began to hurriedly weave my way through all the other students changing floors. He caught up just as I exited into the locker area.

What was that all about?

You don't want to know.

I don't want to know, or you don't want me to know?

Take your pick. I pointed him toward his locker, and then went in the opposite direction. To my dismay, tears stung my eyes and momentarily blinded me. I cut a corner too close, solidly smacking my left shoulder when I walked into one of the iron double-T beams that held up the roof. Ow!

You okay?

I whirled to find that Alex hadn't gone to get his next book as expected but followed me instead. Upset, I lost focus. Down dropped my mental fence, so his emotions sort of slammed into me. I felt his curiosity and something else I couldn't immediately identify.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

I'm fine. I pressed my hand to what would undoubtedly be a bruise. Now tearful on several levels, I quickly blinked the moisture from my eyes.

You don't look fine.

Well, I am, I good as growled. Where's your math book?

I'll just, um, get it. He backed away from me and vanished around the row of lockers.

I could've screamed with humiliation and frustration, and not because a couple of jerks had been mean again. I hated the fact that I'd let it upset me.

Alex came back in a sec, calculus book in hand. I had my English stuff by then. Neither of us said anything as I started toward the stairwell. He beat me there and opened the door, politely motioning me through it. Though I hoped he'd let me lead the way again, he matched me step for step as we climbed to the third floor.

You owe me an explanation, he said.

I glanced at him in disbelief. Do not.

But I defended your honor.

Any nice guy would.

'Did you just call me 'nice'? He looked surprised.

I sighed. Beats being called a bitch.

He said nothing, clearly waiting for me to explain, but I had no intentions of doing that. Stepping up the pace, I pushed open the door to the third level and looked down the hall. Fourth door on the right. Your teacher is Mr. Windle. He picks his nose, so you should avoid the first two rows.

Alex nodded as if I'd given him life and death advice. See you after class.

Are you sure? I could draw you a quick map, and you wouldn't have to—

After. Class.

Fine. I left him there in the hall.

All during English, I tried to decide if I should give Alex a version of the truth or let him hear a more twisted tale from some senior dying to spill everything. On one hand, why bother enlightening him? It wasn't as if we'd to be friends or anything. On the other hand, I hated one more person to think badly of me. When the bell rang, I still hadn't made up my mind.

To my astonishment, the boy stood right outside my classroom door when I stepped into the hall. That proved he didn't need me or a map. But when I tried to bring up my uselessness, he cut me off. I don't want to get you in trouble with Mr. Hendricks.

Henson, I automatically corrected.

Him, either.

I followed Alex outside. He walked me to my locker and just stood there until I opened it and switched out books. Then he went to his own. I slowly trailed after him like a girlfriend or something. When I reached his locker, he already had it open and slapped a granola bar into my hand. You look like you could use a lift.

Do you know how many carbs are in these things? I asked.

You're counting carbs? He actually sounded upset.

I tested the mental waters. He was upset. I didn't know what to make of that. Not really.

Then eat.

Only if you take half.

With a sigh, he held out his hand. I tore open the bar, broke it, and passed over his share. Alex ate it in one bite. I nibbled mine all the way to the third floor, finishing just as we stepped into the hallway. I noticed every female eye—and a few male ones—instantly riveted to us, and a couple of passing girls waved to Alex like they'd known him for years. I wasn't one bit surprised.

Social Studies is at the end of the hall. I pointed out the direction. Your teacher is Mrs. Higgins. She likes everyone to participate, so if you don't raise your hand every now and then, she'll start picking on you.

Alex grimaced. I can see it pays to be in the same school system your whole life.

Actually, I only moved here a couple of years ago, myself. I got the scoop from my friend, Gilly, who got it from her big brothers, all born and raised here.

Is lunch after this? Alex reached for my copy of his schedule, sticking out of the textbook I hugged to my chest. I saw that he wore a class ring with a stone in it that matched his eyes. I couldn't read the lettering on it.

Physics. Juniors and seniors eat second lunch, which is at 12:15. Maybe you shouldn't have shared your energy bar.

He ignored that and tucked his schedule back into my book. What do you have now?

American History.

Later, then.

Later, I murmured, leaving him.

I couldn't concentrate in history and not just because I didn't care about the Boston Tea Party. I worried about Alex, who I really liked. I felt sure he'd been popular at his old school. Hanging out with me today, even on Mr. Henson's orders, could kill his chances of fitting in and making the right friends. He deserved better than that.

We met after class, same as before, and got our books. I warned Alex about Melissa Mattingly's habit of roaming the room so that he wouldn't get caught texting or whatever. Then I sent him on his way with instructions to meet me back in the locker area once more when the bell rang. I planned to walk him to the caf, explain the system, and then point him in the direction of the senior area. I figured that once he got there, the in-crowd would make it a point to rescue him from me.

There's the salad bar. I pointed to it as we paused just inside the double doors of the food court. Naturally, all eyes looked our way again. Hot food to your left; cold food to your right. Drinks are behind us. Four dollars gets you as much as you want. You pay here. Any questions?

Where do you sit? His gaze swept the crowded tables.

Gilly and I usually sit with the juniors.

You're segregated?

Not officially, no. It just happens. I nodded toward the southeast corner of the room. Most of the other seniors sit over there, by the windows. We only get thirty minutes to eat thanks to the long breaks between classes, but this will still be your best chance to make friends and stuff.

He looked puzzled, but didn't ask the question I expected: why do you sit with the juniors?

I'll see you at 12:45, then. I made myself leave the guy even though my mental barometer registered him at dazed and confused. I did it for his own good, after all.

Deliberately not watching where Alex went, I made my usual salad and walked to where Gilly and I always sat, me with my back to the rest of the room.

Ms. Lefler kept us late again, Gilly grumbled when she finally slipped into the seat across the table from me and opened the lunch she'd brought from home. Gilly hated institutional food, as she called it, choosing, instead, to eat PBJ every single day. I didn't know how she did it. So where's the new guy?

Over there.

Gilly's gaze searched the