Bonnie had always admired the way that Elena managed to get what she wanted. Elena just went after it and nothing got in her way. When Stefan had first come to Fel ’s Church, he hadn’t wanted anything to do with Elena, certainly not to fal into her arms and start some kind of amazing eternal romance. But Elena hadn’t cared. She was going to have Stefan, even if it kil ed her.
And, wel , it had kil ed her, hadn’t it?
Bonnie shivered. Bonnie shook her head a little. The point was, if you wanted to find love, you couldn’t be afraid of trying, could you?
She stuck her chin determinedly into the air. At least she wasn’t blushing anymore. Her cheeks were so cold, she was probably as white as a snowwoman, but she definitely wasn’t blushing. So that was something.
Before she could change her mind again, she walked quickly around the corner back into the aisle where Zander stood reading.
“Hi!” she said, her voice squeaking a tiny bit. “Zander!” He looked up, and that amazing, beautiful smile spread across his face.
“Bonnie!” he said enthusiastical y. “Hey, I’m real y glad to see you. I was thinking about you earlier.”
“You were?” Bonnie asked, and immediately wanted to kick herself at how overly enthusiastic she sounded.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I was.” His sky-blue eyes held hers. “I was wishing I’d gotten your phone number.”
“You were?” Bonnie asked again, and this time didn’t even worry about how she sounded.
“Sure,” he said. He scuffed his feet against the carpet, like he was a little nervous, and a warmth blossomed inside Bonnie. He was nervous talking to her! “I was thinking,” Zander went on, “maybe we could do something sometime.
I mean, if you wanted to.”
“Oh,” Bonnie said. “I mean, yes! I would want to. If you did.”
Zander smiled again, and it was as if their little corner of the fiction section was lit up with a glowing light. Bonnie had to keep herself from staggering backward, he was so gorgeous.
“How about this weekend?” Zander asked, and Bonnie, feeling suddenly as light and buoyant as though she could float up into the air, smiled back.
Meredith stepped her left foot behind her and raised her right heel, moving into a back stance as she brought her hands up sharply, fists together, in a blocking move. Then she slid her foot sideways into a front stance and punched forward with the fist of her left hand. She loved running through a taekwondo form. Each movement was choreographed, and the only thing to do was to practice over and over until the whole form flowed in a model of precision, grace, and control. Taekwondo forms were perfectible, and Meredith enjoyed perfection.
The most glorious thing about them was that once she knew her forms so wel that they were as natural as breathing, she could be ready for anything. In a fight, she would be able to sense what her opponent’s next move would be and counter with a block or a kick or a punch without even thinking.
She turned swiftly, blocked high with her right hand and low with her left. It was the preparation, Meredith knew. If she was so prepared that her body could sense what move she needed to make without her brain having to get involved, then she would be able to truly protect herself and everyone else around her.
A few weeks ago, when she and her friends had been under attack from the phantom and she’d sprained her ankle, only Stefan had been left with Power enough to defend Fel ’s Church.
Stefan, a vampire.
Meredith’s lips tightened as she automatical y kicked forward with her right foot, slid into a tiger stance, and blocked with her left hand.
She liked Stefan, and she trusted him, she real y did, but stil … She could picture generation upon generation of Sulezes rol ing over in their graves, cursing her, if they knew that she had left herself and her friends so vulnerable, with only a vampire between themselves and danger. Vampires were the enemy.
Not Stefan, of course. She knew, despite al her training, that she could put her faith in Stefan. Damon, on the other hand… However useful Damon had been in a couple of battles, however reasonably pleasant and, frankly, out-of-character he had behaved for the last few weeks, Meredith couldn’t bring herself to trust him.
But if she trained hard, if she perfected herself as a warrior, Meredith wouldn’t have to. She moved into a right front stance and, sharp and clean, punched forward with her right hand.
“Nice punch,” said a voice behind her.
Meredith turned to see a short-haired African American girl leaning against the door of the practice room, watching her.
“Thanks,” said Meredith, surprised.
The girl strol ed into the room. “What are you,” she asked, “a black belt?”
“Yes,” Meredith said, and couldn’t help adding proudly,
“in taekwondo and karate.”
“Hmm,” the girl said, her eyes sparkling. “I do taekwondo and aikido myself. My name’s Samantha. I’ve been looking for a sparring partner. Interested?” Despite the casualness of her tone, Samantha was bouncing eagerly on the bal s of her feet, a mischievous smile flickering at the corners of her mouth, and Meredith’s eyes narrowed.
“Sure,” she said, her attitude light. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Samantha’s smile broadened. She kicked off her shoes and stepped onto the practice mat next to Meredith. They faced off, assessing each other. She was a head shorter than Meredith, thin, but wiry and sleekly muscled, and she moved as graceful y as a cat.
The anticipation in the girl’s eyes betrayed Samantha’s belief that Meredith would be easy to beat. She was thinking that Meredith was one of those trainees who was al form and technique with no real fighting instinct. Meredith knew that kind of fighter wel , had met them often enough in competitions. If that was what Samantha thought of Meredith, she was in for a surprise.
“Ready?” Samantha asked. At Meredith’s nod, she immediately launched a punch while bringing the opposite-side foot around in an attempt to sweep Meredith off her feet. Meredith reacted instinctively, blocking the blow, dodging the foot, then sweeping a kick of her own, which Samantha avoided, grinning with simple pleasure.
They exchanged a few more blows and kicks, and, against her wil , Meredith was impressed. This girl was fast, faster than most of the fighters Meredith had faced before, even at the black-belt level, and much stronger than she looked.
She was too cocky, though, an aggressive fighter instead of a defensive one; the way she’d hurried to strike the first blow showed that. Meredith could use that cockiness against her.
Samantha shifted her weight, and Meredith slid in below her defenses, giving a fast spin heel kick that hit Samantha firmly on the upper thigh. She staggered a bit, and Meredith moved out of range quickly.
Samantha’s face changed immediately. She was getting angry now, Meredith could tel , and that, too, was a weakness. She was frowning, her lips tight, while Meredith kept her own face purposeful y blank. Samantha’s fists and feet were moving quickly, but she lost some accuracy as she sped up.
Meredith pretended to fal back under the assault, feinting to keep her opponent off-balance, al owing herself to be backed toward a corner while stil blocking Samantha’s blows. When she was almost cornered, she jammed her arm against Samantha’s fist, stopping her before she could ful y extend her blow, and swept a foot under hers.
Samantha tripped, caught by Meredith’s low kick, and fel heavily to the mat. She lay there and just stared up at Meredith for a moment, face stunned, while Meredith hovered over her, suddenly uncertain. Had she hurt Samantha? Was the girl going to be angry and storm off?
Then Samantha’s face blossomed into a wide, glowing smile. “That was awesome!” she said. “Can you show me that move?”