Liar is the first book of a YA series that focuses on best friends Rachel and Steph and their adventures. Almost Perfect continues the series.
In Liar, eighth Grader, Rachel Scott finally had the perfect boyfriend. He was good-looking, athletic and wealthy. The only problem was he didn’t actually exist. Rachel’s escape into her fantasy world worries her parents and they insist she meet with the school counselor. Frustrated with her life and without her best friend’s approval, Rachel heads into an on-line relationship.
Chapter 1
My name’s Rachel and I invent stories. My parents call me a fibber – a liar, to be exact but lying makes me feel better. I’m pretending – that’s all. My designer home, trips to Maui and Disney World and, of course, my imaginary boyfriend, Walker Johnson. We met at summer camp. My imaginary summer camp.
“Liar, liar pants on fire,” I hum as I push open the door to the school counselor’s office for my weekly meeting. Her small room has one dirty window. Books and black binders line the shelves in the corner. The smell of sweat fills the room. Four boys from my class have just finished talking with Ms. Paxton. Probably fighting at lunch again. I sigh as I slump into my usual place at the round table.
Ms. Paxton leans across the table, clasping her hands together. I try not to stare at them, but I can’t help myself. They’re spotted with freckles and veins that pop up. I never want to have hands like that even when I’m old. But she has a kind face and I like her.
Last week my best friend, Stephanie, and I saw Ms. Paxton get into a Mercedes convertible after school. A good looking guy was in the driver’s seat. We almost died. Who would have thought Ms. Paxton could be hot?
“Rachel, how’s your week going?”
“Great.” It’s only Tuesday, not many things have gone wrong yet. What does she expect me to say? “Not much to report, Ms. Paxton.”
She leans back in her chair and waits. She knows me. After all, I’ve been coming to her sessions since the beginning of the term. My parents make me. They say I have issues. Some days, like today, my issue is being in this room.
“Tell me about your weekend.”
“Same old, same old.”
Ms. Paxton’s eyebrows rise up. That’s her signal that she needs to hear more.
“Well, I hung out with Steph. We burned some CDs, watched dance shows on TV and ate junk food. I made a ton of popcorn. We added half a pound of melted butter and Parmesan cheese. Then we finished with bowls of chocolate ice cream and some vinegar chips.”
Ms. Paxton’s eyebrows lift another inch.
The last time we talked, I whined about my weight. I’m supposed to be following Weight Watchers – but I can’t seem to stick to the program. Why shouldn’t I reward myself every once in a while?
“I got another great e-mail from Walker.”
“What about?”
“He wants me to join him in Vermont next summer.”
“Really?”
I listen carefully to the tone of her voice. I think she’s still a believer.
“Yep, he visits his relatives in the country. They live in one of those mansions like you see in magazines. Eight bedrooms, lots of bathrooms, a huge pool, and a stable. Of course, everyone in his family rides horses.”
“Of course.” Ms. Paxton slowly nods her head.
“But I’m not so sure I’ll be able to go. My stepmom, Diane, wants me to help out in the store.”
“I see,” responds Ms. Paxton.
But she doesn’t really. I don’t think she knows when I spin her a line.
“Where does Walker go to school?”
“Oh, he goes to a boarding school. But he’s thinking about switching to another one. I forget what it’s called.”
This is so easy. The stories simply tumble out of my mouth. Maybe I should write them down. People get paid to write fiction. I could get rich. Ha.I stare at the ceiling. How did those flies get caught in the light?
“Rachel.”
“Yes?” Thoughts of my chicken salad sandwich that I made this morning for lunch disappear.
I look at Ms. Paxton. She’s wearing the dumbest brown shirt and boring blue pants. What a combination! She doesn’t know how to dress. Not like Mrs. Smith who teaches Eighth Grade Biology. Wow! She looks like Steph. You know, tall and thin. And a blonde. I wonder what it must be like to walk around in the world like that, instead of short and fat. And a redhead. A redhead with out-of-control hair.
“Rachel.”
“Yes?” I try to concentrate. I stare at my bitten fingernails. I’ve chewed off all the nails on my left hand, but my right hand looks okay. I guess I do have issues.
I figure she wants to know more about Walker. I launch in. “Right. Well, he wants to be at a school with a better swim team, and his parents agreed so he’s moving after the Christmas holidays.”
Ms. Paxton writes something in her file folder. She’s probably making notes about Walker. I ramble on. I love talking about Walker. He’s the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. Actually, the only boyfriend. Too bad he lives so far away. I stifle a giggle. Sometimes I crack myself up. I cough loudly to stop from laughing.
“You know, Rachel, it would help me – it would help both of us, if you would tell the truth.” She looks serious. “So, you’re saying Walker lives out-of-town and he’s your boyfriend?”
I squirm in my seat. Sounds like she doesn’t believe me. I could bring in a picture of Walker. That would convince her. I’ll borrow one from my next door neighbor. Their sons are away at school. I’m sure if I take a photo for a day or two they won’t miss it. Wow! Here I am, thinking about stealing to cover up my lying. I take a deep breath.
“Ms. Paxton, I don’t have his picture with me, but next week, I promise, I’ll show you what he looks like. He’s totally cool. He has thick blonde hair and crystal blue eyes and serious abs like that Matthew guy. You know – the actor? Walker could be in the movies.” And so could I.
I check my watch. “I see our time is up. I don’t want to be late for volleyball today. I like playing it’’ Lie, another lie, where do the lies come from? Yeah, I hate gym classes, too much running and exercising.
“Same time next week?”
“Yes,” says Ms. Paxton. “Same time next week.”
As I leave, I glance over my shoulder. Ms. Paxton is adding another note to my file.
After school Steph and I walk home. Her house is close to mine, which is great. I have a piano lesson today and Steph has a tutor for math. She gets good grades but her dad thinks she can do better.
We wander along taking our time. We know if we start to jog at the next set of mailboxes we won’t be late. Our neighbourhood is kind of boring. But families like it because it’s safe. According to my dad, that’s why we live here. Imagine naming a place Laurel Estates. So far, Steph and I haven’t discovered any infinity pools or tennis courts.
As we walk past Nolan Yates’ house, I wonder if I’ll see him. He’s usually in soccer shorts. He wears them no matter what time of year. You can do that on Vancouver Island.
He comes out the front door and strides down the path. Each time I see him, a warm glow flows through my veins. Tanned legs and a tight tee shirt light up my eyes. I want to touch the strands of wavy hair that fall on his forehead. Within seconds he’s beside me. His broad chest presses against my body and he smells like the outdoors. He gathers me in his arms and holds me. His strong hands move gently down my back. He whispers in my ear, “I love you. How come I haven’t seen you before?” Pausing for a minute, he tips up my chin. His bottle-green eyes are full of promise. And his full lips taste my …
Oh my gawd! As he approaches, he flashes Steph a brilliant smile. Of course, I forgot. I don’t exist. He doesn’t see me. I’m a shadow girl. A shadow girl, living my life in the shade of my friend. Yep! That’s me. I’m just the sidekick to the most gorgeous girl in the school. I mean, Steph is stunning. Flawless. And like most beauties she doesn’t even know it.
We keep walking. Steph has her head down. She misses seeing the best male body in Tenth Grade. I shiver as I imagine his mouth on my lips. I try to push Nolan Yates from my brain.
“Anything different with your parents?” I ask.
Steph shakes her head. “I don’t think so. My Mom’s really quiet and Dad’s away on a long trip. Last month I saw him twice,” she whispers. She stops to adjust her backpack. “I know my Mom’s trying not to cry. I’m afraid that if she starts, she won’t be able to stop.”
“I’m not Oprah but you can’t control what your parents do. Trust me, I’ve figured that one out. They’ll do what they want.”
Steph has no idea. I’ve never told her anything about my mom’s disappearing act when I was three years old.
“I know I’m not in control. But they don’t know what their fighting is doing to me.”
“Maybe they do,” I suggest.
“I’m sick of them saying, ‘We want to do what’s right.’ What would be right is for them to figure out their problems. I know what’s going on, even though they’ve tried to hide their fighting. I don’t understand why parents think we can’t hear them argue. I always hear them. Besides, I go out of my way to listen. It’s the only way I can understand.”
“Gotcha, on that one.” I blow my nose. My allergies are acting up and I try to change the subject. “Guess what, Steph?”
“What?”
“Once I heard my parents talking about having a baby. It was unreal. My stepmom wasn’t sure. But Dad said he really wanted one. I guess I’m not enough for him. And then I couldn’t hear the rest.”
“Then what?”
“Then along came Darcy. He’s eight months old tomorrow. He hasn’t turned disgusting yet like my stepbrother, Tim. But I guess he’ll change into a boy soon enough and have a stinky room and strange friends.”
“Tim’s okay. He’s kind of cool.”
“Arrgh. I can’t believe you said that.” I scrunch up my face. “Anyway, Steph,” I return to our previous conversation, “why don’t you listen to your iPod? Crank it way up. That way you won’t hear your parents shouting.”
“I guess I could do that. But I’d still know they’re fighting. Oh, I want to give you this sketch I did today in art class.” She digs into her pack. “We had to study a vase of flowers and then draw it from memory. I loved the class today. It was quiet.”
That’s exactly the reason why I didn’t sign up for art. I want noise and excitement. Steph and I are so different. But that’s why we’re friends and that’s why our friendship works. We’ve been best friends since Kindergarten.
“Thanks, you remembered! I love daisies. Do you think you can stay overnight?” And as I ask the question, I already know the answer.
“Not tonight girls, not on a school night,” we chant in the singsong voices our parents use.
“Maybe next weekend you can come to my house,” says Steph. “I’ll have to ask. Mom’s stopped inviting people over. I think she’s afraid they might figure something out.”
“Like what?” I’m not absolutely sure what Steph means. “Are they going to separate?”
“Worse. D. I. V. O. R. C. E.”
I guess it doesn’t sound so bad if she spells it.
“Don’t tell anybody. Promise?”
“Of course.”
Steph bites her lip and tears slide down her face. I touch her shoulder. I want to take away her pain.
“You’re going to be okay. I’ll put my cell under my pillow. Call me whenever you want. Even in the middle of the night.”
“Thanks.” She swipes at her eyes and we start to run as we pass the mailboxes.
My stepmom thinks I have problems. Well my life is easy compared to Steph’s. Steph should be the one talking with Ms. Paxton.
I toss my backpack in the front hallway and run upstairs to get changed. My piano lesson starts in two minutes and Mr. Edwards gets cranky if I’m not ready. He doesn’t like to wait. As I toss my clothes into a heap on the floor, I wonder what it would be like to be Steph right now. I’d like the tall, thin part, but I wouldn’t want the feuding parents’ part.
I try to concentrate on the piano scales, but my thoughts keep rolling back to Steph. Dad and Diane have an occasional bumpy day, but that’s about it. They love each other and get mushy in the kitchen. Dad likes to waltz my stepmom around and call her ‘my one and only’. This totally embarrasses Tim and me. I think Dad does it on purpose.
Mr. Edwards clears his throat. “I don’t think you’re giving your best today, Rachel.”
“I agree. I’m not feeling well.”
Mr. Edward’s eyebrows rise up, just like Ms. Paxton’s. It seems every adult’s questioning come out their eyebrows. Has he heard about my story-telling?
I’m worried about Steph and I have a headache.
“I can’t do any more today. I’ll spend extra time practicing next week.” I close my music book and stand up. “I’m sorry, Mr. Edwards.”
He writes in my notebook. “Okay. Please review the last two scales and take a look at the next waltz on page fifty-two.”
“Sure thing.” Although I know I won’t have any time to practice in the next few days. I’m thinking I’m ready to dump piano lessons anyway. After he leaves, I head into the kitchen for a snack.
Looks like dinner will be early tonight. The makings of a Caesar salad are on the counter and steaks are marinating in the fridge. The rich smell of oven fries wafts from the oven. Yummers!
I have my head deep in the veggie drawer when I hear Diane’s voice in the hallway.
“Rachel, a healthy snack remember and not too much. We’ll be eating soon.”
What? Has she got eyes that can look around a corner? I swear she always knows what I’m doing. Maybe that’s why my story-telling drives her nuts. She’s not in charge.
I pull out a red pepper and slice it up. A bowl of cream cheese to go with it will cheer me up.
“Good choice, dear,” she says as she slides up beside my stool and plants a kiss on my cheek.
I pull away. She tries too hard. I wish she’d relax.
“How was school today?”
She continues on, not waiting for answers. So I nod and smile, nod and smile. I wonder whether I should say something about Steph. Maybe not. Even though Diane is cheery, I know she’s got a lot on her mind too. She wants to return to work at her floral shop, but she’s still breast feeding Darcy.
I set the table and put the salad in the middle.
“Don’t forget napkins, Rachel.”
Right! What would happen in the world if we forgot our napkins? Would food slide down our faces and onto our plates? Would we stuff ourselves and then use our tongues and hands to clean up? Like cats? I like that picture and chuckle as I put them on the table. Imagine having no napkins at dinner!
My scowling stepbrother, Tim, shows up to eat. He thumps my shoulder on his way to his chair. Making a face at me, he piles almost all the fries on his plate.
“Tim,” scolds Diane, in her no-nonsense way.
“Sorry.” He returns four fries to the serving bowl.
“Yuck, Diane. Did you see that? I’m not going to eat any of his leftovers.”
Tim’s such a loser. He looks like he’s going to stick out his tongue at me, but Dad gives him ‘the look’. You know, the one where there are no chances left, and if he continues, he’ll have to go to his room.
I glower at Tim.
“Rachel, please pass the carrots,” says Dad. “Now tell me about your day.”
I examine my Caesar salad and pick out the croutons in an effort to reduce my carbs. “What is it about this family,” I mutter, “that everyone has to know everything?”
Tim chortles and stuffs more salad into his face. He’s disgusting!
“Yeah, Rachel, tell us what happened during your meeting with your shrink!” he says, with bits of romaine sticking out of his mouth.
“Ms. Paxton is not a shrink. She’s a school counselor. And I wouldn’t tell you anything for ten million dollars.”
“Tim, don’t talk that way to Rachel,” says Diane.
“Oh come on, Mom. Everybody in the world knows why she’s going there.”
“So, why am I going there?” I narrow my eyes and frown. “I dare you – you big, fat stepbrother. Why am I going to see the counselor?” I double dare him because he doesn’t have any idea.
“Well, according to my friends, it’s because you’re a liar!”
“What?” I shriek. I look at Diane and Dad. They must have been talking in the kitchen or somewhere and now Tim knows. And if Tim knows, the whole school knows. I’m doomed.
I toss my napkin onto my plate like I’ve seen done in the movies and I stomp downstairs to my room and throw myself onto the bed. I figure my life as of today is over.
The next day Steph and I meet at break. Recess is so lame. I used to pray for it in elementary school but not now. In middle school the hallways are crowded and so are the washrooms. There’s not much to do and it’s hard to have a private conversation.
“Hey there,” I say.
“Hey back.”
“You look good today, Rachel. Your hair is kind of straight.”
“Thanks. It took me about an hour. I should get serious points for effort.” I pause to look in my locker mirror. “But if it starts to rain, it’ll be back to frizzy curls. Oh well,” I stare at Steph and notice the dark smudges under her eyes. “Rough night?”
“Yep.” Steph glances around, lowers her head and whispers. “They fought all night long. At least until three in the morning. I feel sick when I think about it.”
“I’m sorry, Steph.” I don’t know how to help her. I don’t know what to say. “Maybe you could stay at my place for awhile. But I guess your mom wouldn’t let you. Maybe you can talk to Ms. Paxton.”
Steph begins to sob. I give her a hug. I don’t care who sees us swaying together in the middle of the hallway. Sometimes best friends simply have to hold onto each other.
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The second book in this series Almost Perfect focuses on Rachel’s friend Steph, who strives to have the perfect grades, the perfect boyfriend and the perfect life. In Steph’s quest for perfection, she heads down a dangerous path.
Chapter 1
My fate is the land of perfection. Perfect grades, perfect boyfriend, perfect life. But I’m faltering. I’m not who you think I am.
I stroke the side of the plastic container of little white pills, considering what to do. I twist off the cap, gulp some water and pop one down my throat. It’s all good. They’re prescription, you know. Legal. Not mine of course. Just something to take the edge off the day. I tuck my secret deep in my pocket and get ready for school.
I’m the girl you love to hate. I have it all. Brains, looks, friends. My best friend Rachel says so and she’s right about everything. I’d like to agree with her – but deep inside, I know this time she’s wrong. So what if I’m pretty, get straight A’s, and have a ton of friends? None of that makes me feel good.
I’m in the ninth grade and already I’m supposed to know what I want to do with the rest of my life. My dad and mom keep asking and I haven’t a clue. What I do understand is that I plan to be ultra-careful about the path I choose. I won’t follow my dad.
He’s an orthodontist, spending all day making smiles sparkle. One day I wish he would make me smile. He wanted to be a lawyer like his brothers and dad. But now he stares inside mouths. I have no idea what happened.
I don’t want to spend my life hating what I do. I don’t want to wake up in the morning and look in the mirror and think ‘Is this all there is?’ I need to explore and discover what’s out in the world at my own pace and that’s part of the problem. My parents are fast-track kind of people. Looking for the best, wanting the most expensive stuff. Every day they push, push, push.
I used to be like them. I thought I had my life figured out, but lately, I’m not convinced. I want to slow down, flop around, eat junk food like Rachel and read Teen Vogue all day long.
My mom used to be a model. But then she got married and had me, and I think she’s still recovering from the fact that she got pregnant. I wasn’t part of her plan. Now she’s a home stager. She gets to fuss around with other people’s money and make their houses look fabulous, so the owners can sell them and move on to their next fantastic house.
Her work is boring. The sofas look like you shouldn’t sit on them and the designer kitchens never have a yummy smell. Of course, they fake the scent sometimes. My mom uses a mini Crock Pot and chucks in some gingerbread goop, so realtors and their clients will fall in love with the place. I suppose it works – because she’s always busy. She loves decluttering and neutralizing a home as she calls it to help buyers see a home’s full potential. But she should look carefully at her daughter’s potential. Me, I’m Steph, Child Number One of the Baxter household. Actually, I’m the one and only, and this is my story.
“Steph, hurry up, Rachel is waiting for you. You’re going to be late,” Mom shouts from the downstairs hallway.
“Coming.” I give my hair a last comb through, grab my backpack and run down the steps.
“Have a great day sweetie.” She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek.
Mom looks fabulous today. Her new burgundy shoes blend in with her designer suit.
“Do you like them dear?” She smiles tightly as she asks the question.
I stare at her feet. “I guess. Aren’t they Manolos?”
“Yes, I couldn’t resist. Listen, have a great day. You’ve got math tutoring after school today, remember?”
“Yes, yes, Mom,” I groan. “How can I forget? It’s on the whiteboard in the kitchen, the bulletin board in the back hall, the day planner on my desk, and on my I-phone”.
“Sorry hon. Just checking. Now you two have a super day.” Mom picks up her laptop and waves to Rachel who is waiting in our hall. She hurries out the door as her cell rings.
“Wow, she’s pretty revved up this morning,” says Rachel.
“Not really. She’s in neutral.”
“I thought you wanted to quit the extra help in math? You said it took up too much time.”
“I did, but my dad has his eyes on college applications and the higher my math grades are, the better.”
“Yeah, I get that, but you’ve got years before you go. What’s all the rush?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” I switch my backpack to my other shoulder. “What is all the rush?” My stuff weighs a ton today and I struggle to readjust the strap.
“Hey, we better hurry up, or we’ll miss the bus,” says Rachel.
“Okay.”
“Betcha Nolan will want to sit with you.”
“I guess.”
“You don’t sound too excited.”
“Just a second.” I punch in our security code and make sure the house is locked. The robotic sounding voice reviews the checklist. “All doors and windows secured.”
“Right, right,” I mutter.
Good thing we ran,” pants Rachel, as the bus pulls in early.
“No kidding,” I gasp and we settle into our usual seats in our section of the bus. Rachel sits behind me and I have a seat to myself.
Last year I felt like the princess-child. My mom drove me back and forth each day. Totally boring. She chatted on and on about school, and I couldn’t escape. Sometimes I would pretend to sleep. Then she would think I was getting ill and would want us to visit our family doctor. Together! Eeww!
High school is all about finding your place. And I definitely have mine. According to Rachel, I’m one of the coolest kids around. She loves being with me, but she thinks she doesn’t fit in. That’s kind of true. I mean, she’s Rachel and totally different. I wish I had the courage to be unique like her. But I don’t. Remember, I’m the tall gorgeous blond, girls love to hate.
Rachel is Ms. Wild thing. Messy, chubby and with electric red hair. She’d die if she ever thought I said she was chunky, but the truth is she’s a foodie and she loves to eat. She struggles to keep her weight at a hundred and seventy pounds. She’s obsessed with food. But that’s my Rachel.
Me? I’m immune to the entire food deal. I find cooking boring. I get hungry, but I don’t search out food for fun.
My friends are loud today. Nolan stares at me from across the aisle. He slides in beside me and touches my knee. A warm glow flows through my body. I wish he didn’t make me feel like this. But he does.
“Missed you last night. Thought you were coming over,” he says.
“Couldn’t. I was swamped with homework. Did you finish the history essay?”
“Of course.” He stretches his arm along the back of the bus seat and lightly touches my shoulder.
Lately, Nolan wants to touch more of me. I mean I want it, but I don’t. Last year, I ignored him totally. Rachel was the one who told me he was really interested. And he is. Really, really interested.
Some of my friends have had sex. My parents would die, absolutely die, if they found out about Lacey and Jacob. Some of my friends talk about sex all day long. At break, at lunch. Whenever. Give it up already. Enough is enough.
When you’re tall like me, and look older, everyone assumes you’re an expert, if you know what I mean. As if I’ve been with ten guys! I practice-kissed with Joe Woodward, in eighth grade, but I couldn’t introduce him to my parents. They’re kind of snobs about certain families. Joe’s mom works at a gas station and they live in a rundown apartment with his stepbrothers and stepsisters.
For my mom and dad, that whole scene would be messy. Totally messy. Don’t get me wrong. My parents are nice people. But they worry about me winding up with the wrong boy. I guess they feel they’ve invested so much of their time and money in me, they want things to work out right. They want me to find a professional. Like a boy who wants to become a lawyer or doctor. Someone who will make a ton of money.
Nolan snuggles closer. I have to admit I love riding the bus. Sitting next to him in the morning makes me feel wanted for the entire school day. I love how his strong arms feel when they wrap around me. He makes me feel safe. I lean into Nolan. His damp hair curls at the edge of his collar and he smells fresh, like lemons.
Rachel whistles softly from behind. I know she’s pleased I have a boyfriend. She’s happy this year too. Last year she escaped a nasty on-line relationship and then met the boy of her dreams, Josh Borden, who just happened to be her next door neighbour. I hope she doesn’t end up disappointed.
Something interesting happens every day on this bus. Kids laugh, cry, screech and shout. I love watching the action. You see, even on the bus, there are cliques. It’s even more noticeable than in the cafeteria. Of course, all of the groups have names. But I’ve made up my own. There’s the ‘Scaries’ – that’s what Rachel and I call them. They go out of their way to disgust adults. Usually they have mega-piercings. This year, because of school rules, they can’t wear them. So the result is a lot of infections, because they’re constantly yanking them in and out. Out during the day, in during the night. My friend Natalie tried having her eyebrow pierced. Big mistake. The safety pin never looked good and all she was left with was a scar.
Rachel and I wanted to stick on fake tongue studs – just to see if our parents would notice. Trust me, my dad would. Because he stares at teeth all day long, he knows the damage tongue studs can do. And so do I. I’ve heard his lecture – blah, blah, ruin your enamel, blah, blah, major infection, blah blah. But he managed to convince Rachel and me not to get them.
Then there’s the ‘actors’. They’re proud of themselves and they demonstrate dance moves in the cafeteria, and tumble in the hallway and sing in the washrooms. You get the picture. They can be exhausting on the school bus. They read poetry aloud, and hand-jive around, because of course, they’re not permitted to stand up and dance.
Nolan interrupts my thoughts as he reaches for my hand. Yes, I do like him but I don’t want to have sex yet. I’m too scared. I don’t want to get any of those nasty diseases and I don’t want to get pregnant. I’ve seen all those movies in health class. I wish he would relax. But he’s got sex on the brain. Boys in my class have sex on the brain too, but they’re way too disgusting to be with. I’ve always preferred older guys.
I lean back into the seat and close my eyes. Nolan’s fingers are warm and he strokes my palm possessively. I would love him to stroke me in a few other places. Oh yeah, right – back to the groups in my school.
Next are ‘the jocks and jockettes’. They’re members of all the major teams. They spend half their lives showering in locker rooms. As a new member of the cheerleading squad, I guess I’m connected with that group.
But in reality, I belong with the ‘braniacs’ as Rachel calls my clique. School is smooth as ice cream. Until this year I didn’t have to work very hard. My mom and dad accepted my progress. But wow, once I hit ninth grade both of them exploded with concern about my grades. And my grades are excellent! Suddenly I’m getting big time pressure.
I’m sandwiched between the demands of my parents and Nolan. I sigh and Nolan stares at me with concern. We’ve just started the second term and the homework is piling up. I don’t understand why teachers don’t talk to each other. Don’t they realise how many hours we have in the day? After sports and clubs finish, then it’s onwards into the homework tunnel. Some teachers must operate with a different clock. My goal is to survive until graduation.
“Hey, you’re okay Steph, aren’t you?”
Nolan’s so sweet, he watches out for me.
“Sure, but I have a big math quiz today.”
Nolan is a member of the ‘brainiac’ group too. He wants to be an accountant, so that’s cool with my parents. He keeps his grades up, so he can play soccer. Soccer is a new sport for him, but I’m sure he would be great at anything he decides to do. It occurs to me that he will graduate three years before me, and then that will be the end of us.
I pick up his hand and kiss his fingers. I’ll miss him.
He leans over and tips up my chin with a finger. “Let’s meet at the atrium for lunch. I’ll cheer you up.”
I smile at him. I’d like to hug him and have him massage my shoulders like he’s done before. But some girls on the bus are watching and I’m too embarrassed.
“Okay. I have about eight minutes before my squad meeting.”
“Can’t you miss it?”
“Are you kidding? If you don’t show up, you can be tossed off the team.”
“Wow, for missing one meeting?”
“Yep.”
“Sounds strict.”
“They’re beyond strict. People have no idea. I didn’t, until I joined. But the coaches are super serious about what they do.”
A flash of humor crosses his face. “Then we’ll forget about lunch and use the eight minutes for something else.”
I play along. “How can we fill up eight whole minutes?” I ask innocently.
His mouth twitches with amusement. “You’ll be surprised, Steph, what I can do in eight uninterrupted minutes.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
“I could start now.”
I swat his hand away. “Not here, not on the bus.” But I can’t erase the grin from my face.
The bus lurches to a stop in the school parking lot and everyone hurries off to meet their friends. It’s a madhouse as eight buses swing in at the same time, and a swirling mass of students walks into the school.
Nolan drapes his arm around my neck and whispers into my ear. “Sure you can’t meet me at break?”
“Nope, can’t.”
I stand on my tiptoes and give him a kiss.
“See you after school,” I sing, as I catch up with Rachel and we make our way into the crowd.
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