Pretty Lies: A contemporary YA Romance (Astrid Scott Series Book 1)

by Blake Blessing

  He had been out sick? I officially felt like the worst friend, being so absorbed in my own issues that I hadn’t even thought anything was off when he hadn’t contacted me.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that from someone else. But you know I don’t like attention. I walked out of the rally and haven’t been back until today either.” I doodled mini cameras in the corner of my notebook to avoid his scrutiny.

  He was very aware of my aversion to large groups of attention. One or two people, no problem. Even a small group wasn’t a big deal. But large groups, like say the whole school, was enough to scar me for life. I did better in the background, and I was okay with that.

  “Mmhm, and what’s this about you walking into school with Rhys? I feel like I’ve missed two months of your life when it’s only been about four days.” He went straight to pouting and I couldn’t hold in my laugh. That must have been exactly what he was looking for and he grinned.

  Mr. Music breezed into the room and slammed the door, signaling the start to class and saving me from explaining that particular event.

  After he set the expectations for today’s class, I moved to the computer to continue playing with Photoshop. Mr. Music was essential in guiding me through the nuances, and it was one of those rabbit holes you could get lost in for hours if you weren’t careful. You could tweak and change the photo to your heart’s desire and still find tiny things to manipulate.

  “Astrid, have you decided on the photos you’ll use in your portfolio?” Mr. Music pulled out a chair to sit next to me. He tried to peer over my shoulder but unfortunately for him, I was working on a flower picture I took over the weekend. Just a little something to play with the tools of the program.

  “No, not yet. I have some ideas though.” And I did. I just hoped my ideas wouldn’t upset anyone.

  “Listen, you remember my buddy from the university?”

  Like I could forget the guy that loaned me the Nikon. Pretty sure I would consider him a hero until the day I died.

  “We’ve been in contact and he’s offering up his star pupil to tutor you, if you’re up for it?” He wagged his eyebrows in a non-creepy way.

  “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing for me?” Not that I was opposed to getting help, but did he think I needed extra help? I had been feeling pretty good about my skills but now I was questioning everything. My mood plummeted, making me feel like I was about two inches tall.

  “I’ve been helping as much as I can, and I’ve probably helped more than I should. I can’t be seen to show favorites.” He leaned forward and winked conspiratorially, whispering, “although I’m rooting for you.”

  And with a few words he picked me right back up again.

  “Thanks, Mr. Music.” It sounded like I had a golf ball lodged in my throat and I coughed to hide it.

  “What do you say? Are you willing to work with the tutor? You have about a week or so to get ready for the high school competition. A critique partner would be invaluable right now.”

  He really wanted me to say yes, and really, there was no reason I should say no. The last few months had been relatively calm, but my goal was the same. I needed to get out.

  “I won’t turn away free help.”

  The teacher grinned. “Perfect, he’ll be here any minute. Every day until the competition, you’ll come here for attendance and then go to the library to work with the tutor.”

  “Right now?” Wow, way to give a girl a heads up. My heart started banging against its cage as a knock sounded on the classroom door.

  He couldn’t have timed it any better.

  A draft swirled around the room as the door opened, and the sound of footsteps came closer.

  “Hi Mr. Music. We talked on the phone. I hope I’m not late.”

  I knew that voice. Why hadn’t this popped into my head as a possibility?

  Moving at the speed of molasses, I rotated in my chair and looked directly at the crotch of the new comer. Faded jeans slung low on narrow hips, a green and dark blue, soft plaid shirt sat on top, and I followed each button until I reached Thatcher’s face. He smiled at me politely, like we hadn’t been in each other’s presence a hand full of times.

  He looked at me like I hadn’t walked in on him getting a blowjob.

  “Thatcher, nice to meet you. It was really kind of you to volunteer to help out Astrid.” Mr. Music stood and laid a heavy palm on my shoulder.

  They shook hands and I pushed out of the chair, partly to save my neck from a cramp and partly to avoid that weird feeling when everyone was much bigger than me.

  “This is Astrid, she’s the one we spoke about.”

  Thatcher’s eyes lit with amusement as they landed on me. He extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too.” I mumbled, shocked by the turn of the last five minutes.

  He wiggled his hand as if to say hurry up, then I shoved mine in his.

  “You’ll be able to use one of the computers in the library. There’s quite a few sections that will allow privacy as you help Astrid, and she’s excused from class assignments while you’re working with her. We’ll chat after on her progress to get an independent study grade.” Mr. Music propped himself up on his desk and crossed his arms.

  Everything Mr. Music had done for me flashed before my eyes and I had a moment of mixed emotions. Sadness that not even my parents supported me the way this teacher did, and happiness that for whatever reason, Mr. Music was inspired to help me. He was the brother I never had, and I came really close to hugging him. I did manage to refrain because this was high school, and they loved nothing better than a scandal. Even if there wasn’t one, gossip would spread and then it might as well be true.

  “Let me grab my things, then we can go.” I ducked between the two and stopped by the table I shared with Ryan.

  “Girl, who is that?” Ryan whispered, but the way he tended to whisper, at least half the class heard him.

  When I glanced at him, his eyes were large in his face as he kept alternating between my face and checking out Thatcher’s butt. I discreetly looked over my shoulder and even I could acknowledge he had a great one. Although nothing could compare to the look on his face when I first saw him…

  Where did that come from? I needed a distraction! Quick.

  “Ms. Hadley is having an affair with the principal.” I blurted so only Ryan could hear me.

  “What?” His eyes got so wide it almost looked like he wore a pair of drunk goggles. “You can’t walk out after sharing that bomb gossip.”

  I didn’t answer and shoved my stuff in my backpack, instantly regretting the distraction that had popped into my head. Why had I said that? There were a million other things I could have said that would have had less impact. If someone accidentally overheard me, or Ryan mentioned it to Pat, two families could be ruined. I didn’t doubt for a second that others would share it around because it was juicy and scandalous.

  When I turned around, the attention of the whole class was split between me and Thatcher. Wonderful. My heartbeat had calmed minutely, but started to speed back up again. A smug grin tugged at the corners of Thatcher’s mouth. He must love the puppy adoration, as if he didn’t get attention from the college girls. But he did, a much more satisfying kind of attention if I thought about it.

  “I’m ready.” I weaved between the tables, not bothering to look behind me to make sure Thatcher was following me. He’d figure out I wasn’t playing when I disappeared through the door.

  The door slammed behind me, then Thatcher was next to me, smiling.

  “Nice to see you again.”

  “You too. Was this your idea or your professor’s?” I squinted, trying to peel back enough of the fake Thatcher to see why he was really here. Growing up in church, I wanted to believe he offered his expertise out of the goodness of his heart, but the reality was no one did anything without a reason or personal gain.

  “Mine. I told the professor I ran into you and that you had real talent. This way I can kill
two birds with one stone.” His gaze scanned the hallway looking for some unknown threat.

  He must have forgotten what high school was like in his old age. He wasn’t going to find any students out here when class was in session. Or very few anyway. They certainly wouldn’t be planning to execute any devious plans of revenge on me when I was supposedly in class. If they watched me at all, they knew I never skipped.

  “So you came because you think I need your help?” I slipped my thumbs beneath the straps of the bag.

  His gaze snapped back to mine. He must have recognized the irritation in my voice. Then a teensy bit of guilt settled deep in the pit of my stomach. Thatcher was doing something nice for me that could tip the scales in my quest to leave my old life behind. I needed to remember that and not get so offended anytime anyone ever tried to help me. It never really bothered me before I moved here, but something about these perfect guys trying to help me, made me feel like they thought less of me. That I wouldn’t be able to make it without their assistance.

  The sad thing was, maybe I couldn’t. And maybe they did have some villainous motives, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get what I could out of them first.

  “I didn’t go to this school, but I remember what it’s like. How cruel kids can be. So yeah, maybe I wanted to be here in any capacity I could, to make sure you were covered. But I didn’t lie either, Astrid. I think you could have a real shot at winning. I could help.” His eyes, those gold, green eyes implored me to believe him.

  The same seed of guilt bloomed and crawled up my back. When had I become so cynical, believing everyone was out to get one over on someone else? It was the product of my love of photography. When you studied people so much, you started to see the parts of themselves they tried to hide from the world. Details that never would have caught my eye before were blaringly obvious and it both intrigued me and hardened my heart.

  I took a deep breath. “I believe you. Here’s the library.” Two old wooden doors with greasy fingerprints smudged all over the glass, stood before us. He opened one and I filed through, heading for my favorite spot in the back corner. We didn’t need to use the computers. I had my laptop with me and it had all of my pictures on it. When I started working on my portfolio, I started carrying my laptop with me everywhere. Mother Dearest had never invaded my privacy by searching my laptop, but I refused to give her an opportunity now with so much on the line.

  We sat down and little dust particles flew in the air. Thatcher looked around while I pulled my laptop out, not hiding his distaste.

  “Being back in a high school setting is making me itch. You’re really lucky I like you.” He tapped his fingers on the armrests.

  Did he like me like me? Or as a friend. I found either hard to believe since our encounters had all lasted less than fifteen minutes. Would we have been friends if he were my age?

  Just take what he’s offering, Astrid. Don’t go getting your hopes up that there could really be a friendship here.

  “Is college any better?” He pulled his hands in his lap and studied his palms. I used the time to study him. Longish black hair tucked behind his ears gave him a very Jordan Catalano look. High cheekbones and a moody glare completed the artsy look I would expect on a male art student.

  I quietly pulled my phone out and snapped a quick picture. As an observer, the level of emotions he felt was written all over his body. That was the powerful thing about photos. It brought out the empath in most everyone. By studying the slope of the shoulders, the tightening of their hands or the way the eyelids shaped around the eyes made a person hurt because they hurt, celebrate because they celebrated. To feel what the subject of the photo felt. That was why I loved photography. Only, I discovered secrets along the way.

  “In some ways. But… your life is still your life. Your problems still follow you no matter where you go.” He spoke to his lap.

  His words rang with a truth I hadn’t experienced in a while and touched me in a way that told me he might not be so perfect either. The moody, handsome, college art student had demons too.

  “I can’t believe nothing will change if I get this scholarship. If that’s the case, then I’m working so hard for nothing.” Thinking that way would only set me back and take the wind right out of my already weak sails.

  He lifted his gaze and we once again locked eyes. I itched to reach out to him, hold his hand or touch his knee. I wanted to show him that I understood what he said. That I lived it? In the end, I kept my hands to myself and powered up my laptop.

  “Maybe it will be different for you. Just don’t expect for this to be the magic bullet that changes your life forever. Although for your sake, I hope it does.”

  He was so somber, I hurt looking at him. I nodded in acknowledgement, then pulled up the pictures I’d been working on. I rubbed my index finger over my slightly chapped bottom lip as I scrolled through the shots I thought about using. The theme could be anything I wanted it to be. And while that was awesome, it also sucked. I had originally wanted to use the guys as an anonymous type of revenge. They weren’t supposed to know I used their images to further my agenda. The so-called perfect guys of Silver Ranch. But I needed something more solid than pictures of hot guys. I needed a well thought out theme. Something thought provoking.

  There were so many choices that I would come up with an idea, only to discard it when I took some new inspiration shots of the guys. My pictures were all over the place and I felt like a dog chasing after eight different jazzed up squirrels. I did that over and over again until I was ready to go sit at the altar and ask for direction. Dad beat Jesus into me so much in my life, I resented the church a little bit. That was how I knew I was getting really desperate.

  “Okay, so I don’t really have a lot of time to come up with a solid plan. That’s freaking me out.” I stared him in the eyes as I used my no bs voice. “But I have some good shots if you want to take a look and tell me what you see.”

  He nodded and dragged his chair until the arms bumped against each other. “Show me what you’re working with.”

  I selected several powerful pictures and displayed them side by side on the screen. The picture of Rhys on the ground, the picture of Jonah from the classroom, and a few others I’d taken since getting the camera.

  His lips pursed as his brow furrowed, leaving a deep line between his eyebrows. Thatcher had shown so much emotion moments ago, and now he was sealed up tight. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed or thought I was a one hit wonder and clearly it was a mistake by coming here.

  Seconds went by. Long torturous seconds. That was it. He thought this was a waste of his time. It was a miracle he even wanted to be here in the first place.

  “I can’t take it anymore. Just spit it out already!” I burst out, then looked around wildly to make sure I hadn’t disturbed anyone. The only person in sight was the aid for the period and it looked like he was catching a nap.

  Bringing my attention back to Thatcher, I wasn’t surprised to see he was staring at me. What shocked me was the amused smirk he was sporting like I was an adorable puppy trying to get his attention. Actually, make that a kitten. He seemed more like a cat person.

  “Astrid,” my name rolled off his tongue and I was ashamed at how much I loved it. “Relax. I was in the zone, picking apart your pieces as a professor would in class.”

  That hadn’t sounded good. Picking apart meant that he was thinking about all the things wrong with my stuff. He must have read the feelings on my face because he shook his head.

  “I forgot, you don’t do that in high school. At least I didn’t. In college, the students bring out their work with the professors and critique each other. It helps make stronger pieces and it also makes you a better artist. It’s good for the soul, I promise.”

  The little girl inside of me squealed at being referred to as an artist, even if indirectly. He had referred to me as an artist, hadn’t he?

  Feeling reinvigorated, I blew out a hard breath. Not in his face though, tha
t would have been rude and a little weird. “Hit me with it.”

  “These are great shots. I want you to know that. But what you’re missing is a connection between all of them. How many pieces are you allowed to put in your portfolio?”

  That hadn’t been so bad. It was a little disheartening, though. I felt these were my best shots, but it was better than saying something like his cat could take better pictures with its whiskers.

  “Mr. Music said four to five was a perfect number. The person that picks the final winner of the scholarship was very specific that they didn’t want to be looking at dozens and dozens of pictures of the same person’s work. They wanted something small but powerful. There can be less than that, but no more.”

  “That’s probably in your best interest anyway. The more pieces you have, the more work you have to put into the theme. What were you going for?” He adjusted on his heels and propped one arm over the side of my plush but ratty chair.

  I looked between the different dramatic shots on my screen and winced. “Uh, emotion. I hadn’t really given thought to a name or anything like that. These all seemed to evoke the same type of emotion from me.” That was the lamest answer ever. From the look on his face, he must have thought so too.

  “What emotion was that?” his lips twitched. If he laughed, I might play whack a mole with his balls.

  I opened my mouth to answer but I didn’t have any words to give him. What was the emotion I felt? The photos were all different types of compositions, some zoomed in, some larger scaled. Some dark and some light. There wasn’t really a trend. But when I looked at them, I felt sympathy. I empathized with how they must have been feeling. Could that be a theme? Or would there need to be more uniform characteristics between each picture. Maybe they could tell a story? Collectively?