The Truth About Boys: A Stolen Kiss Novel

by Shana Norris

  “If he messes with your stuff again, kick his ass,” Ashton told me. Her eyes lit up. “In fact, I’ll help you do it.”

  It wasn’t the first time Ashton had offered to take someone down for me. In fourth grade, she’d threatened to push Robbie McIntyre off the jungle gym when he told everyone in our class that I ate boogers. I hugged Ashton from across the counter. Her warm hug dissolved some of my anger. Ashton always had my back. “I’m not planning to kick anyone’s ass, but thanks.”

  “Hey,” Ashton said, her expression brightening suddenly as she pulled away. “Speaking of guys, did you get my text last night?”

  I nodded, then fluffed my hair like it would hide the red in my cheeks.

  “Wow, Kate. Must’ve been some text,” Carter quipped.

  “So?” Ashton prodded.

  “So what?” I asked, shrugging.

  “So … Miguel is back in town,” Ashton said, her eyebrows wiggling up and down. “Are you going to talk to him?”

  “Why would she need to talk to him?” Carter asked. “They broke up a year ago.”

  Ashton shot Carter an annoyed scowl. “So the breakup was his idea, not hers. She could still have some leftover feelings about it.”

  “It was a mutual breakup,” I reminded her.

  “He looked really hot,” Ashton said. “Hotter than before. He’s, you know … muscled up nicely.”

  Carter rolled his eyes. “Thanks for checking him out right in front of me, Ash. Not like you’re only supposed to have eyes for me or anything.”

  Ashton leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I do, sweetie,” she said in a sickly sweet voice as she patted his hand. “I was doing it scientifically, just so I could report back to my best friend on the status of the love of her life.”

  “Migs was cool,” Carter shrugged.

  I tossed the counter cleanup towel at Ashton and Carter. “Just because he was my boyfriend doesn’t mean he was the ‘love of my life.’ He was a guy I dated.”

  “For eight months,” Ashton reminded me.

  “And then we broke up.”

  “And you were miserable for a month.”

  “I was a little sad. For a month. Then I moved on,” I said as primly as possible. “And besides, he could reach out if he wanted to.”

  A heavy, tight feeling spread across my chest as I realized how right I was.

  The bell over the door chimed, and I jumped like Miguel himself was strolling through the door of Mountain Dairy. Like he’d known we were talking about him.

  But when I looked up, I found myself facing my high school calculus instructor, Mr. Gonzales, who was basically skipping across the tiled floor toward us. For a guy who spent all his time doing math, he was more energetic and cheerful than anyone I knew, Ashton included.

  “Saved for now,” Ashton whispered, a mischievous hiss in her voice.

  “Hey, Mr. G,” I called out, tactfully ignoring Ashton’s knowing glances.

  Ending the Miguel conversation (at least for now) wasn’t the only reason I was happy to see Mr. G. He was basically responsible for making me into a math superstar at school. Although music was always my first love, I had taken extra math classes and joined the school math team just to be under his guidance—I had always been good at math, but no one helped me enjoy it until Mr. G. Thanks to him, I would probably place out of at least three or four classes in college, which meant more time for music.

  “What’ll it be?” I asked as he stepped up to the counter. I picked up a clean scoop and twirled it expertly in one hand. “We’ve got the perfect thing to cool you down on this sweltering day.”

  Beaming, Mr. G took a bright green and gold handkerchief—our school colors—out of his pocket to wipe away the sweat beading along his hairline.

  “I’m not here for ice cream, Kate. I’m actually here to talk to you.”

  Anxiety crept into my stomach. Why would one of my high school teachers come hunt me down the summer after I’d graduated? “Oh really? Did I fail your class? Are you here to take back my diploma?” my voice came out like a shriek and Ashton shot me her calm-down-Kate look.

  Mr. G flashed his row of pearly white teeth and belly-laughed. “Nothing like that. I assure you, you passed my class with flying colors. You remember Demarcus Johnson, right?” he asked.

  I nodded. Demarcus had been on the math team and graduated along with us this year. If I was the real superstar of the math team, he was the hero—and Greensboro College had given him a full scholarship because of his raw talent.

  “Well, he got a better scholarship to Duke,” Mr. G said.

  Ashton gasped. “I saw that on Facebook!”

  “It’s quite the accomplishment,” Mr. G said sagely.

  “Wow,” I said, grinning wide. “Congrats to him.”

  Mr. G smiled and nodded. “I’ll tell him you said that. But this means that he’s left the math program at Greensboro College. Which brings me to you.”

  Ashton and Carter were listening to Mr. G just as raptly as I was. A scrawny kid walked up to the counter and asked for another spoon. I barely glanced his way as I handed it over. Mr. G looked back and forth between all of us without speaking, like he was pausing for dramatic effect.

  “So,” he finally continued, “there will be a new selection process to find a replacement to take the scholarship instead. Since time is running out, the decision will be made in just two weeks. It’s a full scholarship for four years at Greensboro College.”

  My stomach flipped. Mr. G smiled even wider, which I didn’t know was even possible.

  “As soon as I heard that Demarcus wouldn’t be taking it, I immediately thought of you. I’m on the nominating board for the scholarship, and I’d like to nominate you. That is, if you’re still interested.”

  My mouth hung open. A full scholarship for four years at Greensboro? It would be a dream come true. Finally, a possible solution to ease the financial burden on Mimi and Pop.

  “Yes! Of course!” I gushed. “I’d love the chance to try for it.”

  Mr. G clapped his hands together in front of his chest. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’ve already written you a recommendation letter to take with you to the interview.”

  “Interview?” I asked.

  “Yes, about that. You’ll need to go to Greensboro for the interview.” He drummed his long fingers on the counter. “And there is one condition.”

  Of course—there’s always a catch. “What’s that?” I asked slowly, like I was trying to delay the answer.

  “The recipient of the scholarship needs to major in math, of course,” Mr. G said.

  My stomach melted like a bowl of ice cream. Ashton looked at me, biting her lip like she was trying to hold something back.

  “Kate could get that scholarship hands down,” Carter said. “She’s the math star of Asheville.”

  Four years of math would be no problem at all. But …

  “Four years of majoring in math?” Ashton said, an edge of skepticism in her voice. “Kate wants to study music.” I could feel her gaze locked on me. I tried to ignore it.

  Mr. G ran a hand over his black hair, leaving a few strands sticking up right in front. “I know it’s different than what you had originally planned, Kate. But it’s an amazing opportunity, and honestly, I think you should take it. Ms. McNeil might be right, but you have to consider what … options you have available to you.” He patted my hand, like he was comforting me.

  “It’s a great scholarship,” I said carefully. I didn’t want to sound disappointed.

  “You have to do what you want, Kate,” Ashton said emphatically, slapping her palm on the counter next to her melting sundae. No amount of lip-biting can stop Ashton from speaking her mind. “You can’t put your dreams on hold for a scholarship.”

  Mr. G threw his hands up in the air defensively. “I only came to let you know about the opportunity. It’s up to you whether to apply or not. It’s your future, after all, Kate.”

  The envel
ope I tore into last night, with its bold red letters, popped into my head. My insides were suddenly a knot. “How can I let this pass by without trying, when I know it would really help out Pop and Mimi?” I asked no one in particular. This scholarship would do a lot for them.

  Mr. G drummed a quick little beat on the counter with his palms and then stepped back. “Well, now that I’ve delivered that news, I should get going. I have a few errands to run. I’ll email you the specifics, Kate.”

  I gestured to the palette of ice cream in front of me. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in a refreshing milkshake?”

  “I’m trying to cut back on my sugar.” Mr. G patted his already slim stomach. “Need to watch my abs this summer for the ladies down at the pool.”

  I laughed, trying to push back my worries about the scholarship. “You’ve always been such a heartbreaker, Mr. G.”

  He waved as he left Mountain Dairy, leaving me with Ashton and Carter once again.

  “Wow,” Carter said, swirling what was left of his milkshake in the bottom of his cup. “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, running my hands all the way through my hair. “I need to think about it.”

  “Think about it really hard,” Ashton warned me. “You don’t want to get yourself into something that’s going to make you miserable for the next four years.”

  The bell on the door chimed again, and I lifted my head to greet the new customer, only to find the already queasy feeling in my stomach roiling even more.

  My mother—my real one—had just walked into Mountain Dairy.

  Chapter 4

  I prayed that the floor would suddenly open up and swallow me whole as Andrea Watts, otherwise known as my biological mother, tapped her way across the tiled floor.

  No such luck. I stayed rooted where I was, trying to avoid the piercing gaze of her blue eyes; their familiar color reminded me that we were technically bound by biology.

  Andrea sidled up to the counter right next to Ashton, pushing her huge red purse between them.

  “Hey, Kathryn,” she said, sounding a little breathless. I cringed—no one used my full name. She nodded politely at Ashton and Carter. “Hey … guys.”

  Carter mumbled a “hey ma’am” in response before shuffling off to use the bathroom. Andrea looked at him for a few seconds before she glanced back to Ashton and mimed the words he’s cute.

  “Hey, Andrea,” Ashton responded in a too-loud voice, giving her a smile before turning to me with a wide-eyed, alarmed look on her face. I grabbed a rag and started scouring the counter in front of them.

  Ashton knew everything about my life, so she knew that Andrea had a set routine: she showed up two or three times a month at Mimi and Pop’s house for dinner and occasionally asked for money to help with bills. Being the office manager at a CPA didn’t quite cover her expenses—though I couldn’t help but notice that she was wearing a brand new pink sundress with tall cork wedges.

  I scoffed to myself and bore down harder on the table with my rag, like her showing up was something I could scrub away. The woman was thirty-six years old. I wondered for the millionth time if she was ever going to start acting her age.

  I had absolutely no idea why she would be here now. The last time I’d seen Andrea was at my Great-Aunt Bessie’s birthday party the month before. Andrea had shown up late, as usual, and left early. Family gatherings weren’t her thing. I was supposed to have had another two weeks free of her.

  “Are you going on break soon?” Andrea asked, running her pink manicured fingernails over the stainless steel display. “I really need to talk to you.”

  I tossed the rag down and shrugged. I couldn’t remember a time Andrea had ever asked to talk to me—and I was way past the days of needing anything from her. When I was a kid, I used to try to get her attention. I’d show her something I learned on the piano or the guitar, or play her the songs I’d been writing on our old computer. It didn’t take too long before I figured out that Andrea was never really interested in me.

  But now she wanted to talk to me?

  “I’m really busy,” I said, picking up the rag again and wringing it between my hands.

  “What time do you get off?” Andrea asked, glancing at the clock on the back wall of the shop. “I can come back later and we can go … shopping or something. And chat.”

  Shopping? She must have been really desperate about something. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem as if she was going to give up. But I could be just as stubborn as she was. I was technically her daughter, after all.

  “Can’t,” I said, scanning my brain for an excuse to get away from her. “I have plans after work. With Ashton.” Ashton vigorously nodded, though I expected some kind of but-she’s-your-mom lecture later.

  Andrea’s mouth pressed into a tight, thin line. “Kate, it’s really important.”

  “Sorry,” I said, already spinning on my heel. “I gotta get … more spoons … from the back.”

  I dashed through the door to the back room of Mountain Dairy. My nerves were firing so hard that I wanted to kick something. There was no way I could go back out there, not while Andrea was waiting for me.

  Luckily, I spotted my coworker Syke putting on his apron in the corner by the employee lockers. “Hey, Syke,” I called to him. “Can you cover for me up front while I go on break?”

  “No problem,” Syke answered. He whistled a happy tune as he headed through the door to the counter.

  Now all I had to do was hide out until I was sure Andrea Watts was gone. I sat on a box of ice cream cones to wait.

  When I finally emerged from the back room twenty minutes later, I saw that a stream of hungry campers had filed in and Syke needed my help. My mom was gone, as were Ashton and Carter. My phone pinged; it was a text from Ashton. They had managed to convince Andrea that I was stuck stocking inventory in the back until after closing time.

  The rabid campers and their harried, distressed-looking camp counselors kept me busy until it was time to head home for real.

  It was only four o’clock, so the summer sun was still high in the sky overhead. The bright yellow ball made Andrea’s visit seem small—after all, she probably just had some gossip about a new boyfriend. I definitely wasn’t interested in hearing about that. I pulled my sunglasses over my eyes and lifted my face toward the warm sun. I breathed in the summer, admiring the gentle slopes of Asheville’s green mountains.

  Sure, Asheville was small—but it felt big.

  My mouth slowly curled into a frown as I moved my eyes across the horizon. What was I about to leave behind?

  I turned toward my car, and the all too familiar knot returned to my stomach; I spotted Flannel-Boy just ahead on the sidewalk. It took me a few seconds to realize he was sauntering casually toward me, guitar case still slung over his shoulder, his hands in his pockets as if he had no care in the world. What did Carter say his name was? Rory. Rory Garrison.

  The knot in my stomach turned into a storm cloud.

  “You must be stalking me,” Rory said as he drew closer, his old sneakers shuffling across the sidewalk.

  I snorted. “Me stalking you? Please. It’s the other way around. This is the second time you’ve walked by my place of employment today.”

  Rory gestured toward the door of Mountain Dairy behind me. “So you’re a DJ and an ice cream scooper? You guys really churn out the entrepreneurs here, huh?” he asked.

  I tossed my blonde hair over my shoulder and lifted my chin. “We prefer the term ‘ice cream artists.’” I motioned toward the badge on my Mountain Dairy T-shirt, which read ICE CREAM ARTIST EXTRAORDINAIRE.

  “My apologies,” Rory said, raising his open palms in mock apology. “I’m Rory Garrison, by the way. I figured you should probably know my name if you’re going to be stalking me around Asheville all summer.”

  I was going to point out that I already knew his name, but quickly stopped myself—clearly, this guy did not need help with his ego. “I’m Kate Watts,
” I said, automatically reaching out to shake his hand before I thought better of it. My grandparents ingrained politeness into me. This was the first time I resented it.

  An electric tingle shivered its way up my skin as his fingers touched my hand. I pulled back quickly, running my hand through my hair to divert my attention.

  “So are you an Asheville native?” he asked, unfazed, the same casual expression in his bright green eyes. Meanwhile, I was still jumpy from my interaction with Andrea and the conversation with Mr. G.

  “Yep,” I said slowly, trying to figure out the least rude way to quickly end the conversation so I could get in my car and go home. “Born and raised here.”

  “I’m here for the summer,” Rory said. “Visiting my brother. I’m from Atlanta.” He puffed out his chest a little.

  “I went to Atlanta once,” I said. “On a school field trip freshman year. It’s nice. Busy.”

  Rory shrugged. “A lot more to do there than here.”

  My forehead scrunched with annoyance. “There’s plenty to do here if you know where to look,” I snapped.

  Rory held up his hands again, laughing. A few strands of his blonde hair fell into his eyes. “Whoa there. Calm down, Stalker-Girl. Your city’s not totally boring.”

  The words on my tongue were not polite. “You—”

  “It’s more … relaxed. Slower. Not that that’s a bad thing. Just really different.”

  I took a deep breath, trying to settle the frustration that ran through me. Of course Asheville wouldn’t be good enough for someone like Rory Garrison. If he was going to act like a child, maybe I should talk to him like one. “There are tons of things to do. There’s this music festival coming up soon, Shindig Under the Stars. It’s always awesome. I love it. And there are a lot of different music nights at the diners and clubs around here.” I started ticking things off on one hand. “Open mic nights are always fun. My favorite little diner, Mona’s, is having open mic night tomorrow night. Plus, they have the best burgers, with coleslaw and chili. You can’t spend a summer in Asheville without trying their burgers at least once.”