The Do-Over
Extra Credit series, Book 2
Charlotte Penn Clark
Contents
Prologue
1. Matt
2. Annika
3. Matt
4. Annika
5. Matt
6. Annika
7. Matt
8. Annika
9. Matt
10. Annika
11. Matt
12. Annika
13. Matt
14. Annika
15. Matt
16. Annika
17. Matt
18. Annika
19. Matt
20. Annika
21. Matt
22. Annika
23. Matt
24. Annika
25. Matt
26. Annika
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Coming Soon
Excerpt from The Lesson Plan
Also by Charlotte Penn Clark
Copyright © 2017 by Charlotte Penn Clark
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover courtesy of Marianne Nowicki at www.PremadeEbookCoverShop..com
ISBN: 978-0-9988244-0-6
Created with Vellum
Prologue
ANNIKA
“Can I get you a drink?”
The guy leans in to be heard over the music. He’s too close. I shake my head without turning it. Where have all these people come from? There are too many of them packed into too small a space. We’re standing in a kitchen doorway and all the counters are cluttered with red plastic cups and bottles, empty or just opened.
“Beer?”
I shake my head again, shifting from foot to foot. People seem to be whispering as they push past me, eyes darting to me and then away, pointing with fingers and chins. Am I being paranoid or am I doing something wrong? I glance down at myself uneasily. I’m in jeans, my favorite off-the-shoulder sweater, and ankle boots but everyone else seems dressed up. I thought this was a frat party.
“Something stronger?”
I glance at the guy’s face now, then away. It’s a little red and a little hungry. I can see sweat beading on his upper lip. Is it that hot in here?
“No.”
I turn away to try to make my way through the crowd in another direction. Maybe I can find one of the girls I came with from my floor. I wanted to make friends but they all disappeared as soon as we arrived. This is exactly why I don’t go out much. Trying to figure out how socializing works here is like being assigned extra homework.
A hand pulls at my arm. “Not so fast, baby. You can’t brush me off like that. Do you know who I am?” His expression has turned ugly. Or uglier.
I meet his eyes, schooling my face to betray nothing.
“Geoff Lowry,” he smirks. “I’m a junior and frat president. You probably heard of my family. We’re kind of important around here.” His smile fades as I don’t respond. “Wow. Everyone says you’re stuck up but you really are a bitch. You think anyone cares that you used to model in your podunk country?”
I blink, but I’m too used to controlling my reactions to flinch. Po-dunk? I gaze back at him impassively, though my heart is thudding.
“You think anyone cares about your family outside your little….” I emphasize the last word and wave my hands to gesture at the room, broadcasting my disdain. “House?”
“Bitch,” the guy sneers again, just to make sure it sank in the first time.
“Asshole,” I snap back, and he stomps off as best he can in the crowded space.
I don’t know how anyone found out about the modeling because it’s not like I was famous and I certainly never mentioned it. But somehow within a month of arriving in the U.S. everyone on campus seemed to know, and whisper and speculate about me.
Another reason not to leave my room. This was supposed to be a new beginning.
I let my hair fall in front of my face and study the floor, wondering what to do and where to go next. I can’t stay still or someone else will take it as an invitation…. Not for the first time, I wonder whether it was smart to come to college so far from home.
“Hey.” It’s another male voice. Already? I keep my gaze averted and sigh. “There’s a seat over here.”
I start shaking my head as I look up, then freeze. This guy is really good looking. He’s busy with something and while he’s not paying attention to me I study him for a moment. He’s dark haired and taller than me, with a profile that’s all strong clean lines and nice shoulders under a crisp button down shirt. Then he gestures toward a high windowsill behind him. It would be a little out of the way and out of view.
“Thanks,” I murmur, squeezing into the space. I hoist myself up and let my legs dangle. I brace myself for the next overture from this new guy but he goes back to work, standing at the counter as he mixes drinks and banters with people. I watch for a while, admiring his graceful motions and easy manner. More minutes tick by before my curiosity wins out.
“How did you learn how to do that?” I’m not sure which part I mean.
He glances at me, his dark eyes sharp. “Do what? Make drinks?” he asks, with a little smile. I’m charmed despite myself. “Rescue fair maidens?”
I squirm. I don’t want him to flirt. They all flirt. But I’m not sure what I’m asking.
“That,” I say, waving a hand vaguely.
He nods, more serious again. “Practice. Like anything else.” His hands and eyes are busy so I can watch him without being too obvious as his muscles shift with his movements. He exchanges more pleasantries with the people who come up for drinks, and I think he’s forgotten about me again when there’s a lull and he resumes our conversation as if it never paused.
“I used to bartend at some of my parent’s events. They entertain a lot.” He shrugs.
I consider this. “I’ve had practice too but it hasn’t helped. I think there’s more to it than that.”
He turns to smile slightly at me as he rolls up his sleeves. I’m distracted. He has an athlete’s build, lean and streamlined and smooth. I want to ask what sport he plays.
“You managed Geoff perfectly well though. And you need different social skills than I do. I need to draw people in, but you need to fend them off.”
I’m too surprised to respond at first so I tuck my hair behind my ears, thinking. He saw that? “Why do you need to draw people in?” He’s damned good at it, I think. Maybe too good.
His smile widens though he doesn’t turn this time. “Political family. That’s what we do.”
I’m intrigued but I don’t pursue it. We practically have to shout to hear each other over the thumping music anyway. A pretty girl comes up to order a drink and makes fuck-me eyes at him. That’s one of the amusing expressions I learned here and now I can see it in action. I watch, fascinated. I can’t hear what they’re saying but he seems to be deflecting her with a smile. She shoots me a dirty look before drifting away, drink in hand.
“How do you do that?” I repeat before I can think about it. I hope maybe he didn’t hear me but he laughs and again I’m caught by his charm. Drawn in. I pull myself together. “I mean, clearly you
have to keep them away sometimes too.”
We share a smile, a look, and it feels nice. I haven’t had this here. This feeling of belonging somewhere, with someone. He says something but a loud altercation in another corner makes it impossible to hear.
“What?” I shout, leaning in.
He leans in too so I could easily reach out and touch his shoulder, or brush my lips against the hint of stubble on his jawline. “I said I could give you some pointers.” He grimaces. “But I take it back because it came out sounding really cheesy.”
I can’t tell if he’s teasing. That’s often a problem for me. I mime my confusion and he looks amused.
“I’m done with my shift here. Let’s go upstairs. It’s quieter.”
Then, like a curtain has descended, that easiness is gone.
MATT
Shit. That guarded look is back and I’m having trouble meeting her mesmerizing eyes, which are the lightest blue I’ve ever seen in eyes. At the risk of sounding like a sap, her beauty is unreal. She’s all long legs and smooth skin and slender curves, yet she doesn’t look like anyone else either. Her eyes are wide-set, her cheekbones sharp. Her face just…clicks. It’s the kind of face you want to stare at, trying to figure out where exactly the perfection comes from. That would probably take a while.
“I mean….”
I try to back pedal but I don’t know how to continue because I didn’t mean anything except that I want to keep talking to her. I flounder as she holds a steady unblinking gaze. She has a way of watching impassively that’s unsettling. It makes her hard to read and accentuates her foreignness. That’s probably why people like Geoff think she’s stuck up. Talking to her now, though, I just think she’s reserved.
“I don’t even know your name,” she says and I can’t help but flush with embarrassment. Yeah, I’m real smooth.
“Matt,” I say, holding out a hand. She takes it with a tiny smile, her hand warm in mine.
“Annika.”
And I want to roll my eyes. Does she think there’s a person in the entire student body who doesn’t know who she is? The male student bodies have been obsessed with her since she started as a freshman two months ago. Does she think gorgeous Russian former models come to Carlyle College all the time? And no one seems to have spoken to her so everyone fills in the gaps with speculation. Then tonight she shows up here….
The music is still a wall between us and all I want to do is have a conversation, but I’m still holding her hand.
“Any chance you have vodka?”
Surprised, I tug her by the hand through the milling crowd to the freezer and pull out a bottle. She wrinkles her nose but nods, looking up at me with huge eyes.
“Okay.”
I’m astonished, amazed, aroused, but mostly moved that she trusts me. My heart is thudding in my chest and I feel more at a loss than I ever remember. She’s so crazy beautiful but now she’s…real.
“You can trust me,” I blurt out loud, then want to smack myself. Somehow this girl makes me lose all my finesse. But then she gives me a huge smile that lights up her face and feels special, like it’s just for me. And just like that my confidence is back. I can do this—hang out with this beautiful girl. There’s something about her I want to figure out. I give her an answering smile and we push our way through the wall of people to the stairs, still holding hands.
1
Matt
One year later….
Of course Annika Saar would be in this course. Because she’s one of my only complete and utter failures. I try to sink lower into my chair while I wait for the class to start, wishing (for the umpteenth time) that things hadn’t gone so disastrously wrong with her.
And still she brings up a completely confusing mash-up of emotions in me: fury, guilt, resentment, fascination, curiosity, and always, always lust. Because she’s still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I keep my eyes down so I don’t gawk.
One of the worst things about the night I refer to in my head as The Clusterfuck is that I had her in my bed and I don’t even remember it. I’ve had a year to puzzle that over and for the life of me I still don’t get it. A whole night together and I’ve got nothing?
I can’t help it—my eyes travel up, up, up her legs as she stands in the front of the room talking to the teacher. Bless you, super-skinny jeans! Then she whirls around just as my gaze reaches her face and I think Jesus, she’s even more beautiful than I remember, quickly followed by shit, how she hates me! Those pale blue eyes that first captivated me are now shooting ice chips. She looks like an arctic she-wolf.
I have to hand it to her though. That girl holds her head high. She straightens and squares her shoulders. And she’s super-model tall too. Then those rosy lips open.
“Asshole!” she mouths at me, stomping over to a chair as far as possible from mine.
Annnnd, that’s Annika.
As the class starts I’m on autopilot, writing whatever the teacher wants. I do autopilot better than anyone and this class is just a minor inconvenience. It’s a pilot program called Extra Credit for students in some kind of trouble. Sure, it’s a little embarrassing, being forced to take this class. And yeah, I don’t exactly want my folks to find out about my “situation.” But whatever. It’s not like it’s graded so it won’t affect my GPA.
And it’s not like I did anything really wrong. It was a frat thing and I’m president this year so it comes with the job. Every year we get the Org Chem final from the year before and circulate it to the brothers in that class. Every year. So what if this year we got caught? We’ll still do it again next year. I’d do it again tomorrow. Plenty of frats keep old tests as study aids and if it’s an ethical “gray area” that means it’s okay. The system is rigged and that’s how it’s played.
Write for a few minutes about why you’re here and what you hope to get out of this experience, the teacher asks us.
I got this.
The first step in solving any problem is to acknowledge it. After acknowledging it comes analyzing it. How did this situation happen? What were the circumstances? Who were the players? After this analysis a solution often presents itself. This class is designed to acknowledge student problems and, presumably, identify them for analysis. Like with a medical procedure, the correct diagnosis is key to the successful treatment.
Swoosh! I slap my pen down on my desk. Sometimes I out-do even myself. We go around a circle and read our responses and I know I’m golden. Most of them are crap. Kyle, the guy sitting next to me, struggles to put together two sentences. Annika writes something about being an international student and gets some prepositions wrong. For about two seconds I wonder what it’s like to move to the U.S. for college. She told me a little bit about Estonia during the Clusterfuck.
The professor, who wants us to call her Marjorie, has us do some more writing so I churn out another shiny paragraph. I could do this all day, but it’s boring. This time when we read them though I snap to attention. Annika’s is all about me, a.k.a. the “stupid lying jerk.” I don’t even know how the rest of them react because my vision narrows down to her. That girl who tosses her long blond hair over her shoulder and tenses up for battle. That one.
Any minute now everyone’s going to remember what a fool she made of me. Any day now the gossip’s going to start up again…. Behind my red haze I can hear Marjorie mediating between us but I’m too angry to listen. Kyle looks questioningly between me and Annika and I smirk, “Been there. Done that.”
The temperature in the room drops further and I see something in Annika’s expression that I try to make sense of: anger for sure, shock, and…hurt? I shift in my chair. No one makes me behave worse than Annika.
I’m pretty tuned out for the rest of the class and relieved when we’re excused until next week. I shove to my feet and try to shift gears. This was my first class yet it feels like it’s been a long day. I still have Post-War Politics, International Finance, soccer practice, the weekly steering meeting for the frat. I alr
eady feel exhausted. I’ve been there and done all that too. But I have to keep pedaling harder or I’ll fall.
I spare one last glance at Annika as I leave. Her long hair hides her face as she leans down to pack her bag. Her shoulders seem to droop. Whatever.
“Hey!”
I sure hope that’s not directed at me. I walk a little faster, hunching into the cold wind that’s blowing through the quad.
“Hey, Matt!!”
Ugh. I turn reluctantly and see it’s Kyle. He jogs over to me, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder.
“What the fuck, man?”
I raise an eyebrow and wait. My mom taught me that. If you’re patient, she says, people will tell you everything you need to know without you even having to ask. A group of girls detour around us, giggling as they flutter their fingers at me. I smile back because that’s how it works, but Kyle glares at the interruption and they scatter quickly.
“What’s up with you and that foreign girl?”
I tense. “Whatever.”
That’s officially going to be my go-to answer to everything now. I start walking again because it’s cold and it’s a long story anyway. He moves into step with me.
“Seemed a little harsh.”
I bark out a laugh. “Really? You really don’t know? You must be the only one on campus then. It took a year to die down.”
His eyes widen. “Wait. What? She was the one who put that shit up about you on Facebook?” He starts cracking up but when I glare at him he just slaps me on the back. As we get closer to the Poli Sci building he sobers up and catches my arm just as I’m about to turn in. “You got to admit she got you good. And you did pop her cherry and drop her.”
I whirl on him. “I. Did. Not.” It doesn’t matter how many times I say it the rumors never die.
Kyle throws up his hands and backs off. “Whoa. Okay. That’s just what I heard.” He frowns. “I also heard she got into a cat fight with some sorority girls last semester. And that she used to be a model.” He shrugs. “Who starts this shit?”
The Do-Over (Extra Credit Book 2) Page 1