Inwardly, I admitted that I was never allowed to keep shoes long enough for them to get comfortable, but I’d take his word for it.
“I just don’t understand,” I said breathlessly as I jogged up to his side, trying to keep pace, “how someone with no teaching experience—no teaching education—is expected to bring eight kids up to speed for their senior year.”
It was the dumbest thing I’d ever heard.
When I found out that I was going to be sent home to complete my community service, I was a little annoyed and whole lot relieved. While I certainly didn’t want anyone finding out about the idiocy that got me arrested, I also had no place to live in Phoenix for the summer. Coming home had been a lucky turn of events.
Even when my mother told me I would be staying at the Brandts’ empty house instead of shaming her with my presence at our home, I still thought it was better than hanging around Arizona, knowing that my ex was in our apartment with someone else.
But teaching? Whose brain fart was that?
“You’re not teaching,” Principal Masters shot back, turning his head only enough so I could see the side of his face. “You’re tutoring. There’s a difference.” And then he stopped and spun around to face me. “Let me tell you something about teaching. You can have the best teachers in the world with the most scientifically proven resources that money can buy and a teacher will still fail. Students need attention. That’s it.” He sliced the air between us with his hands. “They need your one-on-one time, okay? You have eight seventeen-year-olds on your roster, and you will not be alone. There are other tutors and other teachers running summer sessions in the school. The cheerleaders and band members will be around here and there, and then we have our lacrosse boys on the field nearly every day. Believe me, the school will be packed this summer. You’ll have lots of lifelines should you need them.”
“Do you hold every tutor’s hand like this?”
He smiled and turned to keep walking. “No. But then, I don’t have any other tutors completing court-ordered community service.”
Ugh. I’d blissfully forgotten about that for five seconds.
“I’m sorry.” I winced. “I know this is an awkward situation.”
“A very lucky situation.”
I loved the pep in his voice. Our principal had always been easy to talk to.
“It must be ideal to be able to come home for the summer to fulfill your requirement. And in the comfort of a place you’re familiar with.”
Yeah, about that … “How did I get this project?” I ventured, clutching Tate’s brown leather messenger bag from high school that I’d found in her closet this morning.
“I asked for you.”
Yeah, but …
“Your information popped up in my e-mail,” he offered. “I knew you, trusted you—for the most part—and knew that you shone at writing. Ms. Penley still uses some of your essays and reports to showcase to the other students. Did you know that?”
I shook my head and followed him up the stairs to the second floor, where my new classroom would be.
I loved writing. Always had. I was shit when it came to oral presentations, debates, or telling stories, but give me a pen, paper, and some time, and my thoughts came together perfectly.
If only life could be edited like a story, I’d rock.
He continued. “And I also knew that you had experience counseling kids at summer camps, so it seemed like a good fit.”
My flip-flops slapped the smooth brick floors as we reached the second level. “But you said my information popped up in your e-mail?” I asked. “Who sent it to you?”
“I never knew.” He scrunched his eyebrows at me, looking curious. “I figured it was just a paper pusher with the Corrections Department.” And then he stopped in front of what used to be—or perhaps still was—Dr. Porter’s chemistry lab. “And that reminds me”—he wagged a finger—“your special circumstances do not need to be broadcast. I trust I don’t need to tell you that, but I want to make it clear. These kids are not to know why you are here. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. Of course.” I fisted the strap of the bag hanging over my shoulder, feeling embarrassed. “And thank you for trusting me with this.”
His blue eyes softened, and he shot me a small smile. “This will be your room.” He nodded to Dr. Porter’s lab and then handed me the file folders in his hand. “Diagnostic assessments telling you where each student stands, teacher notes, lesson plans, and worksheet master copies. Study up, and see you Monday, K.C.”
And then he left, leaving me to look around and get the lay of the land. I had so many questions. These kids were seventeen. What if they didn’t want to listen to someone who was only a few years older? What would I do with behavior problems? Of course, Jared and Jaxon Trent no longer went to school here, but I was sure other douche bags had replaced them. And why were we holding tutoring sessions for writing in the chemistry lab? Didn’t I need to be fingerprinted to work with minors?
Oh, wait. I had been fingerprinted.
I laughed to myself, figuring it was better than crying. How shit changes.
When you’re in high school, you think you’re so smart and plans will always work out. You think you’ll be on the road to success with money in your pocket and a busy schedule, because you’re so important, having become exactly the person you always wanted to be as soon as you leave high school.
What they don’t tell you is that you’re more confused at twenty than you were at seventeen. And looking through the window on the door to the classroom, I rubbed the chills from my arms, wondering if I’d be even more confused at twenty-five than I was right now. The road had been clear before, and now it was so muddy that I could barely even walk.
But walking was all I was going to do this summer. Since I’d lost my license for a year, I let Nik take my car to San Diego with her and took comfort in the fact that I didn’t have any friends in town—right now, at least—that would make it a burden for me not to be driving.
School and the gym. Occasionally the grocery store. Those were the only places I’d be going, and they were all a healthy, but manageable, hike from Tate’s house.
I decided to head back there, opting out of stepping foot in the classroom until I had to. I deserved my punishment, but that still didn’t make it easier to face spending all summer in a hot, musty building filled with people who didn’t want to be there any more than I did.
Leaving the school, I dug out Tate’s iPod and fit the earbuds into my ears. As I scrolled through the playlist, I couldn’t help smiling as I realized I didn’t recognize a single song she’d loaded.
I loved Tate’s taste in music, even before I met her. But over the years I’d gotten tired of battling my mother on the songs she’d hear coming from my room, and so I gave up. On all music. I rarely listened to anything, because her voice would always invade my thoughts and ruin it.
Clicking on Chevelle’s “Take Out the Gunman,” I cranked up the volume so loud my ears ached. But I still broke out in a huge smile when that sexy voice started and fireworks started going off in my chest. I couldn’t hear my mother in my head or anything but the thunder of music, making me laugh, making my heart beat, and making my head bob as I walked home.
The neighborhood streets were calm, the occasional car breezing past, and the sun on my legs felt so warm I realized how much I had missed my hometown in the summer.
The lush green trees looming around me, their leaves dancing in the breeze. The smell of lawns being cut and barbecues grilling dinner. The children racing up to the ice cream truck as it pulled over to the curb.
I loved it all, and for the first moment in a very long time, I was at ease. Even despite the trouble I’d gotten into.
I realized no one was waiting for me, no one was watching me, and no one was bothering me. Eventually my mother would call. Eventually I’d have to go to tutoring on Monday. And eventually I’d have to return to my political science major in the fall.
<
br /> But if only for this moment, I was free.
And damn hot. I ran my fingers across my hairline, wiping off a bit of sweat. That’s one thing where Arizona wins out over Shelburne Falls. Less humidity there.
But I’d dressed as smart as I could. I’d worn a white crochet skirt that made my tanned legs look so much more awesome than they actually were, but I kept it conservative on top with a thin, button-up white blouse. The stickiness on my back was already too much. I unbuttoned the shirt and pulled it off, slinging it over the messenger bag and leaving me in my white cami.
My dark hair hung down past my shoulder blades, and now that it was getting windblown and sweaty from the walk, I wished I’d pulled it up.
Stepping over the curb, I walked across the empty street and suddenly felt my heart plummet into my stomach.
Oh, no.
Looking over the vast green lawn of the town park, I saw Liam’s Camaro parked in front of Applebaum’s Bagels. Liam. My ex-boyfriend who cheated on me twice and was supposed to be staying in Phoenix for the summer. Shit!
My head fell back, and I closed my eyes. Fuck my luck.
My teeth clenched, and every damn muscle in my body was charged.
But then I jumped, startled. A sudden jolt of vibrations tingled my feet and shot straight up my legs.
I opened my eyes and turned around to see that I’d stopped in the middle of the street I’d been attempting to cross before Liam’s Camaro grabbed my attention. I blinked, staring wide-eyed at a car—actually, a ton of cars—as they just sat there, staring back at me and waiting for me to move my ass out of their way. How long had they been there before I noticed?
Chills ran up my spine, and I shivered, Liam forgotten. I barely noticed the other muscle cars. All I saw was the one in the lead. The black one staring at me through blacked-out windows.
The Mustang GT.
Jaxon Trent’s Mustang GT.
CHAPTER 2
K.C.
I wasn’t expecting that. Not for one minute did I think Jax would still be in town.
I hurried to the other side of the street, locked in a weird daze as Chevelle pounded in my ears. Turning around, I watched his Mustang just sit there.
What was he doing?
Finally he revved the engine and cruised past slowly, car after car, all tricked out, following in his wake.
My dry tongue suddenly felt like a scrub brush in my mouth. More cars zoomed by me, blowing my short skirt across my thighs, and I felt as if I’d gotten caught in the middle of a damn parade.
What the hell was this?
Some of the vehicles I recognized. Since Liam, Jared, and Tate all used to race at the Loop, I’d learned at least a few things. Like Jax’s car was a Mustang, and I knew it was still Jax’s car, because I noticed his license plate still read NATIVE on it. The car behind it was Sam’s, a guy who graduated with me. It was a Dodge Challenger, but I had no clue what year. There was another Mustang, a Chevy SS, and a couple of older Fords and Pontiacs.
And then there were some very out-of-place ones.
Subarus? Hyundais? Was that a MINI Cooper?
Jax’s brother, Jared, would rather eat his own tongue than be seen with these cars. And they were all pimped out, too, with weird paint and huge spoilers on the back.
Wow.
But there were a shitload of them. I just stood there, staring, as car after car roared past me, all of them making their own distinct sounds as their engines sent vibrations down to the pavement at my feet, and up my body, making my belly hum.
I clenched my thighs and winced, disgusted with myself.
I was not wet.
No.
But I was. I was so completely turned on that I couldn’t remember the last time my body had burned like this.
I looked over once more, watching Jaxon Trent’s Mustang round the corner and disappear.
I spent the next few hours trying to keep as busy as possible. No friends, no car, not a lot of money, and I was restless as hell. And idle hands were the devil’s plaything.
Boredom was the root of all trouble, and apparently trouble was still living right next door.
What the hell was wrong with me? I hadn’t even seen the guy yet. He hadn’t even stepped out of his car, and all my brain wanted to do was wonder about him. Picture him. In his car. Dressed in black as he usually was. Touching me to that Chevelle song. What did he look like now?
When I finally got home, I changed into workout clothes and went to the gym, determined to kill some calories in kickboxing class. And then I stayed in the sauna, hoping to drain myself of every sexual impulse I’d had today.
For the most part, it worked. I was breathing evenly now at least.
As soon as I got back to the house, I showered, slapped on a little makeup and dried my hair, and then picked through my clothes for some sweatpants and a tank top.
Until I saw some of Tate’s clothes still in the drawers.
I smiled, reaching in and snatching out a pair of cutoff jean shorts. I slid them on, loving the way they felt so comfortable and still looked cute as hell. They were baggy, hanging off my hip bones, but they weren’t too long or too short, either. Pulling on my pink tank top, I looked in the mirror, wondering what my mother would say. She thought cutoffs were sloppy, and although she liked Tate, she stressed that her music and her style were not to be duplicated.
But she wasn’t here, and if no one was going to see me, then no harm done.
I spent the rest of the night sprawled out on the living room floor, eating mac ’n’ cheese and poring over the files Principal Masters had given me. Although he’d given me lesson plans, I typed up some K.C.– friendly instructions of my own on my laptop, adding a couple of journal activities I loved doing in my own classes at college. Sessions would be Monday through Thursday from eight fifteen to noon, and tutoring would end mid-July. After that, my hundred hours would be complete, and I’d be free for the rest of the summer.
I’d been staring at the same sentence for about five minutes when I let my head fall back and closed my eyes, completely pissed off at the noise outside.
The raucous party next door had begun as a dull hum two hours ago, but now it was a hodgepodge of laughter, squeals, thunderous engines roaring in and out of the neighborhood, and constant explosions of music that felt as if bombs might actually be detonating under Tate’s house. I gritted my teeth together and grumbled to no one, “I can’t believe no one in the neighborhood complains about this.”
I shot off the area rug, heading for the windows in the dining room to take a look at what was going on, when I heard pounding on the front door.
“Juliet?” a singsong voice called. “What light through yonder window breaks?” The familiar words made my heart flutter, and I smiled.
“Romeo, Romeo,” I called, doing an about-face for the front door. “Wherefore art thou, Romeo?”
I yanked open the door, reached for my cousin Shane’s hand, and let her pull me into her body and then dip me backward so that my back arched and my hair caressed the hardwood floors.
She held me tight. “Your nose hairs need to be trimmed, cuz.”
I popped my head up. “Your breath smells like a dead person.”
She swooped me back up and plopped a kiss on my cheek before walking past me into the living room.
“How are you?” she asked, acting as if it hadn’t been a year since we’d seen each other.
“Peachy. You?”
“Nothing that a few drinks or a bullet to the head won’t cure.”
I hesitated as I watched her crash into the armchair and slouch. Even though we rarely saw each other since college had started, we talked at least once a week and over time her jokes made me more and more uncomfortable. Those little comments were pretty constant.
Shane was my only cousin, and since we were both our parents’ only children, we grew up close. I appreciated her way with words and her easy humor, but it still didn’t erase the suspicion that she was ac
hing to leave home and spread her wings.
“Careful,” I warned. “I may actually start worrying about someone other than myself.”
“That would be new,” she teased, folding her hands over her stomach. “So … are you really okay, Juliet?”
She was the only person who called me by my real name—Juliet Adrian Carter. Everyone else called me K.C.
“I’m fine.” I nodded, sitting back down on the floor and spreading my legs around the laptop. “You?”
“Better now that you’re home.”
Shane graduated this year and would be off to college in California in the fall. But even there, she wouldn’t have much freedom. Her parents only agreed to pay the out-of-state tuition if she lived with her grandmother—on her father’s side—in San Francisco.
Shane was less than happy, but she rolled with it. Although I think she liked Shelburne Falls—she had lots of friends—she was looking for an environment that had more than a ten percent African-American population.
Her dad was black. He loved it here and from what I gathered, he was comfortable, but Shane craved more diversity, more culture, more everything.
She cleared her throat and leaned on her knees. “What are you doing?” The question sounded like an accusation.
I looked up into her stunning hazel eyes. “Getting ready for my community service. I’m tutoring incoming seniors this summer.”
“I heard.” She still stared at me as if she were confused. “I meant why the hell are you holed up in the house when for once in your life Liam or Sandra Fucking Carter doesn’t have you on a leash?”
“You know I love you,” I started, “but I have a nice, peaceful house and a vibrator upstairs. I’m good,” I joked. “Besides, do you really think I should go looking for trouble, Shane?”
“You won’t have to look far.” Her taunting voice sounded sexy. “Has it escaped your notice that a party has commenced next door?”
Falling Away Page 3