The Wallflower

by Jan Freed

  A light touch on her arm brought Sarah back to the present.

  Donna crouched beside the love seat, her expression gentle. “That first semester after Mom and Dad died, I was on self-destruct. But somehow you put up with my hatefulness and crying. Somehow you got me to laugh in spite of all that anger and pain. I would’ve flunked out if you hadn’t shamed me by example into caring about my grades.”

  Her gaze intensified and she squeezed Sarah’s arm. “You pulled me through one of the worst times in my life, Sarah. I’m grateful to have the chance to repay the debt.”

  Sarah stared blankly at the beautiful woman fate had assigned to be her dorm roommate at St. Edward’s University. “Debt? If anything, I owe you for turning a fat social misfit into someone who could actually get a date by her senior year.”

  “Don’t be an idiot!” Donna’s patrician nostrils flared. “It was your shyness—not your weight—that kept boys from approaching you as a freshman.”

  A part of Sarah longed to think so, but the pragmatic majority of her brain accepted the truth. After four years of living with Donna, Sarah had assimilated the girl’s social poise, her stylish taste in clothes—even her good eating habits—with dramatic physical and social results. People acted as if weight loss and fashionable clothes had somehow made her smarter, wittier and more worthy of respect than before.

  The power of her “improved” image to influence others’ reactions to her was the main reason she’d focused her studies in that area.

  Rising abruptly, Donna smoothed her crepe wool skirt and sniffed. “Any improvement in your dating calendar was due entirely to you, Sarah Davidson. You don’t owe me a thing.”

  Not true, Sarah thought, watching her friend walk toward the small kitchen visible beyond a three-stool eating bar. After the trial, she’d find a way to show her gratitude. If, God willing, her luck continued and she lived that long.

  Several grocery bags sat on the counter where Donna had heaved them thirty minutes ago. She reached for the lumpiest bag and began unloading produce into the refrigerator, her back to Sarah. “I think Gram is almost glad this happened. Oh, she hates that you’re in danger, but she knows I have to visit her, for appearances’ sake, before I can slip out back to the guest house.”

  “She’s a sweetheart to let me stay here.” Guilt, guilt. “Mrs. Anderson has been nice, too. She’s already baked me cookies twice.”

  “Ahh, I knew she’d take you under her wing once she heard your story. She does love kids.”

  The housekeeper thought Sarah was a great-niece needing a quiet place to finish out the school year. Her parents were supposedly hashing out a nasty divorce.

  Donna’s teasing grin faded. “That call you made to the D.A.’s office stirred up a hornet’s nest, I’m sure. Nobody’s come buzzing around yet asking questions, but we can’t let our guard down.”

  They’d decided to let Tom Castle, the prosecuting attorney, know Sarah was safe and would arrive for the trial—but not before. Tom had pleaded with Sarah to come in for safekeeping right up until the calculated second she’d hung up.

  “I’ll try to bring groceries every weekend,” Donna said brightly, switching the subject. “But if you run out sooner or want something special, give me a call. Oh, and I hope you’re still a Diet Dr Pepper addict. I have a case in the car.”

  She moved to another bag, pulled out a stack of frozen dinners and turned to open the freezer compartment. “I read the back of all these and didn’t buy any entrees with over six grams of fat. Was that okay?”

  Okay? To feed, clothe and house Sarah for almost four months? Sure, Donna wouldn’t miss the money. She’d become independently wealthy the instant her parents had crashed into a concrete pillar on their way home from a fund-raiser. But her generosity of spirit, her unhesitating support...her example of friendship in its truest form gripped Sarah’s heart and squeezed.

  Donna spun around and met Sarah’s eyes across the bar counter. “Don’t you dare go getting all guilty on me, again. I’m keeping every grocery and department store receipt and I expect you to pay up when this emergency is over, so forget the idea of freeloading. Is that understood?”

  Sarah nodded tremulously.

  “Good. Because helping you is not charity. In fact, it gives me an opportunity to put one over on that know-it-all Linda in the admissions office.” Donna grinned smugly at some inner vision.

  She’s enjoying all this, Sarah realized in surprise.

  “I accessed Washington High School’s records after only three tries! It would’ve taken Linda all day, if she managed to figure out the password at all.” Tossing her glorious auburn hair, Donna huffed. “She acts like she’s God’s gift to hackers—but I’m better than she ever thought about.”

  “She’s not fit to wipe your keyboard,” Sarah agreed loyally.

  “Damn right she’s not. She’s lazy, too. Never even checked the records envelope, after I went to all that trouble to get one with a San Diego postmark and district office return address.”

  “The nerve.” Grinning, Sarah rose and headed for the kitchen. “I don’t know how you accomplished registering me at Roosevelt High with a new identity. I don’t think I really want to know.” She reached her friend’s side and looked up. “But I’m in awe of your talent. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m in awe of your talent, too. The image makeover, I mean.” A sweep of Donna’s hand encompassed Sarah head to toe. “You were right about going the outrageous route instead of trying to blend in as an upscale suburbia student. You would’ve looked too much like yourself in Guess jeans and a Polo shirt.”

  “I think I’ve been insulted, which means you insulted yourself. You’re the one who taught me how to dress preppy.” Sarah nudged aside the taller woman and began unloading the remaining full grocery bag. “Did you remember to get the hair color?”

  “It’s in there somewhere. Your hair, by the way, is divinely inspired.”

  “Too bad it’s hell on the eyes.” Sarah glanced wistfully at her friend. “I wish I could’ve gone auburn instead of pumpkin.”

  “No, your instincts were right on target. Even I wouldn’t recognize you at first glance. Still, I can’t quite decide how it makes you look.”

  Elbow deep in the bag, Sarah paused. “Like one of those shaggy sock thingies men stick on their golf clubs?”

  “Funny. No, Sarina Davis is more like...” Donna tapped a finger against her chin, then plunged her hand into the bag as Sarah withdrew her arm. “A sexy rock diva, maybe. Not sleazy by any means, but tougher, more in-your-face than Sarah Davidson, politically correct career woman.”

  Stacking cans of tuna in the pantry, Sarah cast a startled glance over her shoulder. She had felt less inhibited by rules, freer to speak her honest thoughts while impersonating Sarina in school than she did working at WorldWide Public Relations. What would Mark think if he saw her now?

  “Who’s Mark?” Donna asked sharply.

  Sarah blinked. Apparently she’d spoken his name aloud in the shock of realizing she hadn’t thought of him before this moment. Not once in the two weeks since watching Larry bleed to death.

  “Honey, you’re as white as a sheet. Is Mark the man who’s trying to kill you?”

  “No, no.” Sarah managed a wan smile. “He’s the man trying to marry me.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE NEXT DAY Sarah crammed her Spanish and government books into her locker, shoved The Grapes of Wrath and her physical science notebook into her backpack, then slammed shut the metal door. Built-in combination locks were just one of the improvements this modern building offered over the forty-year-old high school she’d attended. A cafeteria designed like a mall food court was another. And if she didn’t get there fast, the long lines would mean another lunch gobbled down in ten minutes.

  Shaking her head, she plunged into the stream of noisy teenagers. Wouldn’t Mark be amazed to see her practically running to get an assembly line meal? The handsome young city council
man had seen her order nonmenu specialties—prepared and delivered personally by the chef—at the finest restaurants in Dallas.

  The preferential treatment she’d received had impressed him, she knew. Made him aware of the PR clout she’d developed in the city, and how a woman with her media connections and image-maker savvy could benefit a politician on the rise. She’d sensed his imminent proposal of marriage and been flattered. After all, his pursuit was a tremendous coup for a former wallflower.

  But hardly the basis for a good marriage, an inner voice warned.

  Adjusting her backpack strap, Sarah frowned and picked up her pace. She refused to feel guilty. Maybe she and Mark weren’t madly in love, but that was all romantic fairy-tale stuff, anyway. Games, appearances, hidden agendas—that was real life. Nothing was as it seemed. But what seemed was what counted in American culture.

  “Sarina! Wait up,” a feminine voice cut through the din.

  Jessica, the tall sandy-haired girl who sat one row over in Mr. Morgan’s class, jogged up and fell in step. “Great dress. I haven’t seen it in the stores around here. Where do you shop?”

  “Anywhere I can,” Sarah said truthfully, earning a laugh. “But there’s this boutique in San Diego I like a lot.”

  “You’re from San Diego? I visited my aunt and uncle there last summer. I love that city!”

  Uh-oh. “Yeah, me, too. But speaking of clothes...” And changing the subject. “Where’s the best place to buy cool stuff?”

  Jessica took the bait, rattling off a list of stores Sarah wished she could visit to pick up something in basic black. She appreciated Donna’s efforts deeply. But the woman had gone a little overboard selecting outrageous colors. Today’s lavender crushed-velvet dress against red-orange hair was the visual equivalent of chewing tinfoil.

  “So, Sarina,” Jessica said in a get-down-tobusiness voice. “You wanna sit together today? I talked to Wendy, and she’s saving you a chair at her table.”

  “Thanks, I’d love to. Who’s Wendy?”

  “Wendy Johnson.”

  O-okay. “Should I know her?”

  Jessica did a double take, as if nobody could be that dense. “Head cheerleader, Tony Baldovino’s girlfriend, most popular girl in school? Anyway, she wants to meet the person who stood up to Mr. Morgan. Wendy hates him, too.”

  Sarah’s conscience twinged. “I’m sure he’s not as bad as I thought.”

  “Trust me, he’s worse. He tutored Wendy privately last semester and came on to her big time.”

  Moses?

  “Yeah,” Jessica confirmed as Sarah gaped. “Mr. Ruler-Up-His-Ass Morgan offered to change Wendy’s grade if she’d sleep with him. Wendy reported him to the principal. But since nobody else actually heard or saw him try anything, the superintendent let him off the hook—Oh, good! The lines are still pretty short. Want some pizza?” Jessica yelled the last question above the background noise of clinking utensils, chattering voices and an Aerosmith song playing over the loudspeaker.

  Blinking, Sarah realized they’d entered the cafeteria. “No, I’m getting in the deli line.”

  “Okay. Meet me back here when you’re finished. Then I’ll take you to Wendy’s table.”

  Sarah nodded distractedly and headed for one of six food lines. Something didn’t jibe. No matter how much she disagreed with Jack Morgan’s rigid teaching style, he’d seemed ... honorable, for lack of a better word. Besides, in this lawsuit happy society, only an idiot would risk professional suicide by messing with a student. An idiot—or a truly sick man.

  “Hey, look alive!” a boy called from the back of the line.

  Snapping to, she moved up next to the girl ahead. Beautiful hair, Sarah thought, automatically envisioning a shorter, wavier style for the chestnut tresses. More volume up top would balance the girl’s pearshaped body. And that huge flannel shirt over jeans would have to go. Instead of disguising extra pounds, it added weight that wasn’t there.

  Sarah had hidden in the same uniform as a teen, not knowing how to choose flattering styles that were also in style. But she doubted this girl would welcome fashion advice. Especially from a complete stranger.

  As if on cue, the girl turned slightly, revealing a familiar profile. What was her name, again? Oh, yes.

  “Elaine?” Sarah said, prompting a startled glance and blush.

  “Hi. You’re in my English class, I think. I’m new. Sarina Davis.” Damn. Too late to withdraw her hand, extended from habit for a businesslike shake.

  Elaine performed the gesture awkwardly, her shy brown eyes revealing intelligence—and amusement. “I remember who you are.”

  Sarah grinned. “I guess I did make quite an impression. But I shouldn’t be late for class today.”

  “You got your schedule changed already?”

  “Yes—yeah.” Would she ever loosen up?

  Elaine’s dark brows arched. “It usually takes longer than that to switch classes.”

  Uh-oh. “Guess I got lucky,” Sarah bluffed. Luck was all in who you knew, of course. But mentioning that her best friend was the assistant principal was out of the question.

  She settled for a diversionary tactic. “You have beau—awesome hair. I was admir—checking it out earlier.” Sheesh!

  Slanting a suspicious glance, Elaine shuffled forward into the direct beam of an overhead skylight.

  “See? Look at that color. It’s so cool!” Sarah exclaimed, watching the red-brown strands catch fire in the sun. “You could be in a shampoo commercial. I’m serious.”

  Elaine smiled hesitantly. “Thank you. But I’d rather have your hair any day.”

  “Yeah? How ’bout Wednesday? Wear something beige. Give everybody a break.” Good, Sarah-thought. She’d banished the lingering trace of sadness in those laughing brown eyes.

  A swell of feminine shrieks turned all heads to the left.

  Girls at a distant table began popping up in sequence, passing something—a snake!—hot-potato style to the adjacent person. Since laughter was mixed in with the shrieks, the thing must be made of rubber, Sarah decided.

  From opposite ends of the cafeteria, two men headed toward the commotion. One of them, rotund and balding, pulled up short at the sight of the other. Relief flashed across his face and he turned back around.

  Jack Morgan continued on, his broad-shouldered body dodging kids and tables with athletic ease. Today he wore brown slacks and a beige dress shirt. A blah tie in the same dull shades. The thought struck Sarah that, dressed in Mark’s wardrobe, Jack would win votes just by walking. His presence was that commanding, that purposeful.

  That undeniably masculine.

  A moth wing of awareness fluttered low in Sarah’s belly. She ripped her gaze away and muttered, “What’s he doing here? I thought the teachers stayed up there.”

  “There” was a separate upper level eating area, where about twenty adults sat ignoring the chaos.

  “Mr. Morgan and Mr. Williams are cafeteria supervisors for this lunch period,” Elaine said. “They usually stand along the wall, unless somebody gets out of hand.”

  Sarah resisted a full five seconds before looking at Jack again.

  He stood at the offending table lecturing the girls, his expression stern and forbidding. Reaching for the snake, he intercepted a skylight beam, his brown hair kindling—not into red embers—but sun-kissed golden streaks. The girls stared at him wide-eyed, appearing more subdued than intimidated. As if all that masculine TNT were overwhelming at close range. She supposed it would be, at least to teenage girls....

  Have you lost your mind? she asked herself. It would be stupid, not to mention disloyal, to develop a personal interest in Jack. Donna liked him. A lot, if Sarah was any judge of human nature, which she was.

  She focused on the small brunette gesturing to a nearby table of grinning boys. Jack turned. The grins vanished.

  “I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes,” Sarah muttered, rolling her eyes at Elaine.

  “Mr. Morgan will be fair.”

/>   Interesting. “Sounds as if you actually like the ty—hard-ass.” She should’ve stuck with tyrant. It’d been years since using street language held any thrill.

  Elaine’s desire to be cool obviously struggled with her conscience. “I... think he’s a good teacher. Strict—but good.” She lifted her chin. “And yes, I do like Mr. Morgan. He cares about kids learning.”

  The girl rose a notch in Sarah’s estimation. “Can you sit with me at lunch today, or do you have a regular spot somewhere?”

  “You want me to sit with you?” Elaine’s astonishment would have been funny, if it weren’t so sad.

  “If you can, yes. But you’ll have to get something to eat, first.” Laughing, Sarah pushed the girl gently up to a short counter, then followed behind.

  Another meal, another battle. Sliding her plastic tray along a metal ledge, Sarah scanned her options.

  A fat corned beef sandwich waved a little toothpick flag for attention. A container of potato salad teetered on the verge of tumbling onto her tray. Dark gooey brownies wept caramel as she bypassed them to reach for a bottle of spring water. She added an apple and a premade turkey sandwich to her tray, paid the cashier, then tilted her head in a follow-me motion to Elaine.

  Jessica was waiting at the designated rendezvous spot. “Good timing, I just got here. Are you ready?”

  “Is there room at the table for one more?”

  “Yeah, probably. Why?”

  “I asked Elaine to sit with us.” One look at Elaine’s face told Sarah how much she’d botched the situation.

  Jessica appeared to see the other girl for the first time. It was hard to tell who was the more dismayed. With an inscrutable glance at Sarah, Jessica turned and headed off to the left.