I forced a smile but couldn’t make it stick.
Time to go watch Deputy Dad play the hero for a crowd of unsuspectings, I thought.
Dad was a good showman; I’d give him that. For the kids and most of the teachers, it was love at first sight. Him, the shiny black uniform, his stories of crime and capture, they bought it all. About thirty minutes in, a girl from my class leaned over and said, “Man, Spitz, your Dad is awesome.” That was when he was demonstrating the different ways to take down an assailant on the run. The tackle had been impressive, I supposed, but not unexpected. The guy was half his size, and Dad, a former linebacker, had attacked from behind. Hardly fair, if you ask me.
Hearing this, stats teacher Mr. Woodruff spun around in his chair a row in front of us, stars in his eyes.
“Are you telling me that’s your father up there?” Mr. Woodruff was obviously under Nick Spitz’s spell.
“That’s right,” I said, trying not to sound bitter.
“You’re one lucky girl,” he remarked then turned back around.
I grimaced.
Dad and the other officers had moved on to the PowerPoint portion. There were multiple slides, one displaying a pie chart of casualty rates for the city, another with definitions for the different types of crime and prison sentences for each, a promo for the department, including traits they looked for in potential candidates, and the last outlining the ways citizens could help by upholding the law and cracking down on crime in their own neighborhoods. It ended with my dad spouting off some nonsense about how the youth was our future and could change the world.
When the never-ending PSA was over, everyone cheered. Hooker and I kept our hands planted in our laps. I was sure she did it more to support me than anything, but I appreciated the gesture.
Seniors got to stay behind and ask questions while the cops made their way down to the audience. Dad didn’t look at me once. Not even when there was a question from the guy directly to my right, Everett Ponce, a total brownnoser. It was like I was invisible—which was fine with me so long as I got out of there without having to trade words with the jerk.
Classes started filing out. I thought I was in the clear when a familiar voice said, “Not even going to say hi to me, huh?”
I took a deep breath then pivoted around.
“Hey, Dad.”
My voice sounded stiff, but it couldn’t be helped. There he was, Deputy Nick Spitz, crime fighter, revered cop, award-winning officer and crap-tastic father of the decade. The last was my own personal award. He was a hero to everyone but me and for good reason.
“Hi there, Sally girl,” he said like we chatted every day. “How’s your mother?”
“Mom’s fantastic.” I hated when he called me that.
“Still working at that bridal place?”
“Yeah,” I said, happy for the first time since I’d seen him. “She actually got a big promotion two months ago.”
His smile widened. “Well, that’s great. Not much farther she can go in that place, but that’s just terrific. I’m glad to hear she’s moving up in the world.”
That’s right, I thought. Moving up and doing fine without any help from you.
It’d taken a lot of courage for Mom to leave the great Nick Spitz when I was just five, but she’d gotten out of a bad relationship, raised me on her own, and was thriving in a job she loved. Despite Dad’s insults and his constant put-downs, she was a fighter. It had to eat him up how successful Mom was in her job. I hoped it did.
“I see you’re still wearing those odd clothes of yours.” He gestured to my green “Yoda Knows Best” tee and shook his head. “Don’t see how you’re ever going attract a man wearing all that nonsense.”
And suddenly Becks was there.
“Sal,” he said, laying a gentle hand on my elbow, “you alright?”
“Fine,” I said. This time his touch seemed to give me strength.
Hooker muttered, “Want me to give him five across the face?”
I shook my head, wondering when that expression had gotten so popular.
“Maybe I was mistaken,” Dad said, giving Becks a long look. “You dating my daughter? Seems a little strange if you ask me.”
“Yeah, I am,” Becks said in a hard tone. “And nobody did ask you.”
Dad held up his hands. “Easy there son, I was just stating facts.”
Becks didn’t fall for it. “I’m not your son.”
“Okay, okay,” Dad said, his smile a tight line. “No need to get angry. I’m just saying Sally girl isn’t your typical Southern beauty. Has too much of her momma in her for that.”
Alright, now even I wanted to give him five across the face, but before I could lift a hand, before I could form a fist, the Sheriff stepped in.
“How’s it going over here, Nick?” His old eyes passed from one face to the other and stopped on me. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, looking from me to my Dad and back again. “I never knew you had a child.”
“Yes, sir,” Dad smiled as if he hadn’t just told my F.B.F. I was ugly. “This is my Sally girl, the only one I’ve got.”
Lucky me, I thought.
The Sherriff, hands on hips, puffed out his big barrel chest. “You must be pretty proud. I just cannot believe this. Nick here’s prone to practical jokes. So tell me young woman, are you really Deputy Spitz’s daughter?”
“No.”
The word was out of my mouth before I could think. I didn’t know what came over me...but it felt really good.
“Sally,” Dad hissed, but I ignored him.
“No,” I repeated, “I’m Martha Nicholls’s daughter.”
Brows contracted, the Sheriff asked, “But isn’t Nick your father?”
I had a true Star Wars moment. The urge to scream “Nooooo!” at the top of my lungs, just as Luke had when Darth Vader revealed his parentage, was tempting. The possibility of seeing Dad’s face was nearly too much to resist. Instead I decided to take the high road.
“I guess.” I shrugged then looked over at my friends. They were both smiling. “We should get back to class.”
“You’re just like your mother,” Dad said to my back.
Stopping, I turned. “You better believe it.”
Hooker was so proud she called me Super Spitz the rest of the day; Becks couldn’t stop grinning; and I was walking on air. Standing up to him, for my mom, for myself, it sent me on the best kind of power trip. I was free, liberated. For a second there I even considered burning my bra. Hours later adrenaline still coursed through my veins. There had to be some major endorphins going on there too because I was far too giddy for there not to be. What happened between fifth and sixth period was a result of this feeling—or at least, that’s what I told myself.
It couldn’t have been jealousy. No way, I was above all that, a rock of strength and conviction. My sense of justice was tested when I saw Twyla Cornish plastered all over Becks in the hall, her hands clinging to his right arm, body pressed to his side. Anger flared hot in my gut. I’d had about enough of women throwing themselves at my boyfriend—correction fake boyfriend...but the fake part wasn’t common knowledge. This wasn’t about the green-eyed monster, I assured myself as I strode directly to Becks and the bespectacled home wrecker, ripped her hands away and shoved Becks into the storeroom where we’d started this thing over a week ago. It was about self-respect.
As the bell rang, I glared at him. I was missing the first part of British Lit, my favorite class.
“Something wrong?” Becks asked.
Yeah, like he didn’t know.
“Why’re you looking at me like that, Sal?”
“Baldwin Eugene Charles Kent, ich kann es nicht fassen,” I huffed, letting my anger carry me away. “Wir hatten eine Abmachung, kannst Du Dich daran noch erinnern?”
Becks looked confused. “What?”
“Oh, hör auf, so zu tun. Du weisst genau, was ich meine.”
“No, Sal, really,” he said. “Yo no habla German. Remember?”
The innocent act didn’t fool me. Full of indignation, I jabbed a finger at him, making sure to say it in English so he’d get it this time. “Now, I’m only going to say this once, so you better listen good.” I enunciated each word, spelling it out clear as day. “I will not be cheated on, Becks, and I most certainly will not be cheated on with the likes of Twyla Cornish.”
Stunned, he said, “How could I cheat? We’re not even really going out.”
I sniffed. “Still. I won’t be made a fool of Becks. Not by you, not by anyone.”
“Jeez, Sal, alright—” He rubbed the back of his neck. “—Let it go already.”
“No, I want your word.”
“My what?”
“Your word that you won’t see anyone else for the duration of our agreement.” Man, this power thing was addictive. I knew it was a lot to ask, and I also knew it was hard for Becks to say no to members of the female persuasion. But seeing Twyla glued to Becks’s hip, watching her bat her eyelashes, pout her lips, had caused something inside me to snap.
There was a glint in Becks’s eyes. He almost seemed pleased. “That wasn’t part of the deal. A month’s a long time to be tied down. There are girls who want to date me for real, you know.”
I did know. I was one of them.
Crossing my arms, I waited. There was nothing I could do if he didn’t agree, but I wouldn’t let him see how nervous I was—or how desperate.
“Okay, Sal,” he said finally, and I exhaled, “but I want something in return.”
I was immediately on my guard. “What might that be?”
Becks shrugged. “Just a favor.”
“Want to be a little more specific?”
“No can do,” he said, grinning. “One day I’ll ask for something. You won’t know when or where or what that something’s going to be, but you’ll have to give it no questions asked.”
“Been watching The Godfather recently?” I said.
Becks wouldn’t be sidetracked. “Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it,” I replied, holding out a hand. “But if this involves nudity in any way, I’m telling your mother.”
We shook on it, and Becks’s laughter was infectious. As we walked into the hall, the two of us were smiling like idiots.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The sharp female voice belonged to Roxy Culpepper. She was standing there, hip cocked to full capacity, short skirt riding high on her thighs, and a look of pure disdain on her face.
“This has to be a joke, right,” she said again. “Becks, what is going on here?”
Becks was no longer smiling. “What do you mean?”
“I’m out a few days with Mono and come back to find you and Spitz are hooking up. I don’t believe it.” Roxy gestured in my direction. “You can’t be serious, Becks. Look at her. She’s not even pretty.”
It was amazing how statements like that said by beautiful girls like Roxy could slice right through a person. I didn’t even like the girl, and I still felt gutted.
“You’re right,” Becks said, bringing a hand to my cheek. My head snapped up in reflex. “She’s not pretty.”
He was speaking to her but looking at me. Though his words were insulting, the heat in his eyes made me flush and not from humiliation. How could he look at me like that in front of someone like Roxy? It defied logic.
“She’s so much more than pretty,” he breathed, running his thumb along my cheekbone before giving me another below-the-ear kiss.
I was vaguely aware of Roxy stomping away but wasn’t sure of anything at the moment. Becks had done it again. His words were engraved in my mind. I would never forget what he said.
He was just acting, I reminded myself.
But he’d sounded sincere, my heart insisted. And that kiss…
Yeah, my brain responded, but it wasn’t real.
But it felt real.
Yeah, but it wasn’t.
This back and forth between heart and mind was so jarring; I felt completely off kilter.
“Why do you do that?” My voice was little more than a whisper.
He seemed to understand I was referring to the kiss.
“Because I can tell you like it.” He paused, an odd look to his face, while I held my breath. “And you have a birthmark—” He brushed the place with the tip of his finger. “—right here.”
Eyes wide, my hand flew up without my telling it to. “I do?”
He nodded. “You didn’t know?”
I shook my head.
My heart was set to burst when he grinned and added, “Plus, girls have told me it’s one of their favorite places to be kissed.”
I let out a shaky breath. Naturally, Becks had kissed other girls that way before. I was stupid to have thought it was something special, something he did just for me.
Stepping back to put a little space between us, I said, “Well, it’s very effective.”
“You okay, Sal?”
I forced myself to look him in the eye, burying my emotions down deep. “‘Course I am.”
He studied me a moment. “Alright then,” he said. “I’ll see you same time this Saturday?”
“What for?” I asked.
“Lesson two,” he smiled.
I gulped. “What’s lesson two?”
“It’s the next step in your training, Sally-san.” Becks laughed. “Just be there, okay?”
I wanted to tell him there was no need. We’d already won everyone over, but instead I nodded incapable of speech. Oh Lord, I wasn’t sure I was ready for lesson two. In fact, I knew I wasn’t, but as Becks sauntered down the hall, I also knew I’d do just about anything for another one of those kisses.
I was a total schmuck.
CHAPTER 9
“What’d you call this again?” I gasped.
Becks lifted his head from my neck only an instant to mumble, “Nuzzling,” and then was back on the attack.
“Oh.”
If lesson one was hot, lesson two was freaking explosive. From this day forward I’d have to list nuzzling as one of my favorite pastimes. I was ready to burn up as Becks worked me over. His lips were hitting all the right spots, and whenever he found a particularly sensitive patch of skin, he’d mount a full-scale assault, kissing, nibbling, and stroking until I was a mushy heap of girl flesh at his mercy.
I think he knew it, too, because every time I gasped or stifled a moan, he’d double his efforts to make it happen again.
This was insane. I was insane for coming up with the F.B.F. idea, and Becks was insane for agreeing. It was impossible to separate my true emotions from the current situation. With every pass of his mouth, I became a little more his. Becks was already a part of me, but the reality of him was more than I’d ever hoped for. When a month’s time was up, I wasn’t sure I could go back to being just friends. I loved him so fiercely, had loved him before this, would continue to love him after. And all he’d ever feel for me was friendship.
This one, I thought sadly as Becks drew another gasp from my lips. This one could only end badly, and when it did, it was going to hurt.
A lot.
“How’s it going up—Oh my!”
Becks froze like a stone, arms anchored to my waist and back, lips attached to my throat, while I tried (and failed) to will myself invisible.
When I finally got the courage to glance up, Mrs. Kent was immobile, straddling the threshold of Becks’s room, one foot in one out, eyes staring at us on her son’s bed, mouth gaping in pure, unadulterated shock.
We were pieces on a chessboard, each waiting for someone to make the first move.
Clayton sauntered in, saw us, saw his mom, and smiled.
“Guess the jig is up, Bally.”
Mrs. Kent raised an eyebrow at that.
“Well,” Clayton explained, “I could’ve gone with ‘Secks,’ but considering the current situation—”
“Everyone downstairs,” Mrs. Kent ordered. “Time for a talk.”
It turned
out “everyone” meant me, Becks and Mrs. Kent. Clayton had to get back to CHS for the JV game, but he assured us he’d rather have stayed and watched the real action. His wise-guy humor did nothing to lighten the mood. Mrs. Kent seemed to have taken a page out of my mom’s playbook. She was steely-eyed, pitched forward in her recliner as Becks and I sat side by side on the couch, but instead of finger-tapping, she sucked her teeth. It was a tossup which was worse.
“So you and Sally are a couple now,” she said after a particularly long suck, and I was glad she’d asked him, not me.
I’d already lied to one parent, but that had been about self-preservation. I wasn’t sure I could do it again, especially with the compromising position Mrs. Kent had found us in. Part of me wanted to deny it until I was blue in the face. No way, Mrs. Kent. Your son’s a girl-magnet equipped to give nuzzling lessons. He’d never be interested in someone like me. Another part wanted any denial to be a lie, but I was too smart for that.
“Yes,” Becks said.
“How long?” his mom volleyed back.
“Little over a week.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d demonstrated his acting chops from day one, but I’d never seen Becks lie to his mom. He did it with ease and confidence, like he did everything else. Even I almost believed him.
“And Sally—” Her eyes went to me, and I tried not to look too guilty. “—what were you two doing up there in Becks’s room?”
“Well,” I hesitated, unsure how to explain our lessons. “Well, Mrs. Kent…you see, we were just—”
“Doing what normal couples do,” Becks said smoothly.
“Watch it, mister,” Mrs. Kent warned. “You know you’re not allowed to have girls in your room.”
“Mom, Sal’s been coming to my room since we were seven.”
“Yes, but that was before…”she stuttered, searching for the right word. “Well, before.”
“I don’t see the difference.”
I gaped at him. Oh boy, he was just asking for it.
“You’re asking for it,” Mrs. Kent echoed my thoughts exactly. “Baldwin Eugene Charles Kent, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Adorkable Page 10