by Piper Shelly
Finally, Miss Jackson moved to my last artwork, the Animated Antagonist. It was a three-layered sketch of a spaceship captain, who was swinging around with a lightsaber in his hands and shoving his dark-purple cape back over his shoulder. To my eyes, it was perfect. I’d worked for ten hours on this particular move. Everyone seemed impressed, and a small smile crept to my face.
Until a low mumble from the back of the classroom pulled me out of my euphoria. “God. What a baby face.”
The suppressed laughter of a few guys followed. The hairs on my arms rose. I didn’t want to turn around, but I felt my upper body slowly twist in my seat, until my gaze fell on the cold eyes of Anthony sitting in the last row of the room.
“Mr. Mitchell, is there anything relevant you want to add about this work?” Miss Jackson said loudly.
He tapped his lips with a forefinger, deliberating for a couple of seconds, then he said, “Actually, yes.” He cut me a brief glance that displayed his delight at getting the chance to rip me to pieces through my work.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
“While the motion of the antagonist and the straight-up composure, as well as the hunky body, may work with a bad guy image, the artist totally messed up the facial expression. She clearly seems to have an obsession with dimples, which we already got to see in pictures one and two, and the baby-blue eyes of this antihero could have been sketched in a meaner, more furious way. Samantha Summers’ antagonist may scare the shit out of Winnie the Pooh, but that’s it, I’m afraid.”
The entire class burst out laughing. I wanted to cry. My face burned like I’d been staked in the sun for ten hours.
Miss Jackson pulled my sketches off the board and handed them to me. “Thank you very much for your analysis, Mr. Mitchell,” she said in a sarcastic tone. “Why don’t we look at your work next?”
“Sure.” Tony grinned and winked at me as he sauntered to the front. It wasn’t a nice gesture, but utterly cold and mean. He knew he’d hurt me. And the ass was enjoying it.
Why?
He couldn’t really be so cruel just because Cloey knocked that glass over Saturday night. He had to know I wasn’t impressed with Cloey’s antics and that I certainly didn’t want to get him into trouble with anyone. Why was he so blind? And stubborn? Goddammit!
Tony tacked his drawings onto the blackboard with big, round magnets.
My thoughts got knocked to the wayside and my mouth fell open when I stared at them. He hadn’t caught the baby side-view like I had, but the little person crawled toward the viewer in a way that made one want to reach out and pick it up. And his antagonist was a brutal knight on a mean black horse. The knight gave the animal the spurs with a greedy expression.
But it was the third drawing that really took my breath away. I didn’t know who that woman was, but it could have been the lovely grandmother of anyone. Her face showed the scars of a long, hard, but happy life, and even if her lips were thin and straight, her entire life, her happiness, her hardship—it all shone through her eyes.
It was perfect.
I kept silent while some of the others commented on the precise charcoal strokes and the accurate use of light and shadow. No one shredded Tony’s confidence like he had done with mine. I lowered my face so he wouldn’t spot my awe as he grabbed his pictures and returned to his seat.
During the rest of the lesson, I concentrated hard on what Miss Jackson told us, so I wasn’t tempted to brood over Tony’s latest act of cruelty against me. But frankly, my heart was bleeding. If any other person had said shit like that about my drawing, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But after seeing what a great talent this guy had, it meant something. Maybe he was right. Maybe I messed up the project with the antihero. I would have to try harder for the projects to follow and not give him the slightest reason to get at me like that ever again. All right, the challenge was on.
After AVE, as everyone got their things together, Miss Jackson called me to her desk. “There is a goal I want each of my students to meet at the end of this semester. Since you’ve missed a couple of months already, you need to catch up with at least the most important projects. About five completed pieces of work. Do you think you can handle that within a couple of weeks?”
“Um, sure.” I stepped to the side to let a bunch of kids pass behind me. “What do I have to do?”
She smiled briefly, then shouted over my shoulder, “Tony! Please, wait a moment.”
The shudder his name ignited within me intensified when I turned around and saw him coming toward us, his lips compressed.
“What’s up?” He cut a brief look down at me, then back at our teacher.
Instinctively, I took a small step away from him and pinned my eyes on Miss Jackson with rising horror.
“Could you give Miss Summers your notes on the main projects and explain what she has to do?” Miss Jackson asked him.
“Heck, no!” Tony raised his eyes to the ceiling and let out a disbelieving laugh. I wanted to do the same at her ridiculous suggestion.
Miss Jackson lifted her brows. “Excuse me?”
“Come on, Carry. This is so cliché. You’re only doing this because you’re mad at my honesty from earlier on.”
“That wasn’t honest, it was unnecessary. And it’s not the reason why I want you to help Miss Summers.”
Despite the weirdness of this discussion, all I could think was, wow, he got to call her Carry and wasn’t told off.
“No? Then why?” he grunted.
“Because you’re my best student, and there’s no one more qualified to help her than you.” She smiled, and I thought it held a hint of mockery. But that couldn’t be. Not between a teacher and her student. And she should stop it right this minute. I didn’t want to have this guy helping me with anything.
“I don’t care,” he snapped. “I don’t want to give her my notes.”
Miss Jackson sighed. “Fine. Then would you please send Jeremy back inside. I’ll ask him to share his notes with Miss Summers.”
Yeah. Get Jeremy. I’d rather have his notes.
But Tony didn’t leave. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned a few inches back. “Seriously? You want to pair her up with Jerry? The guy can’t do a stick figure for a toilet door.”
I don’t care. Go get him!
“He’s almost as good as you,” Miss Jackson countered.
“No way.” Tony barked a laugh. “I can’t believe you’d resort to using him.”
Wow, did she actually hurt his pride? I had to bite down a smile, even though the situation was not amusing.
“Unfortunately, you give me no choice.”
“She won’t even be able to decode his notes. Did you ever take a look at them?”
Miss Jackson grinned, but not at Tony. She grinned at me. Something funny was going on in her head, a plan only she knew about, and judging by her smile, it was working. I wished it wouldn’t.
Tony growled as he dropped his backpack between his feet, leaned over, ripped a yellow Post-it note from a stack on the desk, and scribbled something on it. He handed me the note, looking more annoyed than ever. “I have soccer training today but will be home after four. You come. You get my notes. You leave. I’m sure you’re a smart girl and can figure out what to do with them by yourself.”
I should have told him what he could do with his charming offer but, totally dumbstruck, I just stared at the little yellow note in my hand instead.
Tony hoisted his backpack over his shoulder and gave the teacher a hard glare. “Your psycho shit sucks.”
“I love you, too, dear nephew,” she cooed after him as he strode out the door.
CHAPTER 4
OMG, I had a date…with the biggest jerk in town!
I rolled my eyes. This was so not going to happen. He didn’t like me, he didn’t want to have anything to do with me, and the feeling was totally mutual. I scrunched up the little note with Tony’s address and tossed it against the wall over my bed, then returned to m
y homework. He could wait until he turned blue in the face. I wouldn’t be going anywhere near his house. Not after his oh-so-welcoming invitation.
It was 3:20 P.M. when I was done with my algebra and rose from the desk to get a drink. The small Post-it ball had rolled in front of the door and in my way. With an annoyed grunt, I kicked it aside. But when I came back from the bathroom with a glass of water, the ball had all my attention once again. Caving in, I bent to pick it up.
A deep sigh escaped me. Tony was a genius, based on what I’d seen today. Gifted. And I really wanted his notes. Actually, if I wanted to catch up with the class in time, I needed them. So maybe I could drive to his house, fetch the notes, and leave before he got a chance to open his damn mouth and be nasty again.
It was either that or talk to Jerry, who couldn’t draw a stickman. Sorry, Jeremy, but I can’t risk messing this up because of unusable notes. But the prospect of getting help from Anthony-moron-Mitchell churned my gut. I raked my hands through my hair as I slumped back onto my desk chair. Could my first week in Grover Beach have been any more complicated?
Probably not.
By 3:50 P.M., I had come to a decision, dumped it, then made up my mind once again. I needed the notes, so I steeled my nerves for anther encounter with Tony. But then I realized I was facing a different problem. I had to ask Cloey for her car, because for one, I had no idea where Tony’s house was and needed a navigation system, and two, it could be miles away. I crossed the hallway to Cloey’s room and squared my shoulders, but before I knocked on her door, I hesitated. She was going say no, I knew it. Her annoying attitude had been a surprise to me, but there was one thing I definitely knew about my cousin. If she was pissed, she was pissed for weeks.
Maybe if I apologized…
I sucked in a breath through my clenched teeth. She had been the idiot, not me. And it so caused my toes to curl in my boots to back down. But four months in her house—I had to overcome my irritation and just put on a smile around her. I could do it. “I can do it. I can do it…” I knocked on her door.
No reply.
Did she know it was me? I scratched my head, then knocked again. “Cloey, can I come in?”
No reply.
I lowered my glance to the toes of my boots. “Look, I’m sorry about Saturday night. Can we maybe…er…just forget about it?”
No reply. Yeah, that was to be expected after the first two dismisses. I turned the knob and opened the door. “Cloey?”
She wasn’t in her room. I looked over my shoulder, then stepped through the door, glancing around. Everything looked the same as it had Saturday morning when I had arrived—still like the perfect copy of a bedroom in a Barbie house. No clothes littered the light gray parquet, no homework was scattered on her desk. I was probably the only untidy person in this house.
The white wood furniture and purple angora carpet made me want to fetch a doll and start playing tea party in Wonderland, like we used to do when we had been younger and my family and I had come for visits. Cloey had always wanted to be Alice. It had been fine with me. I had much preferred to be the Mad Hatter, anyway.
Apart from the bedding, which was now a soft blue satin and not Cinderella on flannel anymore, nothing had changed in this room. The wood-paneled mansard picked up the color of the parquet, and I ran my fingers along one furrow as I walked to the open window. Cloey’s room faced the street, so I wiped the sheer curtains aside and leaned out, looking down. Her car was gone. Dang. Now I had a serious problem.
I’d better find Aunt Pamela and ask for her car before she decided to go food shopping or something.
Leaving the room as I had found it, I loped down the stairs and walked into the kitchen, where my aunt was chopping veggies and dropping them into a pot. Not going out any time soon. I relaxed and put on a nonchalant expression. “Hi, Pam.”
She looked up from her cooking and wiped her hands on her apron. “Hey, Sammy. What’s up?”
“Can I borrow your car for a bit? I need to get some study stuff from a classmate, and Cloey’s gone, so I can’t borrow hers.”
“Sure.” She refastened her thick honey-colored ponytail and walked with me into the hallway where she gave me the keys. “So, how was your first day? Do you like your teachers? Already made new friends?”
Oh, she meant apart from the Cloey Clan that traveled the corridors only in a pack? “Yeah, I met some really nice guys. Guess what? They asked me to join their cheerleading team.” I gave a wry laugh, but then I scrunched up my face, wondering if maybe it was a good idea after all.
“But that’s great. You love dancing,” Pam said.
“Yeah, we’ll see. I’ll check it out tomorrow. Thanks for the keys.” I waved at her, then rushed out into the garage, climbed into the black Volvo, and drove off once the wide roll-up door was fully open.
I punched Tony’s address into the navigation system, then fisted the note again, and shoved it into my pocket. It turned out that he lived on the opposite side of town, about two miles away from my aunt’s house, and in a picture-book neighborhood. I pulled up in front of his door. His house was painted white and had a low picket fence. A small yard ran from the front around the house, probably to a bigger garden in the back. It looked pretty much like any other house in this street, apart from the color and the design of the doors and windows, maybe. Much smaller than my aunt and uncle’s mansion, but lovely. I grunted. Way too nice for a jerk like him.
The clock on the dashboard flashed 4:15. What if I was too early? I looked around but didn’t see him coming up anywhere. He must already be inside, and I was just finding a reason not to get out. I sat in the car for a couple more minutes, staring out the side window. Were good grades in AVE really worth coming here and facing Mr. Bad Manners? Unfortunately, I had to answer that with a whiny yes.
Drawing in a few deep breaths, I forced my fingers to uncurl from the steering wheel and got out of the car. Three steps led to the front door. I rang the bell, then waited for a silhouette to move behind the frosty glass in the door. A shadow appeared and seconds later the door swung opened. A tall woman with shoulder-length curls as fair as Tony’s greeted me with a smile. “Hello.”
“Um, hi. I’m Samantha Summers. Is Anthony home?” When I clasped my hands, I realized I was actually sweating, and it made me gnash my teeth behind my closed lips. How could I let a stupid guy turn me into a ball of nerves?
Mrs. Mitchell nodded, then she shouted over her shoulder, “Tony! A friend of yours is here.”
Friend? No way.
“Black hair?” came the answer from somewhere inside.
Now his mother drew her brows into a puzzled expression as she looked back at me. “Yes.” She shrugged, and it seemed like an apology.
I smiled. It wasn’t her fault that her son was an ass.
“Give her the stack of notes! It’s on the chest under the rack!”
He didn’t intend to come to the door? Fine with me. A relieved breath escaped me, and I felt some of the muscles in my chest relax.
Mrs. Mitchell, however, seemed to be appalled by her son’s behavior and tried to explain in a confused but sympathetic voice, “He just came home from training. He hasn’t showered yet and probably doesn’t want to come out all sweaty. Boys, you know.” She grimaced, and I appreciated her attempt to give me an excuse for her son’s rude behavior though she had no idea what was going on.
The door stood wide open as she went back to the broad wood chest to get the notes for me, and I caught a brief glimpse of the inside. A long hallway opened into several rooms at either side. I liked the floor tiles. They were creamy white with a blue tile every here and there.
My gaze snapped back to the blond woman when she shouted again. “There are two stacks, Tony! Which one?”
“The left! No wait, the right. Ah, damn…”
I sucked in a sharp breath when he suddenly appeared from a door at the far end of the hallway. He wore cleats and white shorts with two blue stripes on either side. And tha
t was all. Nothing else. Holy shit! My eyes fastened on his bulging pecs and abs, which glistened with sweat, while he wiped his face with his bright blue jersey.
His mom smiled at me when he reached us, then she left us alone. No! I wanted to shout after her, but she was gone and had no idea of my sinking heart.
The moment Tony stood in front of me I couldn’t remember how to make my tongue function or where my voice had gone. Strangely enough, the only thing I could concentrate on was his six-pack and a nice belly button underneath. Gosh, I was pathetic! I forced my eyes up to his face, if only for a second.
Tony cast me an irritated glance. Then he pulled the sweaty jersey over his head and shielded his annoyingly perfect body from my gaze. “Get that staring under control, Summers,” he grunted.
Yeah well, I was working on it.
He grabbed one of the stacks from the top of the chest, put it in a wide folder, and held it out to me, not inviting me in. “These are the main projects. Detailed descriptions are clipped to each sketch.”
I took the folder silently from him, forcing my thoughts to focus on what he’d said instead of on his body. His sweat-dripping hair stuck to his forehead and stood out in sweet angles on top. Along with his heated red cheeks, it made him look much younger and nicer than he actually was.
“I’m sure you’ll figure out what to do,” he snapped, folding his arms over his chest. “If not, you can ask my aunt for help.”
Oh, what a dismissal. “Yeah, thanks.” It came out flat, my frustration at his rudeness coming through.
“Just try not to spill nail polish on my notes, okay?”
Excuse me? I pulled my brows into a huffy frown. “I don’t do nail polish.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He grabbed the edge of the door, and I knew he would close it in my face in a second.