by Shana Norris
I settled back in my seat, happy to let someone else run the show.
#
“Hi, Hannah.” Mark greeted me with his usual wide smile and firm handshake. “Come on back.”
I followed him into his office. It hit me that I had spent so much time in that room over the last year, but I had never really taken a close look at anything in it. Now my gaze roamed over the framed diplomas and certificates on the walls, the painting of sailboats, the bookcases stuffed full of thick books. Pictures of Mark’s family sat on the corner of the desk, next to a pendulum that steadily swayed back and forth.
My gaze fell on one picture in particular. It was Mark in a green bodysuit, with straps around his shoulders attached to a colorful parachute dragging along the ground behind him. He smiled at the camera, his eyes wide and his face pale.
“You went parachuting?” I asked.
“Six years ago,” Mark said, smiling as he sat down in his usual plush blue chair across from me. “That’s the first time you’ve noticed that picture?”
Had it always been there? “I guess I’ve never taken a good look around here,” I said. My gaze scanned the room again, looking for other things I may have missed.
“That’s okay,” Mark said. “A lot of my clients don’t notice it for a long time. It’s come to be a sort of guide for me. When a client finally takes the time to look closely at a picture, I know they’ve moved outside of their own head and are ready to face life on their own.”
My gaze snapped back to Mark as his words sank in. “I don’t think I’m ready—”
Mark held up one hand to silence me. “Did you push yourself outside of your comfort zone this summer?”
“Yes,” I said, smiling as I remembered my time in Asheville.
“You’ve told your parents your plans for your future?”
I nodded.
“And you live by your own rules, not the ones someone else decides for you?”
“I try.”
“That’s all anyone can ask of you, Hannah,” Mark told me. “Be the person you want to be. Don’t box yourself into an idea of perfection. Take charge of your life.” He held out his hands and shrugged. “I don’t think there is anything more I can teach you.”
I knew Mark was right, but the idea of making decisions on my own for the rest of my life without someone’s guidance still terrified me. “What if I mess up? What if soon I go right back to the same old Hannah?”
“How did you feel when you stood on top of Chimney Rock?” Mark asked.
I thought back to the day I’d finally made it to the top of the rock and stood there as the wind whipped around me. “Free,” I said. “Like I could do anything.”
“Keep remembering that moment,” Mark said. “These rules you had yourself stuck in were your rock that needed to be climbed. You’ve done it. Remember how it felt to be free, and don’t let yourself fall down again.” He pointed at the picture on the desk. “Jumping out of that plane was my rock. I was a lot like you once, but I figured out how to set myself free.” He beamed at me. “I think we’re done here.”
Mark stood and led me to the door. Then he did something he’d never done before: He hugged me.
“You’ve come a long way,” he said. “I expect great things from you.” He leaned down so that we were eye level. “But only the things you want for yourself.”
I nodded. “It’s a deal.”
I swung my purse over my shoulder and turned the doorknob. Then I walked out of Mark’s office forever, holding on to that feeling of freedom.
#
I pushed through the crowd, still clutching the crushed invitation in one hand. Everyone looked the same, the same uniform and the same haircut. I didn’t know how I’d find him in the crowd. But I knew he was there—I had spotted him marching in formation during the graduation ceremony at Fort Benning, Georgia. Waiting through the marching and the demonstrations and the music had almost killed me with anticipation. Now I was lost in the crowd of family members and friends, all excited to see their newly minted soldiers.
But where was he? I stood on tiptoe, scanning the faces around me.
I thought about going back to find Mom and Dad, just to have someone familiar nearby, but I forced myself to push ahead.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out. A text from Ashton.
Have you seen him yet????
Not yet, I texted back.
We want pictures!!!
I started to type out a response, but then I felt someone in front of me.
I looked up into the familiar gray eyes.
“Hey,” Jude said.
“Hey,” I answered, my phone now forgotten.
He looked good. The weeks at boot camp had given him new muscle definition and his skin was brown from the sun. The uniform made him look distinguished and so different from the sad, reserved guy I’d met in Asheville. Jude rubbed a hand over his buzzed haircut.
But it was the same Jude.
“I’m glad you came,” he said.
“Thanks for inviting me,” I told him.
All the words I had wanted to say crowded into my head, but I didn’t know what to say first. Then I remembered the rules.
Rule #1: Be honest. Don’t complicate things.
Rule #2: Do what scares you the most.
Rule #3: Always do the thing that could get you arrested.
Rule #4: Don’t be afraid to face reality.
Reality was, I missed him. I missed him more than I’d ever missed anyone. That thing inside me that I had felt when we said good-bye was still there, only stronger and bigger now. The words were still on the tip of my tongue, frightening and overwhelming and true. I didn’t want to pretend anymore.
So I made the first move, closing the distance between us and pressing my lips to his. He only hesitated for a split second before his arms were around me, pressing me into him and returning my kiss. It was like we’d never been apart, like all this distance and time hadn’t mattered at all.
When we finally broke apart, we were both out of breath. Jude held me close to him and leaned his forehead against mine, our gazes locked.
“There you are,” said a familiar voice behind me. We broke apart to find my parents watching us. Dad smiled politely while Mom looked a bit dazed. It was the first time she would meet Jude and I was nervous about it, but in the end, it didn’t matter whether she approved or not.
“Mom, this is Jude Westmore,” I said. “Jude, my mom, Marilyn Cohen.”
Jude inclined his head toward her. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
Mom looked Jude over, taking in his uniform and chiseled features that stood out even more without the long hair to hide them. After a moment, she smiled. A genuine smile, not one of the forced ones she usually gave people. Even my mother wasn’t immune to Jude’s charm.
“I’ve heard so much about you, Jude,” Mom said. She stepped forward, slipping her arm through his. “We have reservations at this great restaurant that I’m sure you’ll love. I can’t wait to hear all about your time here at boot camp.”
I exchanged an amused look with Dad before we trailed after them. Mom talked on and on, and Jude nodded and commented at the appropriate times. He didn’t look uncomfortable, but I felt like I should probably butt in and save him. Besides, I wanted to have Jude all to myself for a few more moments.
A smile curled the corners of my lips as I said, “Hey, Mom, I was wondering—do you still have that wishbone tattoo?”
Mom stumbled a bit as she whirled around to face me, her eyes wide.
I laughed and then dashed forward, grabbing Jude’s hand and pulling him across the grass away from my parents and everyone else. We found a quiet spot behind a thick tree with branching that spread overhead, just like the one where Jude had always hung Liam’s shirt. I leaned against the rough bark, looking up at him.
“I have some news,” Jude told me. “I’ve been assigned a station for my next few months of advanced individual training.
”
I sucked in a breath, holding it deep in my lungs. “Where?”
“The John F. Kennedy Special Warfare Center and School,” Jude said. A slow smile spread across his face. “At Fort Bragg, North Carolina.”
The breath I’d been holding came out in a rush as I returned his smile. “That’s only two hours from Willowbrook,” I said.
“I know.”
Be honest, I reminded myself. Do what scares you. The moment was now.
So I took a chance on honesty and climbed to the top of the rock to do what scared me the most, but felt absolutely right. I let the words I’d held in finally out into the light.
“I love you.”
A smile spread across his face and he cupped his hand behind my neck, cradling my head as his lips moved toward mine. I felt free and alive, like I had finally found the real Hannah buried inside.
“I love you, too, Hannah,” he whispered.
Following the rules wasn’t that complicated after all.
About the Author
Most days, Shana Norris still feels like she’s stuck at sixteen, which is probably why she enjoys writing about teens. Thankfully, she’s never had to work as a giant hot dog, but she did work at a locksmith shop making keys for six months. She currently lives in a small town in eastern North Carolina with her husband and small zoo of pets, which currently includes two dogs, five cats, and a flock of chickens. Shana Norris is the author of The Boyfriend Thief, the first book in the Stolen Kiss series. The Secrets Between You and Me is a companion book and the second in the series. Visit her online on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram or at http://www.shananorris.com. Photo © Valerie Montgomery
Read a special excerpt of The Boyfriend Thief,
the first book in Shana Norris’ Stolen Kiss collection!
Chapter One
If there was one thing I hated more than anything else in this world, it was Giant Hot Dog Day. The early May sun beat down on me, heat radiating from the sizzling sidewalk as I stood outside Diggity Dog House, dressed as an enormous hot dog, complete with two zigzags of dusty yellow mustard and bright red ketchup snaking up my stomach, enclosed in a fluffy pillow of bun.
The costume extended a half foot above my head and reeked of sweat and mold. The most recent heat wave had elevated the smell to new levels of disgusting. I reminded myself to breathe through my mouth and wave to customers, thankful that the screen mesh over the small hole in front of my face made the chances of anyone recognizing me nearly impossible. I gave the JV Willowbrook High cheerleaders my best wave with my puffy, white-gloved hand as they passed into the diner, causing them to burst into laughter, their maroon and gold skirts swirling as they sashayed past me.
I really, really hated Giant Hot Dog Day.
“Look, Bailey,” a woman said, clutching the hand of a boy who didn’t look older than three. She pointed at me and grinned down at him. “It’s Bob, the hot dog!”
Growing up in eastern North Carolina, hundreds of miles from Disney World or Six Flags or any place with cute and cuddly mascots walking around, you learned to let a giant hot dog fill the void. The kids of Willowbrook loved the giant hot dog.
“Hot dog!” the boy cried, giving me a chubby-cheeked, drooly grin.
I patted him on the head and turned around to continue my mascot duties.
But the little boy wasn’t done with me yet. “Dance!”
Oh, no. Not happening, kid. I’d wear the costume, but there was no way I would do the Hot Diggity Shuffle. Not on the corner of Hawkins and Main Streets in 100-degree heat for everyone in town to see.
“Dance!” he insisted, glaring at me with angry baby blue eyes.
I raised the roof with my arms a bit, hoping that might appease him. I attempted some telepathy with his mom. You’re starving for a Diggity Dog Loaded Special, I sent the silent message her way. Go inside the restaurant and leave me to my misery in peace.
Apparently telepathy wasn’t my strong suit, as the mom and the boy remained on the sidewalk in front of me.
“Dance! Dance! Dance!” the boy ordered, stamping his light-up sneakers and tilting his head back, preparing to scream.
I knew I had a few seconds before my manager, Mr. Throckmorton, came outside to see what was going on, and then he’d write me up for not doing the shuffle. I couldn’t afford to get written up, especially not today.
There were only three Unbreakable Rules at Diggity Dog House:
Number 1: Closing time was at exactly ten o’clock. Not one minute after. Ten on the dot.
Number 2: All counter attendants must wear the hat featuring a big plastic hot dog across the forehead at all times during their shift.
Number 3: Bob the Hot Dog must do the Hot Diggity Shuffle whenever asked.
“Okay, okay,” I growled. The shuffle was this stupid dance Mr. Throckmorton made up years ago, involving a kind of tap dance move—step, step, shuffle, step, shuffle, repeat—while swinging your arms from side to side. And then for the finale, you jumped around and shook your bun at your audience.
Totally humiliating.
But the little boy loved it. He grinned wide and clapped his pudgy hands.
Just as I jumped around to shake my bun to the little boy’s screeching laughter, a voice shouted, “Look out! Runaway shopping cart coming through!”
Being encased in a bun of foam made sudden movements impossible. I managed to see a blur of blue and gray before something slammed into my hip, sending me flying backward. I could feel the hot sidewalk from where I had landed flat on my back.
I flailed back and forth, trying to work up enough momentum to flip myself over, but getting up while wearing a giant foam hot dog was also impossible.
This must be what it felt like to be a turtle.
Someone grabbed my arm and pulled me into a sitting position. “Are you okay?” a vaguely familiar voice asked.
I opened my mouth to say I was fine—foam hot dog was surprisingly good for pillowing a fall—but another, much more familiar voice stopped me.
“I told you to leave the shopping cart alone,” Hannah Cohen snapped.
Her boyfriend, Zac Greeley, knelt in front of me, holding my puffy-gloved hands in his as he tried to help me up. A rusty shopping cart lay on its side next to us, one wheel still spinning.
Zac and I only vaguely knew each other from school, but I didn’t know what he and Hannah could possibly have in common. While Zac’s wrinkled clothes and eternal cowlick in the back of his hair indicated that he rolled out of bed and threw on the first thing he grabbed from the floor, Hannah always looked neat and put together, like she was born knowing how to iron perfect creases into her clothing. She was president of the junior class student council (I was vice president), vice president of the math club (I was president), and the girl who was currently tied with me for highest GPA in our class. In other words, Hannah was my official arch nemesis.
She was also once my best friend, a lifetime ago.
I was encased in the giant hot dog—the costume also included foam legs, feet, arms, and gloves—and grateful they couldn’t see the embarrassed flush creeping up my neck.
“Sorry, sorry!” Zac pulled me to my feet, grabbing hold of my arms as I struggled to catch my footing. “Next time I’ll remember to figure out how to steer before I decide to ride a shopping cart down the sidewalk.”
He grinned, looking like an impish little boy. From what I knew of Zac, riding a shopping cart down the street was only one of many crazy things he’d done, or was rumored to have done. I still wasn’t sure I believed the rumor that he’d danced an Irish jig in nothing but green boxers on the lunch table in the cafeteria on St. Patrick’s Day.
Again, what did he and Hannah have in common?
I didn’t want to give myself away by speaking, so I gave him a thumbs up. Or at least what was as close as possible to a thumbs up, with the huge glove engulfing my hand.
Hannah waited by the door, her arms crossed over her chest. “Can we go get your hot dog
now, before the weekend is over?” I barely recognized this new Hannah; back when Hannah and I were friends, she was silly, the first to accept a dare, like the time she buttered the hall floor at her old house so we could slide across it on our stomachs. These days, she had transformed into a stressed out, serious overachiever who was determined to knock me down to salutatorian.
I knew a lot of people probably said the same thing about me. But my case was different. One day I had a mom. The next I didn’t. My mom’s disappearing act when I was twelve changed everything. And from that point on, I didn’t care about anything that didn’t put me closer to my goal. I had to succeed, to make things better for my dad, brother, and me.
Hannah had no excuse, other than the fact that she was a liar who sneaked around behind her best friend’s back, and then abandoned that so-called best friend when things didn’t go her way.
I glared at her from inside my costume as they headed into the restaurant. Just four more weeks, I reminded myself. Two weeks of school until prom—not that I was planning on attending the sure-to-be-lame dance that Hannah had organized—and then another two weeks until the school year was over. Then summer would be here and if everything went according to plan, I’d have a nice break from Hannah Cohen and the rest of Willowbrook.
* * *
Two hours later, I was taking a well-deserved break from mascot duties, sitting on a bench in the very back corner of the kitchen and running over my plan for the millionth time: convince Mr. Throckmorton that I needed a raise. The hot dog body lay crumpled on the floor beside me as Elliott Reiser and Tara Watkins worked nearby. They were on hot dog duty today—as in grilling them, not wearing them—and they stood awfully close to each other at the counter. Since Elliott had started working at Diggity Dog House three weeks ago, he and Tara had become cozier and cozier with each other.
Elliott Reiser was a jerk, plain and simple. Maybe once he had been a pretty decent person, but by junior year he was a preppy, smart aleck basketball player who was convinced that his obnoxious comments were hilarious. I didn’t know what Tara saw in him, but they talked a lot. More than he talked to anyone else.