by M. H. Soars
Halfway through the lecture, Mr. Proctor explains how our grades will be determined this year. There will be weekly quizzes that will comprise twenty percent of our grades, a final exam at fifty percent, and an assignment for thirty percent of our final grade. The assignment is actually cool, we must choose a classic literature novel and reimagine it in the way we see fit. Mr. Proctor is pretty much asking us to create a fan fiction of our favorite book and present it any way we want. I’m totally down with that. I love to come up with stories. My dream job is to be a comic artist for one of the big guys, Marvel or DC Comics.
But of course, there’s a caveat. The assignment will be done with a partner selected randomly.
I slouch down on my chair and wait for my fate to be decided by Mr. Proctor. I’m not the only one pissed at this development if I’m to guess by the disappointed sighs from my classmates. I steal a quick glance at Kimberly, but she seems to be far away, staring out the window.
“Miss Dawson?” Mr. Proctor says.
“Present,” she replies without looking at him.
Some people laugh at her absent-minded answer, but not me. I’m curious. What’s occupying her mind to make her so unfocused?
“I think we’ve already established that. You must pick a name from the bowl.” Mr. Proctor points at the object in his hands and Kimberly finally comes back to Earth.
She stands up with a jerky movement, and her cheeks are a furious red now. I wonder if she blushes like that when she comes. I shake my head. Here I go again. To my defense, she’s rocking a freaking leather skirt with tall high-heeled boots. I dare any red-blooded male in the vicinity to be immune to her. I’m not sure if it’s the skirt, the boots, or the whole combo, but she looks fucking sexy today.
Kimberly picks up a name, reads it, and her entire face changes from bored to annoyed. She turns to our teacher. “Can I pick another one?”
“I’m afraid not, Miss Dawson.”
I watch the girl crunch the little piece of paper like it has done her great injury and I immediately know who she picked. Me.
She strides back to her seat and collapses on it, without a single glance my way. I wait until every person in the room has been paired up to finally address her.
“Don’t be such a sour puss. I happen to be a creative genius.”
She whips her face toward me. “How did you know?”
I point at the mangled paper on her desk. “Did you wish that was my neck?”
Kimberly turns her desk to mine and leans forward. “Listen, Owen. I intend to graduate high school with a perfect five-point-o average. You better not screw up this assignment for me.”
I turn my body and lean forward so our faces are mere inches apart. “Don’t worry. You’re not the only honor student in this partnership.”
Kimberly moves back and her eyebrows almost meet her hairline. I continue. “What? You thought I was another dumb jock?”
“Well, you certainly act like one.”
I suck my lips in because hell, she’s right. People assume I care about nothing besides football and chicks and I never attempt to prove otherwise. I lean against the back of my chair and cross my arms in front of my chest. Kimberly’s gaze drops to my biceps and I swear she swallows hard. That’s interesting.
I clear my throat and her gaze snaps back to mine. “Any favorite classics you would like to suggest for this assignment?”
She mimics my stance, leaning back and crossing her arms. The movement draws my attention to her cleavage, and suddenly my mouth goes dry. Shit. How am I going to survive this?
“I have a few, but I would like to hear yours first.” Her voice brings my gaze back to her face.
“Les Misérables, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Three Musketeers, The Man in the Iron Ma—”
“You could have said everything written by Dumas,” Kimberly cuts me off.
“Victor Hugo wrote Les Miserables.” I smirk at her.
Blood rushes to her cheeks again. “Well, he was French too.”
“How about you? Let me guess. Pride and Prejudice, Emma, oh I know, Romeo and Juliet.”
Kimberly’s irritated expression is priceless. “Are you done with your sexist list?”
“Are you saying you don’t like any of the books I listed?”
Her gaze narrows and her lips become a thin, flat line. “That’s beside the point. Why do guys think that romance is the only genre girls like to read?”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s your favorite book of all time?”
Kimberly puckers her lips as if in deep thought and takes her time answering. “Perfume.”
“Perfume, the Story of a Murderer?”
“Yep.”
“Wow. That is...”
“Surprising?”
“I was gonna say disturbing.”
Kimberly rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”
This easy going banter, despite being better than Kimberly glowering at me, is not going to lead us anywhere. So I decide to take the lead. “Okay, the sooner we decide on the novel, the sooner we can get to work.”
“Fine. How about we each write down the name of three novels and we pick one at random?”
“Sounds good to me.”
I write down my picks and Kimberly does the same. I get my baseball cap from my backpack and we use it as an improvised bowl. I offer Kimberly the honor.
“Don’t peek,” I say.
She huffs and makes a point to stare right into my eyes. I shift my leg, touching hers under the table by accident. She stiffens visibly, but doesn’t make any attempt to break the contact. I might be going crazy, but it feels like the air is suddenly charged.
She pulls a piece of paper and reads it out loud. “Pride and Prejudice.”
“Of course, it had to be one of yours.”
She flattens the paper on the desk and slides it toward me. “This is not my handwriting.”
I smile from ear to ear. “You got me, I’m a fan of Jane Austen’s work.”
The corners of her lips twitch up, but she’s fighting the smile. She opens her laptop again and begins to type.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m writing an outline for the project.”
“Well, turn it around so I can see it, too.”
Reluctantly, Kimberly moves her chair, so we are now sitting side by side with almost no space between us.
“Do you have any ideas?” she asks.
“How about we turn Pride and Prejudice into a comic book with zombies?”
“What?” Kimberly turns to me and our faces are so close, I can smell her minty breath. What would she do if I kissed her right here in the middle of class?
“That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” she continues.
“It’s not stupid.”
“We’re not doing it. Forget it.”
I’m pissed now. Her easy dismissal of my genius idea is exactly what I need to rescue my mind from the gutter. She’s probably going to say no to every single suggestion I make, so to make my life easier, I will let her make all the decisions.
“You know what? I don’t care. You have complete creative freedom. Do whatever you want, just let me know what’s my share of the load.”
“I’ll have to come up with all the major decisions. That’s so not fair.” She sounds more wounded than annoyed and I try my best not to read too much into it.
“Nothing in life is.”
Chapter 7
Kimberly
The last thirty minutes of English class are ten times worse than detention. I actually had fun with Lorenzo and the rest of the school’s misfits. Working side by side to Owen is a test to my endurance. I’ve never met someone who could annoy me and get me excited at the same time. I never once looked twice in Owen’s direction, but today, it’s like he’s bath
ed in pheromones. I watch every single movement he makes, pay attention to every inflection of his words, and blatantly check him out. It was so much easier to loathe him when I thought he had no gray matter between his ears. The fact he’s hot, funny, and smart is a deadly combination for me.
As soon as the school bell indicates the end of my torture, I’m ready to bolt. I pack my belongings faster than lightning and practically run for the door. Owen is right there behind me, and before I can disappear among the sea of students, he grabs my elbow.
“Kimberly, wait.”
“What?”
“When do you want to meet again to work on the assignment?”
Shit. I didn’t even compute that into my misery. Meeting Owen outside of class is probably going to be my doom. I bite my lower lip, and bring my schedule to the forefront of my mind. Today is a busy day for me and I honestly can’t take another dose of Owen in less than twenty-four hours. I pick the days and times that work best for me, and focus on the bane of my existence again. His eyes are glued to my lips and the heat in his gaze scorches my skin.
“Yo, what’s up, Kimmy?”
I turn to see Lorenzo walk by us. He spares a nasty glance in Owen’s direction, but when he looks at me, the easy going smile lights up his face.
“Hey, Lorenzo. How is your ass feeling now?” I smirk at him, mighty glad for his interruption.
“My ass is just fine, thank you very much. Don’t get cocky now. Today was only your first day. Beginner’s luck.”
“Whatever. My fingers are nimble and my vision is sharp. No luck required.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Lorenzo turns around and walks backward so he can still look at me when he talks. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kimmy.” He salutes me with two fingers, turns on his heels again, and disappears in the crowd.
“What was that all about?” Owen asks. I forgot he was still here.
“What?” The heat from his gaze is gone, replaced by a bad weather of emotions reflected in his green eyes.
“Why are you on such friendly terms with Lorenzo Rodriguez?”
I squint at Owen and cross my arms. “Excuse me? How is that your business?”
I see my words affected Owen somewhat in the slight arch of his eyebrows. “He’s bad news, Kimmy. I’m just looking out for you.”
The earnest in his voice does something funny to my chest, but I choose to laugh it off instead because his statement is also completely ironic. “If you were really interested in looking out for me, you would put a stop to those rumors about us.”
A slow grin unfurls on Owen’s lips and he takes a step forward, invading my space. “Aw, is it that bad if people think we...you know.”
I place both hands on his chest—Whoa solid. Focus, Kimberly, focus—and push him back. “This concept might be new to you, but not every girl in this school wants to jump your bones.”
Owen grasps my wrists and his calloused touch sends an electric current through my body. My heart takes off in a mad race and goose bumps spread over my arms.
“True, but I know you do.”
I pull my hands from his hold and take a few steps backward. “In your dreams, Whitfield.”
My cheeks are in flames as I turn around and walk away from Owen. But I can still hear his reply. “We’ll see about that, Dawson.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
Chapter 8
Kimberly
I’m in trouble. Big trouble. I’ve spent the last hour stalking Owen’s profile on social media. Why, I don’t know. The poor excuse I give myself is that I like to know who I’m working with. Yeah, right. It has nothing to do with the way he made my heart flutter like I was a debutante in a Jane Austen novel.
Like the egomaniac that Owen is, he didn’t bother setting his profile to private. Anyone can browse through his pictures, posts, etc. There are plenty of images of him with his friends, but I’m also surprised to see some of his artwork. I had no idea he was a talented artist. In fact, his drawings are so vivid, it evokes something in me I can’t describe or understand. Maybe he should create a comic book for our English assignment after all.
When the knock on my door comes, I almost jump out of my skin. A total caught-with-a-hand-in-the-cookie-jar moment. I close the browser window quickly and open a blank Word document as if whoever is on the other side can see through the closed door.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“Larissa is here,” my younger sister Liv replies.
I get up and cross my room to open the door, all the while questioning why Larissa is here when she was supposed to be working at the mall. When I see her distraught expression, alarm bells sound in my head. Her eyes are red and puffy and her face is twisted with worry. I quickly pull her in and close the door before Liv can follow as well. I’m not a mean older sister, but I sense that whatever is plaguing my friend doesn’t require an audience.
“Aw, Kimmy. Let me in,” Liv whines.
“Not right now.”
“But I’m bored.”
“Go play with Jeremy or call Sebastian, then.”
She grumbles something, then I hear her footsteps fade away. I turn to Larissa who’s now looking out the window.
“What happened?”
She turns to me and her eyes are brimming with unshed tears. Her usually warm olive skin complexion is washed out of color.
“Lorenzo was arrested a couple of hours ago.”
“Why?”
“He was on the security tape recovered from the school hallway.”
I move closer and touch her arm. “What do you mean?”
“He broke into school on the night of the theft, Kimmy. They think he did it.”
I take a step back and shake my head. I cannot believe this. “Was there anyone else with him?”
“No, after he was caught on the tape, the footage got damaged or erased. I don’t know.”
My investigative brain begins to work at full speed as I pace. “That doesn’t make any sense. Lorenzo couldn’t steal all those computers by himself. So why would someone go through the trouble of erasing only part of the tape?”
“He didn’t steal anything!” Larissa shouts, making me wince. “Before they took him away, he was able to give me a message. He’d left an envelope for me at Grandma’s house.” Larissa hands me a letter and I take it from her shaking hand.
I read Lorenzo’s hastily scribbled words, and by the time I’m done, there’s bile in my mouth and a great sense of injustice and rage rising within me. I look up again.
“Do you think he’s telling the truth?”
Larissa’s spine goes taut as she raises her chin. “My cousin is not a thief, Kimmy. Besides, why would he leave that letter for me?”
I could say he was a very smart guy, and left this behind just in case he got caught. But I don’t believe that. My gut is telling me everything in the letter is true.
“You have to help me prove Lorenzo’s innocence, Kimmy. Please.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. You’re a reporter, you work for the school’s paper. I don’t know anyone else who can help me.”
I nibble on my lower lip and read the letter again. Lorenzo’s accusations are bold and also farfetched. He would have a hard time convincing anyone of his claims.
“Mr. Prescott kicked me off the paper.”
“But you know people in the industry, don’t you? What about that connection you had at Littleton’s News?”
“Useless. The guy totally sold me out.”
I look at the letter in my hand again. I’ve always dreamed of uncovering a great conspiracy such as exposing a big corporation of wrong doing. But proving that Alex Martin, the star quarterback, was behind the computer theft seemed beyond my skills. The guy didn’t have a single blemish on his record as far as I knew. He was rich and popular. The
re really wasn’t any reason he would do such a thing.
“Please, Kimmy. Help me.” Larissa’s desperate voice makes my decision unavoidable. She’s always had my back in more ways than I can count. I can’t say no to her.
“I’ll try, Larissa. I’ll try.”
My friend leaves after she tells me everything she knows, which isn’t much. I have no choice but to tell my parents. This is too much for me tackle alone. The conversation goes as badly as I anticipate.
“Kimmy, I know Larissa is your friend and we adore her, but images do not lie. Her cousin was caught breaking into school on the same night the computers got stolen. That’s pretty strong evidence.”
“But Dad, he didn’t do it.”
Mom trades a worried glance with my father before she turns to me. “Honey, we applaud your loyalty, but sometimes it’s hard to see fault in the people we love the most. I know Larissa wants to believe her cousin’s innocence, but that doesn’t mean that he is.”
“Maybe my father can help,” Sebastian says from the other side of the table. I forgot he was there. He’s our next door neighbor and Liv’s best friend. He’s such a regular fixture in our lives, that it’s easy to forget he doesn’t live here.
“That’s right. I forgot your dad is a lawyer,” I say.
“John is a tax lawyer, not criminal,” Dad adds.
“But he has connections. Maybe he can talk to Lorenzo,” Sebastian replies. I love how he’s always trying to help people. He has such a golden heart. I hope he never changes.
“Or maybe he can arrange for me to visit him,” I say.
“Absolutely not.” Dad stares hard at me. He doesn’t get angry often, but when he does, I’d better not cross him. To be honest, I don’t think I can stomach seeing Lorenzo behind bars.
Sebastian promises to speak with his father as soon as he gets home. It’s not much, but it’s more than I had a few hours ago.
Chapter 9
Owen
I can’t get Kimberly Dawson out of my head and I’m hoping football practice will do the trick. It should do the trick. I was never one to let a girl mess with the game. Football might not be my first passion, but it’s a close second. I love the adrenaline, the camaraderie, the sense of belonging. I’m also pretty good at it, so it’s not bad for my ego either.