by Cecelia Earl
"Great!" 3:00. Shoot. I was hoping to get another short run in this afternoon. I have my own homework to do still, and I have to work at the diner before my shift at the bowling alley tonight. This will take some juggling. "Great," I repeat, taking the paper with the girls' names on it from her red-nailed fingers. Kari, Kerry, and Caroline. "Can you please let Mrs. Wiltrow know I'd like to speak with her? I want to make sure I run all this by her, confirm she'll give me permission to graduate early." I need to dot every I and cross every T.
"Will do." Mrs. Thompson hands me a course catalog. "Six more credits. She will need to help you register once you've decided."
I nod.
She sits down and slurps a spoonful of soup.
After stepping out into the hallway, my stomach growls. I’m starving and I can’t get the aroma of her soup out of my head. I’m always hungry lately. It’s like my body can’t get
enough food, but my backpack is heavy with books. I check my watch. Forty minutes left of the lunch hour. If I hurry, I can eat and get my studying done since I won’t have time tonight anymore.
To the lunchroom, and then the library.
I can totally do this.
-6-
All of the homecoming queen garb—flower vines and tiara—are stuffed in my locker. The kids in the office didn't recognize me, but I don't chance anyone making a big deal over me in the cafeteria. My goal is to get in, grab food, and get out.
Three, two, one. I charge in, head down, pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, and make my way around the perimeter of the room toward the lunch line. The cafeteria is huge and white, with no place to hide. White-tiled floor, white brick walls, white ceiling, white hanging lights. In stark contrast, the tables are royal blue circles. Blue chairs circle each of the dozens of tables. It's loud and claustrophobic.
I slide a tray across the silver bar, letting the lunch ladies pour whatever they have onto it. Out of the blue, my shoulder blade pain acts up. A muted pain that's obnoxious and rude.
And I can't tell for sure, but I think my necklace’s stone has another fever.
Maybe I'm coming down with something.
When I've nearly made it to the end of the lunch line without so much as a comment in my direction, a low, husky, sexy, make-my-heart-do-push-ups voice says, "Whoa, princess, where’s the fire?"
Cole. Oh, not now, Cole. No-no-no-no-no.
My mind goes blank and my heart reacts before my lips do. But when they do, they also betray my cautious mind and spread wide across my face.
“Hey,” I reply, all breathy, and annoyingly sounding more like ‘Cole I want you.’ than ‘Dude, what’s up?’
Cole smiles and the dimple in his left cheek winks at me. I look away, at the floor, at the fluorescent lights pouring down upon the tables… Not. At. Him.
"What's up?" I prompt, all strong and whispery. Who am I kidding? Weak-sounding.
His eyes dart around conspiratorially, before he ducks his head to whisper, "You in hiding?"
I glance around. Sure enough, the entire student body is looking at us.
I roll my eyes. "Not anymore."
I start to walk, and he follows. I find a table in the corner and am relieved and panicked that he is still with me, standing so I am blocked from view by his... body.
I breathe.
I'm breathing.
I can handle a robber with a knife, but Cole Stevens approaches me in the lunchroom, and I fall apart?
He's wearing a fitted dark gray T-shirt, jeans that are probably a thousand dollars, and a watch that costs as much as our apartment and diner put together. His brown hair is shaggy and wavy and perfect, along with his blue, blue eyes I am trying desperately not to get lost in.
On anyone else, rich ticks me off. But Cole's got this way about him. Maybe it's his swagger, or the way his hair never looks freshly cut. Maybe it’s the way he sets his left shoulder slightly back, either because he really is as cocky as he seems, or because he's always ready to charge forward, ready to fight, like me.
I shake my head to clear it. I seriously don't have time for this right now. For him. For the way he muddles my mind.
I pull my hood off my head. Need air.
"Hey, where's your crown?" I ask him, the homecoming king.
He laughs. "In my locker. Yours?"
Even though my heart is beaming at his presence, I control myself and give him half a grin. So very nonchalant. "Same."
"So," he says, fingers tucked in his jeans pocket, shifting weight from one foot to another, like maybe he's nervous, contemplating asking me something. I jolt upright, every nerve electrified. Someone must have cranked the lights up to full brightness, and suddenly my brain has forgotten my blood cells need oxygen. Is this going to be the moment Cole Stevens asks me to the homecoming dance? Because if he's going to, well then, the whole charade of insanity will be worth it. I'll be the proudest queen they've ever seen. But then, he questions, "You get lei’d, too?"
Get laid? Well, smack me in the face with a hammer of stupid. I narrow my eyes. "What?" What a crass, arrogant, horrible—
For a second, his eyes grow wide, and then he grins. "With Hawaiian flowers? You know, did the girls of squealing excitement drape you with a floral arrangement? Lei’d?"
My anger smooths itself out like taking an iron to a rumpled little dress. "Oh. Yes. The trio. I, too, became a tropical Christmas tree this morning." I swallow. "I'm a little disturbed by it actually, and more than a little wary of what's to come."
"Ah, well," he says, “it's all in good fun."
There's that F-word again.
Which reminds me. I glance down at my food. I need to eat. Study. Look at the course book.
Then he winks at me. And I nearly need to sit before I melt into a puddle at his expensive shoes.
I don't react to anyone else like this. Yes, he definitely comes across as a fighter, charged up and ready to go. And yet, he turns to me now with this gentle set to his lips, a smile that betrays the mischief in his eyes, a smile that makes me want to touch it with my fingertip, with my lips.
Lover or a fighter? He plays both parts to a T.
Ugh.
He notices me glancing at my food. "Well, I already ate, so I'll let you get started on your… What is that they're serving today?"
"Food. I figure it's some kind of food," I reply, and he laughs, looking over his shoulder. “Well, you should go. Your fan base is probably waiting for you."
He turns back toward me. "Fan base?"
I raise my eyebrows. "Your friends."
"I think there's a difference," he disagrees.
"Is there? Well, you're the homecoming king, so…" I shrug and look longingly at my lunch.
"So, what? You're the queen if I remember correctly." He points a finger at me, nearly touching my heart with it.
"Oh yes, that joke." I bat his hand away.
"Joke?" he asks.
I roll my eyes. "It's a mystery how I got voted in. I don't have the time or interest for friends. It's just the way it is. For you, however, king makes sense."
"Seriously? Who doesn't want friends?"
I look at my watch. It's a habit.
He flattens a hand on the table, leaning in. "So, you don't want to be queen?"
I can't wait anymore, so I pop a carrot stick in my mouth. Crunch. Shake my head. "Nope."
"Why not? Aren't you having fun? Looking forward to the dance?"
"I don't have time. For fun. I work. I study. There aren't enough hours for fun,” I add, and he stares at me. "You can do the popular thing. The dance. The frivolity. Me? Who the heck knows why they voted for me?"
"Frivolity?"
I need more than a carrot. I scoop up a spoonful of... whatever it is and shove it into my mouth. Chew. Swallow.
"Maybe I can solve the mystery of how you got voted in," he conspires.
I raise my eyebrows, not speaking, and eat another bite.
"Maybe I have... connections."
Swallow. "Really? Connections?" I put a fist on my hip. "And you used these 'connections' to make me queen?"
He grins, dimple and all. So proud of himself.
"Why me?"
"Why anyone else?" he says.
Is he moving closer?
"And I find it hard to believe—don't get me wrong here—that you have so much pull you can name whomever you want as queen."
"You doubt my power?"
"I didn't use that word. Sway, pull, connections."
His blue, blue eyes fill with mischief, and his dimple looks very, very sassy. He saunters over to the wall, where a red fire alarm hangs. He raises his hand.
The pride I thought I saw earlier transforms into something different, something more sinister—and yet thrilling. He's got this side grin, these blue, bottomless eyes, this certainty about him.
My necklace heats up. My back aches. For a split second, he no longer looks like Cole. My vision wavers, and he distorts, alternating between a being of beauty and a being of horror. He reminds me of the demonic robber from the diner, and I wonder if Cole has something to do with my necklace’s heat and whatever is pinching my shoulder blades. I shake my head and once again see his dimple, his eyes.
"No! What are you doing? Don't!"
He pulls the lever.
Alarms blare.
He scoops me and my backpack up and swings me over his shoulder.
"Cole. Stop! Put me down."
To the room, he says, "No worries, everyone! I'll save your queen!"
Then to me, he says, "See how I can control the whole student body?"
"Are you kidding me?"
"Settle down. Everyone will appreciate the break. It's fun. Just a prank."
He moves toward the cafeteria doors to exit the room. Students are lined up, filing out, but they stop and the lines part, letting Cole pass through.
They're whooping and hollering ridiculous things about royalty and who knows what?
I bury my face in his shoulder, pulling my hood up over my head.
I don't appreciate the prank. Once again, I'm losing time for studying and work. I glance at my wrist, at my ever-losing battle with the hands on my watch.
-7-
A mass of students stream out and cover the front lawn of the school. The siren of a fire truck blares down the street.
"Not cool, Stevens." I slap him on the butt. "Put me down."
"What's the magic word?" he asks.
"Please."
"Not that one."
I slap him again.
"That's not it either, princess."
I growl.
"Fun. The magic word is fun. I want you to tell me how much fun you're having."
"But I'm not. This is not my idea of fun. This is so the opposite of fun. You are humiliating me."
Why is everyone so worried about whether or not I'm having fun?
He puts me down, no dimple in sight. His blue eyes are somber and serious. "Hey," he whispers, nudging me with his shoulder. "I thought it'd be fun for the royalty to entertain the crowd. Like I said, harmless prank."
"You wouldn't actually set a fire to show your power of crowd control, would you?"
His eyes widen in horrified shock that looks sincere. "That wouldn't actually be harmless, would it?" There's something behind his words, something chilling, but his dimple returns and his eyes look like a sassy puppy's, checking to be sure he's still loved and adored.
Everyone is laughing and elbowing him and bowing around us like we're actual royalty, only I feel more like the court jester. My entire lunch hour is being eaten up, and I have no idea how I'm going to get through my checklist of things to do for the day before the stroke of midnight.
"So, what can I do to convince you fun is actually fun? That it's worth your time?"
I shrug. "No idea."
He takes my limp hand, shakes it, and announces, "It's a deal, then. I will do whatever it takes to help you discover fun this week. Or as long as it takes."
"I'm not sure it can be a deal if it's only one-sided."
"We shook."
"Um. You shook. I wasn't an active participant."
"Well, I'm committed enough for the both of us."
"Mmkay. Well, I'm still mad at you, so…." I turn my back on him to scan the crowd for Mitch. We are supposed to be separated out into homeroom groups for attendance—although Cole is not in my homeroom, but he seems to make his own rules. Mitch and I, however, met in homeroom freshman year, so he should be nearby. I need to take a break from Cole. He's a distraction I don't need. I don't need anything else to keep me from meeting my goals.
I don't spot my white-haired friend, but I do see Mrs. Wiltrow. I so want to get to her during lunch hour. Maybe I still have a chance to accomplish something before we're let back in and the bell rings for sixth period class.
I throw my hand up and try to call out for her, but the crowd is too much. Cole is still causing a raucous, and his fan base around us is not letting up. I start to elbow my way through the crowd toward her, but Cole pulls me back.
"Don't leave, princess. Please don't be mad."
"Seriously, Cole." I rise up on my tiptoes and see Mrs. Wiltrow is looking our way, because wherever Cole is, there's a commotion. Maybe his behavior will work in my favor. Yes, she's making her way over to us.
"What's going on over here?" She scans our faces. "Oh, Mr. Stevens." She smiles at him. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes, fine. Is the school going to be okay?" Oh, my gosh. How he can play the perfect, concerned student.
"Yes, false alarm," she says, making no mention of someone tampering with the alarm.
"Excuse me," I say. I'd rather not talk in front of this crowd, but I've run out of time, so there's no being picky at this point. "Mrs. Wiltrow, I'm Julia White. I stopped in and spoke with Mrs. Thompson earlier—"
She glances at me, her smile fading. "About graduating at the end of the semester. Yes, she told me."
I raise my eyebrows, knotting my fingers together. "Yes, and I wanted to run my plans by you, to be sure you'll approve them after I put forth the effort."
"Mmmhmm. Well, Miss White. Hood off at school, please. What you don't seem to understand is that you need an exorbitant amount of service hours. Plus two courses. You've never, in three years, shown the slightest interest in doing any social activities or events in this school. I'm not sure you meet the qualifications to graduate earlier than the rest of the senior class. It's not something you just wake up one morning and decide to do. In fact, I usually recommend students for early graduation to Mrs. Lambert and the School Board during their junior year, not senior."
I push my hood back, baring my red cheeks to the world. "I didn't. I mean, I work hard. I always work hard—"
"What are you involved in besides your admirable good grades and AP coursework, Julia? Getting into college means being socially involved as well. You haven't joined any groups during your high school career. If you want to graduate and start college a semester early, you'll have to take extra courses and join a group or two. I just really feel that even if you grew a pair of wings and had the will of God on your side, this isn't going to work out for you. I'm sorry."
"Mrs. Wiltrow," Cole gives her an even brighter smile than before, "I don't mean to interrupt, but Julia is our homecoming queen. I know you don't take that position lightly. She was voted in by her classmates. They all see something of a leader in her, someone they admire. How else would she have gotten where she is today?"
He beckons upward, toward the flagpoles, where my face is flapping in the breeze. I want to throw my head in my hands, but I resist the urge and smile instead. My lips are wavering, but I am trying very hard to play the part Cole is creating for me. He's actually helping. How can I be mad at him when she clearly likes him? Not only does he make his own rules, but other people seem to follow them, even adults. Adults whose opinions matter to my future.
Not only am I ridiculously attracted to Cole, but he may be
just the friend I need to get me out of this place four months early.
If he wants me to have fun, maybe I can play that part too. I will do whatever it takes to make my dreams for my family come true.
Mrs. Wiltrow looks back to me and her expression hasn't softened at all. She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I just don't see how it's possible." And she walks away.
I look at Cole, exasperated, but he's still smiling.
I pull my arm free from him and stalk into the building once the all-clear bell is rung.
No? She said no? What now?
I make my way toward my locker, change out my books, slam it shut, and then head to my government class.
I turn. "You again? Don't you have your own class to get to?" Cole is following at my heels. Always the puppy metaphor.
"Yup, but I come to make amends."
"Really, for what?" I'm mad, really mad.
We reach the doorway for government, so I stop and face him, leaning against the lockers beside the classroom. I narrow my eyes at him and huff. Cole faces me, only seconds away from a kiss.
"Embarrassing you." He moves hair away from my face. For a second, I think he's going to kiss me, and my heart does a few jumping jacks, but he drops his hand to adjust the books he's holding. When did he get his books?
He did a lot more than embarrass me. And she said no?
Cole keeps talking. "I need you to do two things. And then you can be on your merry way to becoming a successful police officer. "
"What? Police officer?" I shake my head.
"Librarian?"
"Nope."
"A little help here?"
"Look, I need to get to class." I nod toward the door. "So you can go study to be whatever it is you dream about becoming."
His jaw drops in mock surprise. "Have you never seen me on the football field? I aspire to be a quarterback."
Though I have seen him, because my brother is a football-aholic, and Cole is pretty impressive, I say, "Any backup plan in case that doesn't pan out for you?"
His face falls and he pouts.
"So, you need me to...?"
"Say you're not mad. And practice having fun."