He wrapped a towel around his waist and flopped into the overstuffed chair in the reading alcove overlooking the swimming pool. He pulled one of his favorite books from the stack on the table. Nights like this, the only thing that could make him feel better was reading about someone who got it, who got him. Not girls who couldn’t even handle a Red Bull. He opened the well-worn book and read the famous opening lines.
The Catcher in the Rye. Now that was a book. He doubted someone like Mandy would get all that was going on in Holden’s jacked-up life. But he did. He read for a long time, then set the book aside. Someday he wanted to write books like that, books that made people think. He wanted to be like Salinger, or maybe Kerouac or Hemingway. The type of writer people still talked about long after they were dead.
It was Mandy’s fault he was in such a black mood. She’d pissed him off, saying he was a crappy boyfriend, that he couldn’t keep a girlfriend long-term. He’d told her the truth when he’d said he’d never meant anyone who could keep his interest. It wasn’t just girls he got bored with, it was everyone.
There was a reason he sat by himself at lunch every day with a book. Why he didn’t do BS like football games and school dances. Real connection with people always led to disappointment. Or worse. Anyway, he’d rather watch people than engage with them; it was perfect training for being a writer.
Caleb grabbed his notebook from his leather jacket lying on the floor. He opened it, flipping to one of his favorite pages. Next to The Catcher in the Rye and A Farewell to Arms, this was his favorite book, but it wasn’t something he could ever write an AP essay about. No one but him would ever see this book.
Some days it was the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.
Chapter Three
One Thing Leads to Another
Monday, September 19
Mandy’s last class of the day was lit, which always made her contemplate ditching, not that she ever would, unlike Caleb. Mr. Spriggs rattled her unlike any other teacher. He was condescending and made her feel like an idiot. She liked to read, though not the books he assigned.
Freshman year, when she’d had him for comp, she’d worked up her courage to ask him for extra help on structuring an essay. He’d given her that withering stare of his and asked why she didn’t know basic fifth-grade composition. She’d begged Ms. Chen, her counselor, to move her to another section of American Lit this year, but his was the only one that worked with the rest of her schedule.
Spriggs droned on about some other ancient book they had to read, and Mandy tried to take notes. Thank goodness J.T. had already read all these books in his honors classes. He could help her decipher them, make them less boring when he reenacted the most dramatic scenes.
As always, J.T. had made her laugh, cheering her up on Saturday night when he and Cammie had come over after the party from hell. They’d brought a giant tub of chocolate fudge ice cream, peanut M&M’s, and a magazine with Ryan Gosling on the cover. The three of them had stayed up into the wee hours rehashing the evilness of Kay’s stealing Gus from under her nose, and the drive from hell with Caleb, who they all agreed was the biggest, most self-absorbed jackass on the planet.
“Ms. Pennington,” Mr. Spriggs said, right after the bell rang, “please come up here.”
She glanced at Gus, momentarily struck dumb by his floppy brown curls and big blue eyes, the eyes she’d been in love with since forever. But he just shrugged sympathetically and left without looking back.
Of course he didn’t bother to stick around to wait for her; he was probably in a hurry to suck face with Kay. She sighed heavily and approached the desk of doom.
“I spoke with Ms. Chen about your essay.” Mr. Spriggs narrowed his eyes. “As I reminded her, I’m not in the habit of letting students have extensions for work they should’ve completed properly in the first place.”
Mandy’s heart raced and her palms sweated. Why was he so awful to her? “I-I know,” she stammered. “Thank you for giving me a second chance.”
The essay had been due last week, but she’d been frozen by writer’s block, and she did have extra time for assignments as part of her school-approved 504 accommodation plan, so Ms. Chen had gone to bat for her. Usually Mandy handled the extra time requests on her own, but Mr. Spriggs made her brain freeze, so she’d asked Ms. Chen for help.
His face pinched and narrowed like a bird’s. “I’ve taught for many years, Ms. Pennington. I’ve heard every excuse in the book from students. This latest incarnation of excuses—ADHD, processing disorder, dyslexia—”
“Dysgraphia,” Mandy whispered. “I have dysgraphia, not dyslexia.” She couldn’t believe she’d dared to interrupt him, since he clearly didn’t believe any of it was real.
“Whatever.” He waved a hand as if he were tossing her in an imaginary trash can. “I’m tired of all the excuses, the supposed accommodations I’m to give students like you.”
She couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Over the years, some teachers had been more sympathetic than others to her learning differences, but she’d never encountered someone so outwardly hostile. She wondered if she should tell Ms. Chen, but worried it would backfire if she did.
Everyone I meet on my journey is there for a reason. She swallowed nervously and dared to meet his cold gaze. Maybe not everyone.
“You have two weeks, which is quite generous on my part, considering you had all summer to read the book and prepare for this essay.”
Mandy reminded herself to breathe. Two weeks to redo the essay and to prep for Spirit Week, which she was in charge of. And Dad was on the road for his truck-driving job, her stoner brother Reg was skipping school, and she needed to take care of Gran, who lived with them. Her shoulders slumped.
And if she didn’t get at least a C on the essay, she’d be benched from the cheer dance squad, which would be awful. She took a deep breath.
“Okay,” she said, her voice tight as she kept all of the things she wanted to say inside.
Mr. Spriggs waved a hand, dismissing her, and she escaped the classroom only to be stopped by a familiar yet unwelcome voice.
“Mandy! Wait up!”
Mandy spun around, her stomach tightening. Kay Ashton, stealer of Gus, president of the student council, and all-around doubter of Mandy’s ability to do anything right, stalked toward her like a girl on a mission.
“Hi, Kay,” Mandy said, wondering what karmic act she’d done to end up on Spriggs’s bad side and now Kay’s, judging from the scowl on her face.
Kay put her hands on her hips. As usual, she looked perfectly put together, not a brunette hair out of place, not a stain or wrinkle in sight. She’d been like that since kindergarten.
Mandy breathed through her nose, willing herself to stay calm.
“So this DJ you hired for homecoming, are you sure he’s committed to our dance?”
Mandy frowned. “Why wouldn’t he be?” Neuro Blastr was a cool guy. She’d met him at the all-ages dance club, and he was giving them a deal on his fee for the dance.
“Because I’ve been texting him for two days and he hasn’t replied.” Kay’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Maybe he’s out of town, doing a gig or whatever,” Mandy said. “The dance is still three weeks away. I wouldn’t worry.”
Kay snorted. “Of course you wouldn’t worry. But some of us take our responsibilities seriously. And some of us, like Gus and me, are expecting a perfect dance. Do you even have a date to the dance?”
Mandy swallowed. “Y-you’re going to the dance with Gus?”
Kay’s perfect pouty lips curved into a smirk. “I’m sure he’s going to ask me. Especially after how things went at the party Saturday.”
She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. First Spriggs dismissing her ADHD and dysgraphia, and now Kay getting in her face, bragging about her hookup with Gus? She closed her eyes, willing the impending tears to stop. She would not lose it in front of Kay. She had to keep it together until she could
melt down in J.T.’s car or at least in the bathroom.
“I need you to get a hold of the DJ, Mandy,” Kay barked, sounding like one of those yappy little dogs Gran wanted. “Confirm he’s on for the dance. It’s the least you can do.”
Mandy’s eyes flew open. “What do you mean, it’s the least I can do?”
Kay crossed her arms over her chest. “I mean it was generous of the student council to let the spirit committee be in charge of music for the dance. I told everyone we should have the final say, but for some reason my other officers fell under your”—she waved her arms around— “weird spell or whatever and trusted you.”
Kay had never liked her, ever since Mandy had smeared finger paint on Kay’s face in kindergarten when Kay called Cammie a mean word. And that time during the fifth-grade Shakespeare festival when Mandy had shoved her wooden sword a bit too enthusiastically at Kay’s stomach after Kay made fun of the costume her gran had sewn.
“You know what I mean,” Kay prattled. “When you get all wound up, people listen to you, for reasons I don’t understand.”
Mandy recalled the eighth-grade mock congressional hearings when her team had defeated Kay’s. Mandy had wowed the panel of judges. Her teacher had told her she had a future in politics because she was so good at public speaking and persuading people to her side. Kay had hated that.
It was the first time a teacher had ever complimented her. Usually they harped on what she was doing wrong, like forgetting to turn in assignments on time or how hard it was to read her penmanship because of her dysgraphia.
Kay narrowed her eyes again. “Maybe it’s the freaky clothes and the crazy hair that make people listen to you. I don’t know. But you need to make sure this zero guy—”
“Neuro Blastr,” Mandy muttered. “His DJ name is Neuro Blastr.”
“What-ev-er.” Kay wagged a finger in Mandy’s face, punctuating each syllable, and Mandy briefly fantasized about biting it. “Just do it, Mandy. I expect a confirmation by Monday.”
Kay spun on her heels and stormed off, leaving Mandy feeling like she’d had the virtual stuffing beat out of her. She was grateful the halls were empty and no one had witnessed her humiliation.
But when she turned toward the exit, she realized there had been a witness to her humiliation, after all.
…
Caleb leaned against the door, watching Mandy. He hadn’t left yet because he was avoiding the parking lot, where his stalker ex was circling his car like a vulture, just waiting to pick his carcass clean.
He watched the whole thing with Kay go down—Kay marching down the hall like a freaky teenage CEO in her skirt and button-down blouse, lashing into Mandy, waving her finger in her face. He kind of hoped Mandy would lean over and take a bite out of her finger, but he knew that would never happen.
Even though he hadn’t heard everything Kay said, he got the gist. Mandy had screwed something up, something about the dance, and now Kay wanted it fixed.
Caleb ran a hand through his hair, wondering why his body wasn’t moving out the door, getting the hell away from this lunatic asylum. Mandy turned toward him, shoulders slumped, all of her usual fire snuffed out. Something twisted in his gut when her hand swiped away a tear.
Fuucckkk.
He did not have time for this. For pity. For her.
She shuffled toward him, agonizingly slowly. She met his gaze briefly, then shifted her focus to the floor.
He should go. She didn’t want to deal with him any more than he wanted to deal with her.
His body didn’t move.
Finally she reached the door. Automatically, he opened it for her. She brushed past him, clearly anxious to get away.
But his body, which apparently was mutinying against his brain, caught up with her.
“You okay?” he asked. So his vocal cords were in on the coup, too. Great.
She hesitated, then sped up, not answering him.
This time his body listened to his brain and stopped. He watched her survey the parking lot. He could guess who she was looking for, but J.T.’s car was gone. So was Gus’s truck. She fumbled in a pocket of today’s weird butterfly dress and texted on her phone.
And waited.
He waited, too.
She glanced over her shoulder, frowning when she locked eyes with him.
He smirked, something in him responding to the spark of fire in her eyes. He liked that a lot better than the defeated girl, the one who looked like Kay had kicked her in the stomach. Caleb could always appreciate a good old-fashioned rebel.
She turned back to her phone, texting furiously.
As he moved toward her, the breeze carried the scent of her perfume. Too sweet, just like her.
“Waiting for someone?” He stared down at her, wondering why the hell he was doing this. Why he felt some strange urge to either help her out or poke at her until she snapped at him. He couldn’t decide which he wanted more.
She shoved her phone in her pocket and raised her face, her eyes shooting sparks, that sparkly pink mouth of hers ready to argue.
“None of your business,” she snapped. “You’re the last person I want to deal with today.”
He felt like a pinball machine, different parts of him lighting up as her words hit their targets. No one ever stood up to him, least of all the Goody Two-shoes glaring up at him. The challenge was exhilarating. “Too bad you didn’t unleash some of your spitfire on Kay instead of me, Disco.”
“Why don’t you go pick on someone else, Caleb?”
Her eyes were bright—too bright. He knew from experience that shininess meant tears were imminent. Damn. Had he made her cry? Or had that been Kay’s fault? He’d been trying for the opposite—to shake her out of her funk, to wake up her crazy side.
“I’m not picking on you,” he said, meaning it.
She blinked too fast trying to make the tears go away—he knew that trick, too. He glanced away, giving her a moment to compose herself.
She cleared her throat. “So what are you doing then?”
He met her gaze again. The tears had retreated. Good. She was too tough to let a freak like Kay make her cry. He studied her. Maybe not tough, but…strong. In a weird hippie way. Spewing her karmic philosophy and running pep rallies and believing in angels and demons or whatever.
“Good question,” he said, finally answering her. He ran a hand through his hair, and her cheeks turned pink, and the pinballs inside him pinged again. “I was going to offer you a ride home. But I’m not in the mood to be yelled at, so…”
They stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them speaking. She hugged herself like she was cold or nervous. The pink stain on her cheeks faded as the small fire he’d ignited in her sputtered out.
“So that’s the perfect end to my day,” she said, turning away.
He watched her walk away from him. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Wait.”
She kept walking. Frustrated, he stalked after her. She sped up. “Mandy. Wait.”
She stopped and turned around, a flicker of the spark back in her eyes. “Did you just call me Mandy? Not Disco?”
He couldn’t stop his lips from curling. “My bad. I’ll stick to Disco since you like it.”
She faced him head-on now, hands on her hips. “You know I don’t like it.”
“I think you do.” He stepped toward her, willing her to stay put this time.
Her eyes flashed. “Are you giving me a ride home or not? Because the bus gets here in fifteen minutes and I’ve had an awful day.”
“Yeah, I saw Kay giving you crap.”
“It wasn’t just her. Did you ever have a day when everything that could go wrong did? Even my breakfast was ruined, because my stupid brother left the fridge open all night so the milk was sour and…”
Her words faded away like an annoying background buzz as he watched her sparkly pink lips, her hands fluttering while she talked, her red curls blowing in the breeze…
Shit. What was
wrong with him? And why was she still talking?
“…so then Spriggs told me he doesn’t believe in ADHD. Or any learning disabilities. He’s such a jerk. I don’t know how you and J.T. stand him.”
He stared at her, completely lost. Why was she talking about Spriggs? And learning disabilities?
“And then Kay with the ‘why does anyone listen to you, Mandy? You’re such a flake.’ I can’t stand her.” She paused for a breath, and he opened his mouth, but she was faster. “And now she and Gus are probably going to the dance together. He hasn’t asked her yet but I’m sure he will.” She took another breath and plunged on. “I try to get along with everyone but, ugh. Did you ever meet someone you just can’t deal with? Because they’re just so…you know…annoying.”
“Yeah,” he said, cocking an eyebrow. “Looking at her right now.”
She stopped talking. Finally. But she didn’t look happy.
“You know what? Never mind about the ride, Caleb. At least the bus driver is nice to me.”
She spun around, but his arm shot out, grabbing her before she could storm off again. “Nope. I’m giving you a ride.”
She jerked out of his grip. “Why?” she demanded, her voice tight with anger. “Why are you doing something nice but doing it like a jerk?”
That made him laugh. “I don’t know.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Me either,” he said, steering her toward his car. “You’re like a—”
“Don’t you dare call me a kindergartner on crack again.”
He grinned as he opened the passenger door. “I wasn’t going to say that.” He’d been about to call her a firecracker, but he’d keep that to himself. For now.
She swallowed and licked her lips, and the image hit him hard and fast—pinning her against the car, kissing her. Tugging on that insane red hair.
“So what insult were you about to throw at me?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Never mind. I don’t want to know.” She slid into the car and slammed the door shut.
This was crazy. He didn’t know why he felt this weird compulsion to mess with her. To help her out.
Resisting the Rebel Page 3