The table of girls to the side of us stared at her. When they spotted me looking at them, they huddled together in one big gossip head. Farah saw them laughing, pointing, and whispering. Her expression hardened. “What a bunch of wannabe’s.”
“They’re jealous,” I said.
Farah leaned across the end of our table toward them. “Talk about me all you want, you sad groupies.”
Their heads jerked apart and each one of them glared at her. Farah scowled, and then turned her attention back to me.
She pulled a crumbling brownie from her purse, and held it close to my face. “Want a brownie? I made it.”
“You?” I crinkled my nose.
“Don’t act so surprised. I bake,” she said.
“Since when?”
“Since yesterday.”
I backed my head away from the brownie. “I’ll pass this time.”
“Oh, go ahead and eat it.” She pulled off the droopy cellophane and practically shoved it in my mouth.
I heard a yelp behind me, and someone hollered, “You’re disgusting!” A burst of raucous laughter filled the air. I could see Farah watching the whole scene over my shoulder. Wide-eyed, she jumped from her seat and flew to a table of freshmen girls. I swirled around to observe. Farah lunged across their strewn trays and stuck her face against a shocked girl’s nose. “Leave her alone! Do it again, and you’ll deal with me.”
Her harsh voice echoed across the cafeteria. The freshmen girls were shocked into silence, but their lips fairly curled into snarls.
A choked sniffle came from a girl cowering at the end of the table. Macaroni was splattered all over her uniform. Farah stood up to her full height, her cheeks blotched red. She regarded the sniveling girl. “You okay?”
There was no answer.
“Want help cleaning up?”
The girl shook her head, picked up a napkin, and started wiping at her shirt.
Farah squared her shoulders and returned to our table. I stared at her. “What was that?”
“Bullies. I hate them. And where are the lunch monitors, anyway?” She picked up her fork and took a bite of green beans.
“You know, sometimes you’re actually nice.”
Farah grimaced. “Don’t let it get around.”
I laughed and picked up my sandwich. Right then a tender feeling of protectiveness toward Farah washed over me.
And that’s when he descended upon our table. The New Guy. The one I’d secretly been panting after since he transferred to our school two weeks earlier.
“Cool move, Farah,” he said. His voice was low and melodic. He tweaked a strand of her hair and glanced at me. “Cecily.”
Cecily? Seriously?
“Her name’s Emili, you twerp,” Farah scolded, but her tone was soft and playful.
Lance kept his eyes on hers. “My mistake.”
He’d placed himself on the edge of the table between us. Our school uniforms generally make us look like clones. But not Lance. The deep blue polo shirt strained over every muscle in his arms and back. It was the closest I’d ever been to him, and I couldn’t help but be aware of his scent, his size. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I swallowed hard. I willed myself to relax even though my insides were shaking. And what aftershave was he wearing? I’d never smelled anything like it. The musk fragrance was trance-inducing, heady, delicious.
“Well?” Farah said, tapping her fingers on the table. “Do you?” She peered around Lance to scowl at me.
“Um, sorry,” I mumbled. “I… I… didn’t hear you.” I could feel my face turn deep scarlet.
Lance twisted around to stare down at me with hazel eyes flecked with brown. His cropped sandy-colored hair looked like velvet. I blinked rapidly and swallowed again.
“Do you want to go to the football game with us Friday night?” Farah repeated the question. “Unless of course, you have plans with your thriller boyfriend.”
Of course, I had plans with Marc. Like a tidy routine, we went to the game together every Friday night.
“Want to go or not?” Farah crossed her arms.
“Sure, I’ll go with you.”
I nearly choked. Those words did not come out of my mouth.
“Okay.” Lance got up and stretched. My eyes clung to him as he sauntered off. “See you then.”
Farah squinted at me. “Okay, Emili, dish. What was that?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? You’re kidding, right? I know you and Marc are going together. You’re so predictable, it’s pathetic. I only asked you so Lance would know it’s not a date. I have my eye on… well, it doesn’t matter. So, dish.”
I scooted the bench back and picked up my lunch sack. “There’s nothing to dish. Marc might be busy this Friday.” A zing of conscience jolted me. I wasn’t a liar and had no practice with it. My answer sounded completely lame even to my own ears.
I plopped back down. “Oh man, what am I going to do?”
“Burn to a crisp for lying I imagine.”
“Not funny, Farah. I can’t go with you and Lance.”
“Well, surely Marc will let you go with me,” she said.
“Yes, but…”
“No buts, I need you to come. So, tell Marc you’re going with me. It’s the truth, right?”
I hesitated. Well, I was going with her. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Okay. It’s settled then. Can I spend the night on Friday? I have plans, and Mom isn’t too keen on me right now.”
“I’ll ask.” I knew what my mom would say. Oh, such a nice girl, certainly she can stay. And my dad — he was never home anyway, so what did it matter?
Farah’s vivid green eyes were wide and innocent-looking. I have no idea how she accomplished such a look. Then she flashed me the smile that made every guy in school weak in the knees.
Like everyone dealing with Farah, I knew I might as well give in. “Yeah, you can stay.”
She grabbed her tray and jumped up. “Great. Thanks, Emili.”
I was getting a bad feeling in my gut. But then I thought of Lance and how he looked as he swaggered away from us.
I had to ignore my gut. People did it every day.
About the Author
My passion is writing good, clean reads for teens – sharing their heartaches and triumphs, and always with a bit of romance thrown in to stir things up.
I'm a high school teacher so I spend most of my waking hours with teenagers. I love chatting with all teens and hearing their views on love and life. My students are magical, and I am honored to be part of their lives.
I've lived in Honduras, Grand Cayman, and Cost Rica. Presently, I live in Indiana with my husband, Paul. We have two grown children and a precious grandbaby, special deliver from Africa.
When not teaching, I love to hole up in our lake cabin and write--usually with a batch of popcorn within easy reach. (Oh, and did I mention dark chocolate?)
I enjoy getting to know my readers, so feel free to give me a holler at: [email protected].
Visit me at: www.brendamaxfield.com
Happy Reading!
Along Came Jordan Page 16