My Secret Valentine (My Secret Crush Book 2)

by Jaclyn Weist

  “So does your school do that often? I don’t remember a paper like this for Homecoming.” Brandon must have noticed me staring at the paper.

  “No. I—we came up with it for this dance. If it goes well enough, it’ll be a new thing.” So much for not telling anyone it was my article.

  Brandon picked it up and looked through it. “So, it actually works?”

  I pointed to a section. “That right there is where they can ask the person, and then here is where a girl answered back. It’s going better than we thought.”

  “Right. You work for the paper.” He set it aside. “I’m one who likes a more traditional approach, but I think it’s a cool idea.”

  “Traditional?” There were so many ways I could take it, but the ‘slightly offended that he would think my idea wasn’t good enough’ approach was not what I’d expected. “How would you do it? Or how did you do it?”

  There, that was cool and calm and not at all offended, right?

  “Well, first, I would take her hand in mine.” Brandon reached over and took my balled-up fist.

  My breath caught and I forced myself to relax even though my heart was beating hard. He was just giving an example, right? He wouldn’t do it right here for real . . .

  “Then, I would look her in the eye.” He tipped my chin to look at him with his other hand. “Just like that. And then I would say something like ‘I have loved every moment of spending time with you over the last few weeks. Our conversations are more meaningful than I have had with anyone else. Would you do me the honor of going to the Valentine’s Day dance with me?’”

  I couldn’t breathe. His touch, his puppy dog eyes, and those dimples. I nodded because I couldn’t say anything else.

  He dropped my hand and leaned back so our food could be set in front of us. It took a second of dreaming of the perfect dress to match the blue of his eyes before I realized I wasn’t sure if he’d actually asked me out.

  “So, wait . . . are we . . . did you? Did you just?” I couldn’t finish the sentence. It was too embarrassing. I took a huge bite of burger so I’d stop talking.

  “Yes. That is, if you’d like to. You’re the only girl I really know at this school.” He took a bite of his own burger.

  That wasn’t actually the reason I would have liked to hear, but it worked. “Okay.”

  “Awesome.” He grinned and went back to his burger.

  And that was how I got my date to the dance. But there was something in the back of my mind that told me that things weren’t right. And I couldn’t understand why I was almost disappointed until I glanced back over at the newspaper.

  “Have you read the paper the whole way through?” I sipped my milkshake up, allowing the strawberry goodness to calm my nerves.

  “Yeah, why?” He wiped his hands on his napkin.

  I took the paper and went through until I found the secret admirer post. “So, you saw these?”

  He nodded. “Someone doesn’t have the guts to actually admit he likes the girl.”

  “I guess. But they’re persistent. They send something every day.” I didn’t add that I’d really hoped they were for me. It seemed like they were by the poems, but every person who read it would probably think the same thing. Except Brandon apparently.

  “I’ll give him that.” He stopped eating and stared at me. “Are you upset with me?”

  Yes. No. I wasn’t sure. I finally shook my head. “I just wondered if you’d seen it.”

  He lowered his eyebrows. “You are. I’m sorry. I just think people should go for what they want instead of hiding in the shadows of a newspaper. Like this Cupid person. If he expects people to put their names out there, why can’t he?”

  He had a point, even if it did annoy me. I mean, that’s what I was doing right then. Hiding behind a dream of a secret admirer when the hunkiest guy in school had just asked me out. We ate in silence while I fumed inside.

  “I’m sorry. Maybe we should go.” He crumpled up his papers. “I hope this doesn’t change you wanting to go to the dance with me.”

  I shook my head. “I still want to go. It’s just that . . . I’m the one who started the whole thing.”

  He blinked. “You’re Cupid?”

  I put my finger to my lips. “Quieter please. No one is supposed to know.”

  “So, basically I put my foot in my mouth and shoved it in farther with every word I spoke after that.” He face-palmed. “Could you not have shut me up before this?”

  I chuckled. “No, because I was too busy wanting to shove this shake in your face. Only thing that stopped me was that it’s my favorite.”

  Brandon shook his head. “You probably should have. I would have bought another one for you.”

  “You still can. I would eat both.” I sipped the last of my shake and set it aside to look at a text. I sighed. “I do need to go, though. The newspaper calls, and we’re having a late rehearsal for the play. Something about our cast not knowing how to dance.”

  “Ouch. All right, I’ll drive you over there. I want to shoot around for a bit anyway.” He took our tray and dumped it while I texted Heather back to say I was on my way over.

  Brandon pulled out of the parking lot. “So, where’d you come up with the idea for the Cupid thing?”

  I grimaced. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  He held a hand up. “I promise.”

  “My dreams.” I gripped the seat. “I write them all down in case I want to write about them later, and this one just came at the right time. We were going over what our assignments were and mine was boring, so I figured I’d . . . spice it up, I guess. I had no idea it would go this well.”

  “Well, even though I still stand by what I said, it is a pretty cool idea. Maybe I’ll have to change my mind for prom.” He parked. “Thanks again for your help.”

  I smiled and grabbed my bag from the truck. “No problem. See you tomorrow.”

  Brandon turned. “Oh, and Alayna? I think it’s cool you write down your dreams.”

  “Thanks.” I jogged off toward the theater with a grin on my face. I had a date to the dance, I stood up for myself, and he didn’t think I was a dork for keeping a dream journal. He may not have been my secret admirer, but he was exactly what I’d hoped for.

  Max pulled a piece of pizza out of the box and stared at the gooey cheese that hung off it. “When we asked for extra cheese, I didn’t realize it would be this delicious.”

  “I told you.” I took a bite out of my own slice and groaned. “This is exactly what we needed after practice today. I’m not sure the play is ever going to come together.”

  “It’s not that bad. At least the singing is on. Mostly.” Heather laughed. “I’m thinking Mrs. Carrington is going to have an aneurism by the time this play is over.”

  While it would have been nice to say we were exaggerating, the sad thing was, it was bad. Characters weren’t meshing, our villain was missing half the time, and no one could hit their cues.

  There were a few highlights, though. Heather seemed to love her part, and Max was amazing as the prince. I wasn’t sure how I was doing, but my love for the dramatic helped with the acting. Too bad it didn’t help me memorize my lines.

  “I thought your dance with Cinderella went pretty well today, though.” I grabbed a breadstick.

  “Only because Anna won’t let me do anything else except dance. My toes are bruised because of how many times she’s stepped on them.” Max pointed an accusing finger at Heather. “Stop laughing.”

  Heather’s giggle morphed into snorting laughter as she flopped back on my bed. “I’m sorry . . . The imagery . . . you jumping on one foot . . . ooph.”

  That last part was from getting hit by a pillow. Mom had been brave to let me take pizza up to my room, and this was why.

  “Guys, take your pillow throwing elsewhere. Mom will kill me if she has to degrease my duvet again.” I emphasized my anger by throwing a pillow and hitting Max square in the head, then scooped up the pizza box and moved
it over to my makeup table.

  Stomping came up the stairs, and Mom threw open my door holding a remote control in her hand. “What in the world is going on in here? Haven’t I—oh, you moved it. I was worried I needed to go to the store to buy more stain spray.”

  I held up my hands in surrender. “I warned them, Mom.”

  “As if you weren’t part of it.” She took a slice of pizza from the box. “It’s about time for you guys to head home. Alayna, your dad is going to call in ten minutes.”

  “Got it.” I waited for her to leave and turned to Max and Heather. “I told you to keep it down.”

  Max rubbed his head. “Man, you have a mean throw. Maybe you should be playing baseball instead of doing this play.”

  I shrugged. “Heather didn’t try out for the team, so I’m stuck. Now, should we go over our part in the play or should I kick you out so I can talk to my dad?”

  “We should go.” Heather glanced over at Max. “What’s going on with your dad anyway? You’ve kept quiet about it.”

  “He’s here in the US somewhere. That’s all I know.” I drew in a shuddering breath. “It scares me to death, so I don’t want to think about it.”

  Heather pulled me into a hug. “That’s rough. I’m so sorry.”

  “I’ll get over it. As long as he’s safe.” I let go and turned to help gather books off the bed, but Max grabbed me in a hug next.

  I looked at Heather in surprise over Max’s shoulder. He never hugged me. And I had to admit, it was nice. I relaxed and leaned into him, leaning my head against his chest. I didn’t even realize I was crying until I pulled away and saw a wet spot on his shirt.

  “Sorry.” I tried to wipe it off, but of course, it didn’t work.

  Max took me by the shoulder and lifted my chin. “We’re here for you. I hope you know that. Please don’t keep this in. You know I understand what it’s like.”

  I nodded. His dad was in the military and had been deployed several times over the years. It was one reason he spent so much time at our house. “I know.”

  He caressed my cheek, then jerked his hand back and grabbed his backpack. “See you tomorrow. Hopefully not comatose on the couch.”

  “I’ll pick you up at the regular time. I just have a few things to check and then I’m going to bed.” I yawned for emphasis.

  “Sounds good.” He left the room and I stared after him.

  Those last couple of minutes with him there were strange. He’d never done that before. I touched my cheek where he’d caressed it and didn’t move until Mom called from downstairs.

  Dad’s face greeted me on a computer screen when I got to the living room. He brightened and waved. “There you are, cupcake. I was hoping I hadn’t missed you. Mom told me you slept on the couch today.”

  I groaned. “Does the entire world know about that?”

  “Only the important people..” Dad laughed. “How’s school going besides that?”

  “Good. I got a date to the dance.” I grinned and Mom squealed. I hadn’t had a chance to tell her since Max and Heather came home with me after practice. “And the paper is going really well.”

  Mom raised her hand. “Hold up. First we need to hear about your date. Who is it?”

  I could feel my face redden. “This guy at school named Brandon. We’ve been hanging out recently so I can help him with math, and he asked me today while we were eating.”

  “That’s wonderful, sweetie.” Mom pulled me in for a hug.

  “Is he a good guy?” Dad asked.

  Even from wherever he was, Dad was always super protective of me. Which made even more sense now that I knew he did top secret missions.

  “He’s nice. And he loves to read, so that’s a bonus. Oh, and he plays basketball.”

  “Ah, a guy after my own heart. Just let him know I’m keeping tabs on both of you.” Dad’s jaw clenched. He wanted to say more, but wouldn’t. He was protective, but like he’d said before, he wanted to play it cool.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll tell him. So . . . do you have any news? When do you get to come home?’

  “We don’t know yet, but we’re closing in on our target. Could be tomorrow, could be next month. Speaking of which, I need to check in. I just wanted to let you two know how much I love and miss you both.” He blew a kiss.

  “Love you, Daddy.” I blew a kiss back and got up to leave. I wanted to keep talking in hopes that I could get something more out of him about what he was doing, but when it was time to check in, he had to hang up whether we were done or not. Mom needed her chance to say goodbye as well.

  The pizza sat open when I went upstairs, so I closed it and dropped to my bed. I could have taken it downstairs, but Mom would want to talk as soon as Dad was off the phone. That meant bingeing on pizza as well.

  I glanced over at my dream notebook that sat on my nightstand. It was filled with more nightmares than normal, and I wondered if I could turn some of them into a book that would help me get out how I felt. Maybe if it was in story form, I could feel better. Then those dreams of something happening to my dad could be about someone else.

  Instead of waiting for Mom to come and leave, I grabbed my computer and started typing. The farther I got, the easier it was to type. By the time she knocked on my door, I had three pages written in a new story. One where love, pirates, and danger were welcome. It wasn’t my normal romances I liked to write, but at least it was something.

  Besides, it seemed that maybe I had my own romance going on. I shut my laptop and turned toward the door.

  “Hey, Mom. Did he say anything else?” I scooted over on the bed so she’d have space to lie down.

  “Only that he misses us like crazy. And that he was going to be moving to another place and had to ditch that number and everything to do with it.” She grabbed some pizza and flopped onto the bed next to me. “Where’d you get this? It’s amazing.”

  I shrugged. “Some new place Heather knew about. I’m sure it’s on the box somewhere.”

  “How’d the play go?” Mom looked over at me. “I heard lots of groans coming from up here. You know, in between the pillow fights and yelling.”

  “It’s not as bad as they make it sound, but it’s not great. At least we’re improving.” I made a face. “Did you know the prince and the baker’s wife have to kiss in this play?”

  She nodded. “I’d hoped they’d cut that part out of the play.”

  I shook my head. “There was debate, but the students finally won. Hopefully the school doesn’t get in trouble for it. Mom. That means I have to kiss Max. Or at least pretend to. I’m dying.”

  “At least it’s Max. You two have known each other forever. That’s not so bad, is it?” Mom pushed my hair out of my face.

  “It’s worse. You have no idea how much we’ve shared over the years,. Kissing is not one of those things, and I’d rather keep it that way.” I shuddered.

  Mom smiled. “Then, why are you blushing?”

  “Wait—what? I’m not blushing.” But inside I was thinking of the hug and the caress and the way I felt so . . . safe in his arms. Like everything would be okay. “Besides, he has a girlfriend.”

  “Yes.” Mom made a face. “That awful girl who insults my food whenever she comes with him to eat here.”

  I snickered. “Yes, her. Just don’t say that in front of Max. I mean, she can be nice. When she wants to be. And she makes Max happy, which is what counts.”

  “If you say so.” Mom leaned against the headboard. “So, tell me about Brandon. How’d he ask you? What do you want to wear? How should we do your hair? And does Heather have a date?”

  Talk about the third-degree. Mom should have been the one questioning people, not Dad. “Heather has a date. She just doesn’t know it yet. The edition goes out tomorrow. She’s going to flip out. I haven’t decided on hair, but probably curly, and can we go shopping this weekend? I want to make sure Heather can go with us. And as for asking, Brandon took my hand and said some nice stuff before asking me. It
was a little confusing, but I’m excited.”

  “Hold up. You know Heather has a date before she does? That’s kinda unfair.” Mom laughed. “I guess that’s one perk of being the one in charge of this project.”

  “Yep.” I opened my laptop and went to the email so I could check for new messages. There were a few that I would need to go through. “See all these? I get about this many each time I check.”

  Mom took the laptop from me and scrolled down. “I didn’t realize there were this many kids in your school.”

  “Some are junk ones. I ignore those. But remember these are both the questions and the answers.” I opened one of the new ones and read through it. “Another answer. Andre’s going to be pretty thrilled.”

  “Maybe you should give Heather a heads-up.”

  I shook my head. “No way. I want to see her reaction.”

  I inserted the answer onto the right page and went to the next few emails doing the same thing. Mom watched while she ate more pizza and made comments on some of the poems. She loved writing as much as I did—the reason I got so into it—so it was as fun for her as it was for me.

  Once the last one was in, she helped me proofread so I could send it off. We’d need to have it printed before tomorrow. Mom gasped when she saw Heather’s.

  “It’s adorable.”

  “Right? He’s in the play, so he must have gotten up the nerve to finally ask her.” I submitted the paper to Mr. Reynolds and went to close my laptop when I saw that there was another email.

  Mom pointed at it. “What happens when you get one after you submit?”

  I hesitated. Normally I would have opened it and sent it since there was another space I could have filled, but this one was from the secret admirer person, and I didn’t want to read it with my mom sitting right there. It was between me and whoever it was. At least it seemed that way.

  “I’ll just wait for tomorrow. I’m exhausted.” I closed it, guilt tugging at me. I pushed it away, promising myself that I’d tell Mom about it later when we found out who it was. If we did.