St Mary's Academy Series Box Set 1

by Seven Steps

  If he was embarrassed, then I was absolutely mortified.

  “No. I, uh… it’s just a nervous habit. I swear. I’ve never even talked to a boy who wasn’t family, let alone—”

  My hand went to my forehead and I covered my eyes.

  My stupid habit made him think I was pregnant? This was so embarrassing!

  I started eyeing a path away from him when he held up his hands.

  “Whoa there, Little Bit. No need to run off. It’s nothing against you, really. It’s just… that’s why I’m here... alone… without Josie… I mean, that’s why she’s my ex.”

  My hand dropped from my face and I looked up at Joe again. He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding my eye.

  “You got her pregnant?” I asked.

  His brows shot up.

  “Me? No. I mean, she did get pregnant, but it wasn’t by me. We were never together… like that. I mean… in that way.”

  He let out a breath.

  So did I.

  The mood turned awkward, and I couldn’t help feeling like it was all my fault. I wanted to go back to the way things were before, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t have enough experience with boys to know how to turn the conversation back in the right direction.

  Stupid habits. Stupid Josie.

  “I have a nervous habit too,” he said. “Worse than yours.”

  The tension between us lifted a little. A small smile pushed at his lips, and I found it adorable that he’d found the words to make everything better when I couldn’t.

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “I don’t know if I can tell you. You’ll laugh at me.” He looked away again, suddenly bashful. I wanted to touch my hand to his cheek and turn his eyes back to me, but I couldn’t do that. I squeezed my hands into fists instead.

  “I swear I won’t.”

  “Yeah, you will.”

  “Come on, Joe. Please!”

  His gaze turned teasing.

  Josiah Walker was an open book, with words written in his eyes, lips, and the coloring of his ears. How many other girls had read him? How many girls had torn out his pages and trampled on them as Josie did?

  He stepped forward, placing his lips next to my ear. His warmth seemed to make the room spin, and I clenched my fist so tight my nails broke through the skin of my palms.

  “When I’m nervous, I sing the theme song to ‘Thunder Cats’.”

  His lips stayed next to my ear for a moment longer before he took a tiny step back.

  My heart beat so hard my chest hurt. I wished he whispered more secrets. He smelled heavenly, and his body made me feel safe. Protected.

  Lungs tight, I struggled to think.

  To my surprise, his face held the same tension that ran through me. His ears were beet red, and his full mouth was turned down into a frown. The butterflies in my stomach intensified as his gaze dropped to my lips.

  “I don’t think that’s weird,” I whispered.

  Talking was a chore. My body was on fire, and Joe held the torch.

  What was he doing to me? Why did I feel this way?

  “Hey, cuz!” Quincey’s voice broke the spell that Joe had placed upon me.

  A second later, my cousin was dragging me toward the door.

  “I told you to dance with her. Not kiss her!” he shouted over his shoulder.

  Shock and embarrassment rushed through me as I was pulled into the warm night air.

  Joe followed a few steps behind, stalking us like a crazed lion.

  “Where are you taking her?” he demanded.

  “Home.”

  “Dude, she doesn’t want to go home.”

  “Yes. She does. Now beat it, Joe. I’ve got to talk to my date.”

  Joe stared at me, waiting for me to respond. But I was too embarrassed to speak. I could only stumble along as Quincey pushed open the double doors and pulled me to the curb.

  I watched Joe blow out a frustrated breath next to the now open doors, his eyes still on me.

  “We’ve got to go,” Quincey hissed, stopping at the curb.

  “What? Why?”

  “Mom texted me. She’s picking me up early. You’ve got to head home now.”

  Though Quincey lived only two blocks away, it suddenly seemed like it was too far. It’d been light out when we left. Now it was dark. Definitely too dark for me to walk two blocks by myself. Mom didn’t even let me walk to school by myself back home.

  Quincey pushed me toward a growth of foliage.

  “Cut through the bushes so she doesn’t see you.”

  “By myself?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not walking home in the dark alone.”

  “Well, you can’t—”

  A car honked, and we both looked up to see Aunt Beatrice, Quincey’s mother, staring at us. By her surprised look, I knew she’d spotted me.

  And if she spotted me, then my mother was going to know about my little adventure.

  My mouth ran dry.

  “Crap! She saw me.”

  Aunt Beatrice's pale face quickly colored.

  “You two get in this car right now!”

  And, just like that, my night was over. It wasn’t long enough. I needed more time. But there wasn’t more time. This was it.

  Shaking, I took heavy steps toward the old Buick.

  My nightmare was about to begin. I knew that. Aunt Beatrice would surely tell Mama, which meant I would be under even tighter lock and key than I already was.

  I swore under my breath.

  The night had started out so wonderfully. I’d been to my first party, and I’d danced with a boy who made me shiver from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet.

  The boy.

  I turned to see Joe watching me from the gym doors. He was half in the shadows, but I could still see the sadness in his eyes.

  That awful sadness.

  Would I ever see him again?

  I took a deep breath.

  It felt like everything in my life had led me to this moment. Clarity made me bold. It was now or never.

  Throwing caution to the wind, I ran back, jumped into his arms, and fused our mouths together.

  His lips were soft, and he tasted like fruit punch. Fireworks went off in my belly. I wanted us to stay like this forever.

  But our time was up.

  I pulled away, and Joe gently placed my feet back on the ground. I didn’t even know that he’d lifted me. My hand went to my belly, the nerves returning.

  “When can I see you again?” he asked.

  Never.

  The thought made me sadder than I’d ever been in my entire life.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “Then give me your number. I can text you.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What about your email address?”

  I shook my head.

  “How can I see you again?” he asked desperately. “I want to see you again.”

  “You can’t.”

  My heart shattered into a million pieces. I felt each sliver hit the ground.

  I kept my watery gaze on Joe as I walked backward to the car. I wanted to look at him as long as possible. I wanted to remember the boy who’d made my heart tremble.

  His lips formed silent words and I knew at that moment exactly what he was saying.

  I mouthed the words back to him.

  “Thunder cats are on the move. Thunder cats are loose.”

  I slid into my aunt’s car, avoiding her disapproving gaze. The car slowly pulled away from the curb, and it felt like every inch away from Joe was an inch away from happiness.

  I rolled down the window and leaned out.

  The last thing I saw was his frowning face as my aunt turned the corner.

  1

  One Year Later…

  If he said one more thing about himself, I was going to scream.

  Grant Richardson was everything a boy on a Saturday night was supposed to be. Ta
ll, blond, and really, really hot. Sitting here in his family owned, super exclusive, and super expensive restaurant, I should’ve felt like a princess being wined and dined by her prince.

  Instead, every time he started telling one of his “look how much money I have” stories, it felt like rusty nails dragging across a chalkboard.

  “So,” he said. “I told her, you’re my maid. If I need you to come in on a Sunday night and clean up after my party, you’re going to come and clean up after my party. End of discussion.”

  I smiled, nodded, and had another bite of steak. I’d been doing that a lot tonight. Smiling and nodding. It let Grant know that I was interested in the conversation without me saying anything, which, apparently, was what Grant wanted since whenever I tried to speak, he talked over me until I shut back up. When I realized his plan was to talk for both of us all night, I stopped trying to talk at all. I just smiled, nodded, and shoved another piece of delicious, juicy steak in my mouth, all while counting down the seconds until this date was over.

  “…Of course, she shed a few tears, because, duh, women from her country are prone to dramatics. I should know. We’ve had like a hundred maids over the years. Literally, it’s like every three months, here comes another one. Anyway, now she’s begging me to give her the time off. Something about it’s her son’s last birthday at home before college and she’d been planning this for over a year and blah blah blah. Like, who cares? I don’t understand half of what you’re saying anyway. Just clean up like we’re paying you to do and save your tears for the Telemundo. Am I right?”

  He chuckled and took a sip of his soda, while I smiled and powered through another piece of steak.

  I thought this date would be different. Grant seemed mature and well put together. I’d hoped that if we got along well, I could make this single date into something more. Like an actual relationship.

  Instead, I got this nightmare. A kind of sexist, kind of racist, rich kid who was more concerned with his yachts and flashing his money than with anything I had to say.

  I was going to kill Purity.

  She was one of my best friends and had set up this date. She thought it would be a good change after Chad Dawkins, a guy I refused to make out with at a party because he was a grade A jerk, called me a slut in front of our entire gym class.

  Newsflash, genius. A girl who refused to make out with a guy is the opposite of what a slut is!

  For the rest of the day, I was mortified. Humiliated! I couldn’t believe he’d called me that. Me. The girl who went to her first party last summer. The girl who went on her first date only seven short months ago. The girl who was still heartbroken over a boy she’d only known for an hour last year.

  Needless to say, some things had changed in my life.

  My mom won the lottery last summer and she moved us to New York City soon after that. Since then, Mom’s been spending a lot of time with her new church group, which gave me plenty of opportunities to sneak out and actually experience teenage normalcy. Part of that experience involved going to parties and finding real friends. I’d even kissed a few guys.

  But the problem with teenage normalcy is that, even though it’s fun, it can come around and bite you on the butt. Some of those guys I kissed, particularly the ones on the football team, had spread completely false rumors about me, earning me a mostly undeserved ‘party girl’ reputation. If you asked them, I was one step away from being the next star of that MTV show Sixteen and Pregnant.

  Jerks.

  Purity was horrified by the things those guys said about me. So horrified, in fact, that she’d insisted on setting me up with, what she called, “a nice boy.”

  But now, after two headache inducing hours on a date with Mr. Nice Boy, I was left with only one question.

  Would he ever shut up?

  “…That’s when my friends and I decided to sail around the world on a boat over the summer. So, we kissed our parents goodbye and set out. Then, five days in, the entire crew gets sick and, I must say, there’s nothing more inconvenient than spending three days in a hotel when all you really want to do is get in your yacht and sail to the Philippines.”

  I took another bite of my filet mignon. The food here was amazing, even if the conversation wasn’t. The restaurant’s décor was even better. White, sheer drapes hung over the windows. Little lights strung above our heads like stars while wood columns gave the place a fresh, urban feel. The plates had gold details around the rim, and the silverware was so clean I could see my reflection in it. Even the soda, ginger ale for me, and Dr. Pepper for Grant, was strong and fresh.

  It was the kind of restaurant that romantic comedies are filmed in.

  If Grant and I were in a movie, this would be the scene where the girl considers shoving a fork in her ear because the guy insists on going on and on about his money, his parties, and his dumb adventures.

  Wait…

  “…So, we finally made it to the Philippines and, wouldn’t you know it, the crew got sick again. Turns out there was some sort of weird mold growing in their sleeping quarters. After they scrubbed it out, I insisted Father dock their pay for the inconvenience. The crew wasn’t too happy, but I think it taught them a valuable lesson in cleanliness.”

  Smile. Nod. Don’t get stabby. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

  “…Have you ever been on a yacht?”

  My eyes widened. This was it. Grant was finally asking me a question. After two grueling hours, I would finally be able to say something. Anything. With excited bubbles floating through my stomach I opened my mouth to speak.

  “… And she said she hadn’t,” Grant continued. “So, we invited her onboard and kept her around for a day or so. Nice girl. Charming. Not much English, and not very intelligent. We never left the harbor, not once, but I’m pretty sure she was too stupid to realize that…”

  Disappointment sank my spirits. That wasn’t a question for me. It was a part of his long-winded story. There was never a question for me. It was all about him and his yacht and his travels and his idiot friends.

  I thought Grant would show me a good time. I thought we’d eat steak at his fancy restaurant and we’d talk about music and movies and our future. I’d sing for him. He’d clap and tell me I had an amazing future in show business. Then he’d drive me home and kiss me good night in the lobby of my building. He’d say he had a nice time and ask to see me again.

  But none of that could happen now because he couldn’t stop yapping long enough to actually ask me a question!

  I was done. I’d been on a date with Grant for two hours and I was exhausted. Grant was exhausting.

  I grabbed my purse and stood up.

  “Wow, that’s great, Grant. I mean, it’s all really, really great, but I’m pretty tired. Do you think you can drive me home now?”

  Grant frowned, and his cheeks reddened as he looked around the room. “No dessert? This place has homemade ice cream that—”

  I cut him off when he started to talk about… whatever he was about to talk about.

  “You know, tomorrow is the Spring Formal and I really need to get some rest. We’re performing—”

  “That’s right. Your little... band.”

  Little band? What did he mean by that? He said it like I’d just brought him a macaroni necklace I made in kindergarten.

  My eyes narrowed.

  “We’re called Blue Persia.”

  He looked down and placed his silverware in the middle of his plate. I could see from the way his eyes darted around that my “little band” was of zero interest to him. But, oddly enough, that made me want to talk about it even more.

  I sat back down in my seat but held on to my purse.

  “We just won Battle of the Bands. It was amazing. We performed ‘Believer’ by Imagine Dragons but made it into this cool, three-part harmony. My friend Jasmine suggested it. The crowd went absolutely nuts!”

  My heart was beating so fast. Partly because just talking about the Battle of the Bands made me giddy
with excitement. And partly because Grant looked so uninterested in what I was saying that I didn’t know whether to be more disappointed or offended. I tried to push the scales to offended, but they kept swinging over to crushing disappointment.

  Grant pulled out his cell phone, glanced at the time, then replaced it and gazed about the room, searching for something. The dessert trays? The waiter? Someone else to sit here and listen to more of his boring stories, perhaps?

  My emotions were swirling now. Mutating into some potent mix of confusion, hurt, and rage.

  This was the worst date ever.

  Worse than when Jeremy Polansky pretended to leave his wallet at home so I’d have to pay for dinner.

  Worse than when Robert Williams left me at a football game with no way to get home.

  Even worse than when Harry Levenson kissed me, and his breath tasted like old cigarettes.

  This was worse than all of those because I thought Grant was different. I had hope for Grant. Expectations. He wasn’t a dumb jock or stoner who just wanted to grab some McDonald’s and make out. He seemed upstanding. He got good grades, was a sharp dresser, and was well-spoken. He seemed kind and put together. I thought he was the kind of guy to wine and dine a girl.

  Instead, he’d proven himself to be selfish, spoiled, narcissistic, and a complete disappointment.

  I stood, turned, and marched out of the restaurant, not bothering to look behind me.

  Tears burned up my throat. I felt like the runner-up in the Ms. America pageant. I had to keep a smile on my face, but inside I was falling apart.

  “Sophia, wait up. Where are you going?”

  I pushed open the front doors, not bothering to slow down. My red-soled Louboutins clicked against the sidewalk as I made my quick escape. It was the end of March and the temperature had dropped significantly in the last two hours. This sleeveless, little black dress was definitely a bad idea, no matter how hot I looked in it. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms against the chill, then I pulled out my phone and opened up the app to request a cab.

  Quincey had called me an hour ago. After the date I just had, I was not in the mood for a friendly chat. I dismissed the message, revealing my phone’s home screen. The background was a picture of a girl with brown skin and long, curly hair decorated with flowers. One of the flowers was greenish brown with flecks of gold. I liked it because it was the exact color of Josiah Walker’s eyes. I sighed, thinking of those hazel eyes, and that strong chin and kind face. I’d known Joe for less than an hour and I knew for a fact he would never act like Grant acted tonight. He would listen. He would care.