St Mary's Academy Series Box Set 1

by Seven Steps

  I fell into Grams’ arms. I expected her hold to be weak, but it was surprisingly strong for such a frail woman. She patted me on the back twice and let me go. “When he comes back, I expect to see you too.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And next time, bring your grams some ribs.”

  I chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”

  We said our final goodbyes and walked out of the building, toward the restaurant that was down the street. The car would pick us up in an hour and a half to take us back to the plane, but it seemed too soon to go home after the excitement of the morning.

  Joe’s arms snaked around my shoulders and he pulled me close.

  “Thanks for this,” he said. “I’ll never forget it.”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank Eric. He put this whole thing together.”

  “No.” He stopped and turned to me. His finger slid across my cheek and down my chin, and he forced me to look up at him. I nearly drowned in his hazel eyes. “Thank you, Sophia. I’ve never had anyone do for me what you did for me today. It means everything.”

  His finger didn’t move, and I didn’t want it to.

  My gut clenched as images floated through my mind.

  Hazel eyes.

  Strong hands.

  Soft lips.

  My body seemed to hum under his touch, and I found myself stepping closer to him. I wanted to be closer. I needed to be closer. To feel his skin and his warm touch.

  My gaze dropped to his lips and lingered there.

  Then, his touch was gone, and he took three steps back, leaving me cold and confused.

  He took off his camo hat and raked his hands through his dark hair. His hazel eyes left mine, gluing themselves to the floor.

  “You’re a good friend,” he said. “A really good friend.”

  His voice sounded shaky. Unsure.

  But why?

  Didn’t he feel the heat that passed between us? What did it mean if he did? Was he backing further into the friend zone because that’s how he viewed me now? Or was it something else?

  I smoothed down my jeans and T-shirt, though they didn’t need smoothing, and started walking toward the restaurant.

  The three-foot gap between us seemed as wide as The Great Wall of China.

  My heart fell. This was all my fault. I’d allowed my feelings to get out of control. That sucked. I didn’t want anything between Joe and me to be awkward. I wanted him to go back to being the old Joe, playful, teasing, and fun.

  Joe held the door open for me, and we walked into Ralph’s BBQ Steakhouse, a large building that looked more like a log cabin than a restaurant.

  A heavy woman wearing too much makeup and whose blonde hair was pinned to the top of her head greeted us with a big smile.

  “How are ya’ll doing?” she asked.

  “Great,” I said with a nod.

  “We have reservations under Johnson,” Joe said.

  The woman smiled and checked her list.

  “Yes. Right on time.” She grabbed two menus from beneath the stand. “Your table is ready. Follow me.”

  I followed close behind her, Joe on my heels. She sat us at a table near the kitchen. The savory smells of barbecue sauce, meat, and everything good in the world wafted into my nostrils.

  I was suddenly starving.

  “Jim will be your server today. He’ll be right with you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Joe said.

  I watched the server waddle back to her post, all the time wishing she’d come back.

  Even though it was loud in the restaurant, the silence between Joe and me was deafening. I took a deep swallow of my water.

  What must he think about me? He’d basically seen me mentally devour his lips. What could he be thinking?

  Jim the waiter arrived at our table a few minutes later and we put in our drink orders and skimmed over our menus. When Jim returned with our drinks, I spent the next few minutes ordering, sipping my soda, and trying, and failing, to avoid Joe’s eye.

  “So,” Joe finally said. “What do you think Quincey’s doing right now?”

  I glanced at him, then returned my attention to the triangle peg board game in front of me.

  “He’s probably just waking up,” I said. “Maybe working his way through that Spiderman game he likes.”

  “Incorrect. At exactly twelve o’clock every day he calls his mom and stays on the phone for exactly one hour.”

  I dunked my straw in my ginger ale.

  “Technically, she’s my aunt Beatrice,” I said.

  “Maybe. But you only spent a few days a year with her. I was over at her house every day, every year, since the first grade. I’ve put in my time.”

  I smiled, remembering my aunt Beatrice. She only lived a few miles from here, and I was sure she’d be happy to see me. But I couldn’t risk having her, or anyone else, know we’d flown all the way down here to see Grams. If my mom knew, she’d kill me. Then she’d kill Joe, followed by Eric, the pilot, our driver, and anyone else who was involved in our plan.

  “How’d you two meet?” I asked.

  Joe grinned. “He was playing basketball at lunch one day and he went for a layup and missed. The ball wacked me in the head and knocked me out cold. I went to the hospital and he brought me a card and balloons. After that, we were inseparable. I was in the first grade and he was in the second grade.”

  “So, he tried to kill you and you’ve been best friends ever since?”

  “Well, it was more like involuntary manslaughter. He wasn’t trying to kill me. He just sucks at basketball.”

  I chuckled. Quincey was an excellent football player, but basketball… not so much.

  Our food came, and I dived into my ribs, macaroni and cheese, collard greens, and grits with shrimp. Joe ordered triple the amount of ribs I had and cornbread. The fact he’d managed to finish before me, and made less of a mess, was nothing short of miraculous.

  “God, I miss this place,” he said, stealing a rib from my plate.

  “How are you still eating?” I asked, leaning back in my seat. My stomach was so full it felt like it would explode at any minute. “I can barely move.”

  “I’m a growing boy. I need inordinate amounts of food to survive.”

  He finished off his stolen rib rather quickly, then plucked another one from me.

  “How did your mom even keep food in the house?”

  “It was a big fridge,” Joe said. “Speaking of food, I believe you should cook me dinner tonight.”

  I groaned. “How can you even think about food? I’m about to burst.”

  “Number one, I’m always thinking about food. And number two, I seem to recall that someone had quite a lot to say to my grams about their superior cooking skills. Seems to me I’m going to need to test you out.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying you can’t say you’re the best without feeding the best.”

  “So, you want me to cook your dinner?”

  “Not just me. Quincey will be there.”

  I put my head back. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve actually cooked a full dinner?”

  He shrugged.

  “It’s been months,” I said.

  “Well, it’s a great time to shake off that rust.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “So, tonight then?”

  “No. Definitely not. I don’t think I’ll ever eat anything again.”

  “Well, somebody has to cook me and Quincey dinner.”

  “Don’t you ever go home?”

  “And leave your side? Never. You’re stuck with me, Jelly Roll. You’ll have to find a way to live with that now.”

  I smiled at him. “You have ribs in your teeth.”

  “And you have way more in yours.”

  We both burst out laughing.

  It felt good to laugh with Joe again. I hated there being tension between us.

  “Well, I guess we have to wash up and get out of here.” I grabbed
a toothpick and headed for the bathroom.

  “What about the check?” he asked.

  “Eric already took care of it.”

  “Wow. Remind me to buy that guy a beer one day.”

  “Just a beer? Eric needs an entire brewery.”

  Joe followed me to the hallway that housed the restrooms.

  “Meet you out here in five?” he asked.

  “Five it is.”

  As I walked into the bathroom I couldn’t help thinking how happy I felt just then. Even after our little detour, Joe and I had found our footing again.

  Funny how the best things always seemed to happen in Trouble, Texas.

  21

  Joe and I were just friends.

  I repeated my mantra over and over as I stood in the wings of the stage.

  In the play, Hermia and Lysander had made it out of the woods and were now watching some of the townspeople perform a short play.

  Joe played the part well, leaning toward me in our chairs and running his fingers along my shoulders and upper arms. It was pure torture.

  I can’t like Joe.

  We’re friends. He said it himself. We’re only friends. And, even if we weren’t only friends, I’ve sworn off all guys. I can’t go back on my word.

  Still, I couldn’t help how my body was exploding in tingles and my lungs were so tight I could barely focus on the play.

  I cannot like Joe.

  The boy playing Pyramus finally stabbed himself. Then Thisbe died, and the scene was over.

  That’s when Mrs. Simpson stood up.

  “Can I just have everyone’s attention for a moment, please?”

  She leaned against the stage, looking up at us.

  “I just want to say that I am seeing vast improvements, especially with Lysander and Hermia. All of you are doing an amazing job. We have about eight weeks to go, so keep up the good work.”

  She banged on the stage twice with the flat of her hand, ending her speech. We all clapped and turned to find our stuff.

  “Especially Hermia.”

  Charlotte’s voice sang from behind me.

  I stopped short and turned to her.

  “I’m sorry, did you have something to say to me, Charlotte?”

  I pronounced it Charlotte, instead of Char-Latte on purpose. The more she scowled, the more I smiled.

  “Everything I had to say has already been said, Sophia. I still don’t think you belong here, and your memorizing a few lines doesn’t make any difference to that fact. You still suck at acting.”

  “And you still suck at life.”

  Charlotte glared at me, and I glared right back. Whatever game Charlotte thought she was playing, I wasn’t falling for it. I would not fight her, because that would get me suspended and kicked out of school. And that meant no extra credit, which meant no passing the eleventh grade.

  Plus, I was coming to like being in the play, especially now that I had memorized my lines. I didn’t want to be forced out by some spoiled brat.

  And so, I put my hands in my jean’s pockets, refusing to even think about pulling Charlotte’s hair.

  Well, maybe I would think about it.

  “Ladies, ladies,” Joe said. “Playing nice over here?”

  His eyes were on me.

  But why?

  Charlotte was the one who’d started this.

  “Why are you looking at me?” I asked, cocking up one eyebrow.

  “Because you’re standing here.”

  “No, you’re looking at me like I started the argument. I didn’t. Charlotte did.”

  “I didn’t say that. I just asked a question.”

  “Yes. To me.”

  Charlotte smirked. “I guess he knows who the troublemaker is around here.”

  Then she put her hands on Joe’s biceps.

  I waited for him to shove her off, but he didn’t. He just stood there and let her touch him.

  My fingers curled into fists, and I whipped around, heading for the door before I did something I was going to regret. I was not going to stand here and watch Charlotte flirt with Joe. Not because I liked him or anything, but because she was just trying to get under my skin. And I was not going to allow her to gain another inch.

  I snatched my coat and book bag from the chair and stormed out of the auditorium. I’d known girls like Charlotte my entire life. They wanted what they couldn’t have. Charlotte wanted the role of Hermia because I had it, and now she wanted Joe because… because… I didn’t know why she wanted him. It wasn’t like he was mine. Joe and I were friends and that’s all. If she thought she was stealing him from me or making me jealous, then she was insane.

  But why did he stand there and allow her to touch him? Why didn’t he push her away?

  I growled.

  Stupid Charlotte and her stupid blue eyes and her stupid figure and...

  “Hey, Jelly Roll. Wait up.”

  I whipped around to face him, my eyes like storms.

  “Don’t call me Jelly Roll. My name is Sophia.”

  Joe’s eyes went wide. “Um… okay.”

  “What do you want, anyway? Don’t you have someplace to go with Char-latte?”

  He put his hands up in defense. “No. She wanted to do something tonight and I told her I had other plans.”

  “Something, huh? I’ll bet that something is code for a make out session.” Just the thought of Joe making out with Charlotte made me want to puke my brains out.

  “Uh, no.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Enjoy your other plans.”

  I whipped around again, heading for my car.

  “I would,” he said. “If she’d stop walking so fast.”

  My teeth ground together.

  “I’m busy.”

  “Really? Because I have these tickets for paintball. I know how you like shooting stuff.”

  Paintball?

  I slowed down my pace, and he fell in step slightly behind me.

  “I like shooting things in video games,” I said, my voice still tight with anger. “Not in real life.”

  “This is like a video game. A really high def video game.”

  “I’m not playing paintball with you.”

  “Sure, you are. We’re going to play paintball, go home, finish your homework, study for that government quiz, and figure out what you’re cooking for me.”

  “That’s funny because I’m not doing any of that.”

  “Hm.” He stopped walking, and I picked up my pace. “Shame. This paintball field has a soundtrack.”

  My feet froze in place.

  “They put these headphones on you and a mic and you walk through this field to these classic rock songs. It’s actually pretty cool.”

  I turned and watched him scratch his chin with the two tickets.

  “But you’re right. You probably have a million things to do and who likes classic rock, anyway, right? I mean… jeez.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I guess I’ll just ask Quincey to go.”

  He’d caught me, and he knew it. I saw it from the smile he fought to keep from his lips.

  Crap. He knew I loved music, and games.

  I held on to my quickly fleeing anger and marched back to him.

  “I’m not going because I want to.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I’m going because I like classic rock and because you deserve to get pelted with paint.”

  “Understood.”

  I sighed and held out my hands. “Tickets.”

  He handed them to me. “Tickets.”

  I examined the small writing on the paper. It was called Tagz and they specialized in boutique sports like laser tag, paintball, kick ball, that sort of thing.

  I tapped the tickets against my palm and raised an eyebrow.

  “Prepare for battle, Joe. And don’t think I’m going to take it easy on you.”

  He smiled. “I’m counting on it.”

  22

  Well, my car was ruined. Tagz had given us a full uniform to protect our cl
othes from paint and I still managed to get it on my shirt, in my hair, and all over my face.

  Every time I grabbed a paint wad, Joe managed to wrap his arms around me and smush paint into every clean part of my uniform that he could. It ran down my neck and caked between my fingers. I managed to get him a few times, but for the most part, it was just me covered in paint, getting put into Joe’s famous bear hugs, and laughing until I almost peed myself.

  Now, I was exhausted, and it was barely even eight o’clock.

  “So, have I shattered your dreams of becoming a famous paintball player?”

  I snorted. “No. I want to do something I don’t suck at, thank you very much.”

  “You didn’t suck that much,” he said. “Well, you did but…”

  “Yeah, whatever. I can admit my shortcomings.”

  “So.”

  “So, what?”

  “So, once you leave all this behind, where are you going? What is the great Sophia Johnson going to be when she grows up?”

  I shrugged. “Honestly? I have no idea.”

  “Come on. You must want to do something.”

  I shook my head. “I used to want to be a singer. I wanted to be like Beyoncé. A household name, you know. But you’ve seen me. I can barely get on stage without sweating.”

  “Everyone sweats when they get on stage.”

  “Yeah, but I’m sweating because I’m terrified.”

  “Terrified? I didn’t think the great Jelly Roll was afraid of anything. Much less a group of bratty teens.”

  “Well, now you know.”

  “For what it’s worth, I think you can still do it. Sing, I mean.”

  “Well, my panic attacks tell a different story.”

  “Just do what you always do when you get nervous.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Keep your eyes on me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Uh, newsflash. You won’t always be everywhere I am.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, eventually the play will be over, and Quincey will be back in college. Then we’ll part ways and probably never see each other again.”

  “But we’ll be in the same school.”

  “Yeah, but you’ll be a jock. And the jocks and I generally don’t get along.”