St Mary's Academy Series Box Set 1

by Seven Steps

  That girl had power, and I needed power right now.

  Surprisingly, Joe knew the words to every song I played, and he sang them all loudly and off-key.

  I’d never pegged him for a Beyoncé fan.

  The boy was full of surprises.

  We parked at a meter a few blocks away from Duke’s, then pushed through the crowds until we reached the front door.

  A few minutes later, we were seated amongst the odd decorations of baseball stadium benches and skeletons riding giant motorcycles.

  “So, what’s up with that Charlotte girl?” I asked as I sipped my drink. The words just came blurting out. I hadn’t even realized I’d been thinking them. I tried to think of a way to backtrack and failed. Oh well. I guess I have to own it now. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

  He shrugged. “She’s all right. I’m not really into blond girls.”

  “Come on. Every guy is into blond girls.”

  “Not me. Although, your cousin is another story. He’d follow a blond chick from here to California. Me”—he scrunched his nose—“not really my thing.”

  I had to admit that made me feel a little bit better. Charlotte didn’t deserve a guy like Joe, so it felt good for him to say that he wasn’t attracted.

  “Besides, my mom thinks I shouldn’t be with anyone right now. She says I should focus on school and football and keep my mind off girls.”

  “Funny. I’ve been hearing the same thing.”

  He chuckled.

  “Did you have a lot of girls back in Texas?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Not particularly. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a few girlfriends. Then this amazing girl showed up and broke my heart. I haven’t looked at another girl since.”

  Was he talking about me or Janice? He kept plunging his straw into his drink, so I couldn’t read his eyes.

  “Mom doesn’t want me to get hurt again. She’s probably right.”

  The waiter came and took our orders, two burgers and fries, and we fell into light conversations about our past.

  I told him I wished my mom were more approachable so I wouldn’t have to hide everything from her.

  He told me he was afraid of going back to Texas because it would mean he had failed at football here. And he hated the thought of his father knowing he was a failure.

  I told him I was afraid I’d never sing on stage again.

  He told me he was afraid he wouldn’t fit in with the other players after he’d confronted them about talking about me.

  The food came, and we still didn’t stop. We talked and talked until the food was gone and one cheesecake appeared on the table with two spoons.

  We polished that off quicker than I would have liked, then headed back to the car, our mouths still gabbing almost compulsively. Like we had to tell each other everything tonight. It began to feel like prom all over again.

  Suddenly, I tripped over my own feet, stumbling forward. Almost instantaneously, Joe caught me. How did he do that? How was he so fast?

  I started to pull away, but for some reason my arms were wrapped around his shoulders, unwilling to let go. And he was holding me so strongly I wasn’t even touching the ground. I tilted my head back and looked into his eyes. They were more green than brown tonight. Their focus undeniably on me. His gaze dropped to my lips and my body went hot.

  His voice came out in a choked whisper. “Sophia, I…”

  My heart hammered so hard I could barely breathe.

  “Yes?” It was somewhere between a question and a plea. Because if Joe tried to kiss me, I’d let him. I wanted him to kiss me. I’d wanted it since he came back from Texas.

  I squeezed him a little closer, hoping it would encourage him to make a move.

  He licked his bottom lip, and the gesture sent shivers down to my toes.

  He was, by far, the most handsome boy I’d ever seen.

  And here he was, in my arms, so close, and yet so far I couldn’t stand it.

  A long breath left his lips, and he moved closer, kissing me on the cheek, then slowly letting me down to the floor. When I was steady, he kissed the top of my forehead and took off walking as if the devil himself were after him. Leaving me in stunned silence.

  What had just happened?

  Why did he stop?

  “Joe?”

  I was certain my voice came out in a whisper. Still, he turned and looked at me. The pure anger in his eyes made me gasp.

  Our gazes dueled, his a mixture of desire and rage. It matched what I felt in my heart. I wanted Joe, and the fact he kept dangling himself in front of me like a cat toy then pulling back pissed me off.

  Did he think it was a game? That I was something just to play with then release? Or was it something more? Was he testing me? Seeing if I was the girl he’d heard so much about? Was he seeing how far he could go with me? If he could make me beg him?

  That thought made me want to throat punch him.

  Furious and hurt, I marched past him.

  “Find your own way home,” I growled. “And don’t even think about coming by tonight.”

  “I need to talk to Quincey,” he replied, his voice tight.

  “Then call him on the phone!” I screamed, before flying to my car, opening the door, and pulling off. I kept my eyes straight ahead, knowing that if I saw him standing on the curb I’d feel the full thrust of what an idiot I was being.

  The feeling was already starting to creep up on me.

  I stepped on the gas before I lost my nerve, sped by where I knew he was, and turned the corner.

  28

  Joe did not come by that night, and, when I arrived at play rehearsal, I saw the reason why. He was sitting next to Charlotte, chatting her ear off about something or other and she was eating up his every word.

  Was that why he didn’t kiss me last night? Because he’d already had his eye on Charlotte? Had he told me she wasn’t his type just to divert my attention away from the two of them? Was this his plan all along?

  Part of me wanted to run from the auditorium screaming.

  But I wouldn’t.

  I had too much pride for that.

  Plus, he’d already ruined my stage career once.

  I would not allow him to do it a second time.

  The truth was, I liked being in the play and I liked playing Hermia. Plus, the more I was on stage, the more comfortable I became on it. And I wouldn’t quit this play for anyone.

  I dropped my bags in the front row and walked onto the stage to wait for my cue.

  For the rest of the play, I allowed myself to sink into the role of Hermia. By this time in the play, Lysander was already enchanted by Puck and had abandoned me to join Demetrius in chasing after Helena.

  I told myself it was for the best. It allowed me to yell and glare at him all I wanted while still staying in character. And when the time came for me to fight Helena in the mud, I was sure to yank her hair extra hard. It was the best part of play rehearsal.

  Finally, Mrs. Simpson stood up.

  “Excellent job, everyone. This cast grows leaps and bounds every day, and I am so thankful. We are going to have an amazing production. Just keep up the hard work, okay?”

  She winked at me, but I didn’t wink back.

  I was too angry at Joe and Charlotte.

  I knew she liked Joe. But the fact he was now, apparently, attached at the hip with her, hurt. After rehearsal, he didn’t even come up to me to say hi. He just disappeared with her out the door, leaving me behind.

  Tears ate up my throat, but I refused to let them fall.

  If Joe wanted to be with that hack, then fine.

  Let him.

  It was better for both of us anyway.

  His game had saved me from breaking the promise I’d made to myself. And, it brought one point into clear focus. There were no such things as princes. All boys were frogs, no matter how many I kissed. Or didn’t kiss.

  I grabbed my things and headed out of the auditorium.

  I h
ad studying to do anyway.

  29

  I arrived home and went straight to my room. I didn’t feel like talking to Quincey, or my mother for that matter. Not that they noticed. They gave me a quick hi and went back to playing chess.

  I slammed the door behind me and put on my headphones. I would not allow anything else to get to me today. I was beyond all that now. I had to focus on school and my grades.

  No boys allowed.

  I pulled out all my books and began to organize myself.

  Math homework on the left. English next. Then music history and social studies. Government was after that and, finally chemistry.

  Part of my social studies homework was to plot the places where we were born. We were supposed to go back three generations in order to show how people move from one place to another.

  I started to ask my mom, but I wasn’t really in a talking mood. I decided instead to go into the office and look for birth certificates.

  I opened my door and walked across the living room to the office.

  “Chinese food’s coming soon,” Mom said. “Joe’s going to meet them at the door and bring it up.”

  Great. Joe’s coming here. He was the absolute last person I wanted to see today.

  “Okay.”

  “Everything all right?” she asked.

  “Fine.” I didn’t look behind me, because I didn’t want to invite conversation. “Just getting something from the office.”

  “What do you need, baby?”

  I pushed the door open and headed toward the farthest cabinet.

  “I need my birth certificate.” I called back.

  I pulled open the tall, gray cabinet and started flipping through it.

  “Sophia, hold on.”

  I found the folder labeled Sophia’s personal documents.

  Bingo.

  “Sophia?”

  “One second, Mom!”

  I pulled out the folder and laid it out on the table.

  There were only two things in it. My social security card and my birth certificate.

  Mom appeared in the doorway, looking flustered, her eyes wide.

  “Sophia?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Give me that, please?” she held out her hand, still puffing. She must’ve run in here, but why? Mom never ran anywhere.

  “Okay, I just need my—”

  I glanced down at the paper.

  It looked normal enough.

  Child’s name. Date of Birth. Name of Hospital or Institution.

  I noted New Orleans General Hospital.

  That’s what I needed.

  “Sophia, the papers.”

  My eyes dropped down to the empty section of the page.

  Right below my mother’s street address.

  “Mom?” I held out the paper for her to see. “What happened to Dad’s information?”

  Mom rushed forward and snatched the paper from my hand.

  “Nothing,” she said, shoving it back into the folder. Then, she slammed the folder closed and slammed the drawer shut.

  “Nothing?”

  “Yes. Nothing.”

  “So why didn’t he—”

  “Just drop it, Sophia. It’s done now. Go ahead and do your homework.”

  “But this is my homework.”

  “I said, go!”

  Her eyes were wide, full of uncertainty and anger.

  But why? What had I done?

  I walked out of the office, only to find Joe standing in our kitchen, bags in hand.

  The second our eyes touched, his brows rose slightly.

  But I wasn’t in the mood for one of his emotional inspections.

  “Food’s here,” he said.

  It sounded more like a question than an announcement. But I wasn’t hungry.

  My mother was hiding something from me.

  Something about my father.

  But what?

  30

  The next day I could barely concentrate. Questions spun around in my mind like a whirlpool.

  Why wasn’t my dad’s name on my birth certificate? Mom would want his name on there for his military benefits, wouldn’t she? So how did she miss this? Did something else happen?

  I came home and headed straight into the kitchen and started pulling out pots and pans. Whenever I was really stressed about something, I cooked. Mama was the same way. This morning, she made pancakes, toast, eggs over easy, eggs scrambled with cheese, bacon, sausage, anchovies, grits, and cut fresh fruit.

  I didn’t complain about the food, but I didn’t eat it either. I was still too mad at her outburst yesterday to eat.

  Now here I was, snatching garlic out of the fridge to make my famous garlic olive oil marinade. Then, I took out a cutting board to dice up two tomatoes, one onion, and one green pepper.

  No one was home, and my stomach was in knots, so I had no idea who was going to eat this food. But the eating wasn’t really the point. My hands needed work to do. I needed to hear the popping of oil, the pounding of the knife on the cutting board, the crunch of the vegetables and the banging of pots and pans. I needed to smell sautéed onions and garlic, savory cheese, buttery corn bread and cooking chicken. It was only through those sights and smells that my mind could begin to calm.

  This was my stress relief, and after the day I’d been having, I needed a lot of it.

  I was halfway through slicing my first onion when I heard a voice from the kitchen doorway.

  “Wow, that smells good enough to eat.”

  Joe? What was he doing here?

  Already my body was on high alert, aware of his smell and his heat more than anything else in this kitchen. Why did I do that? Why was I so drawn to him when he obviously didn’t feel the same toward me?

  I chopped the onions faster.

  “Whatcha making?”

  “Nothing much. Just baked chicken with an olive oil, garlic and tomato marinade, roasted zucchini, cornbread, baked macaroni and cheese, and maybe some bread pudding.”

  I finished the onions and raked them into a big pan to sauté.

  “Wow. Are you expecting an army?”

  “No.” I turned the oven on and fished out a baking pan from the cabinet. “I wasn’t expecting anyone, actually.”

  He leaned against the doorway. “You could have fooled me.”

  I added the garlic and olive oil in with the onions. My usually calm movements were now jolty. I could feel his stare on me, and I tried not to shiver beneath it. I wondered if he knew.

  I shook my head.

  No, he couldn’t know. He was probably waiting for an apology from the other night.

  An apology that I’d been thinking about since the incident happened.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have left you at the restaurant. It was childish and stupid of me.”

  My voice was low. Low enough so I thought he wouldn’t hear. But it was Joe. Of course he heard me. He always heard me.

  “No need. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you. I just got… carried away in the moment, I guess. I’m sorry about that.”

  My heart stung. I added a little more crushed garlic to the pan and focused on the way it sizzled.

  “It’s fine,” I lied.

  It was definitely not fine. I could still feel his breath on my lips. God, I could barely think of anything else. It was like Joe’s presence had wiped away every other boy’s lips from my memory, leaving me white and clean.

  I sensed him stepping closer. I hated that I could sense him when he couldn’t do the same for me.

  “Is that what’s been rattling around in your head all day?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I’m not the only one with something rattling around in their heads.” I glanced at my browning vegetables, then at him.

  He nodded. “You noticed that, huh?”

  “Notice you and Quincey screaming at each other last night? How could I not?”

  Last night, after I’d been sent off to bed, Quincey and Joe h
ad gotten into a shouting match. It was brief, but it still made my heart jump. I imagined their friendship cracking into a million pieces. The thought of it made my entire body quake. By the time I made it out of my room to see what the fighting was about, Joe was already gone, and Quincey had shut himself up in his room.

  I suppose the fight wasn’t too bad, since Joe was here, obviously waiting for Quincey to return. Their friendship was intact, and there probably wasn’t so much as an apology.

  Boys. They fought one minute and were best friends the next.

  “I’m sorry for disturbing you with all that,” he said. “It was stupid.”

  “What were you fighting about?”

  “Something that’s resolved now. Nothing to worry yourself over.”

  He stretched and scratched his jaw.

  “I’ve just never heard you yell before,” I said.

  He nodded slowly. “If I scared you, I’m sorry. Texans can get loud. It’s just that Quincey knows how to get my blood up, that’s for sure. But he and I are cool now.” He leaned his hip next to the sink. “Are we cool?”

  “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? After all, I left you at that restaurant.”

  “I pushed you, and it was inappropriate and wrong of me. And I promise I won’t do that to you again. Scout’s honor.”

  That was the problem. I wanted him to do it again. Why couldn’t he see that?

  “So, what do you say? Friends?”

  The sudden urge to punch him rose up sharp, but I beat it back down.

  “Sure. Friends.”

  “Good.”

  Good? My heart feels like it just got stabbed with a hot poker. How is that good? On what planet is that good?

  I poured the contents of my pan in with the marinade, then dumped all that over some raw chicken breast and put it into the oven to bake. Meanwhile, Joe found a pot big enough to boil water in and started filling it from the sink.

  A part of me wished he went away and leave me to lick my wounds, while the other half of me wanted him to stay and fill the kitchen with his warmth and humor and kindness.