by CJ Daly
emanating from his black T-shirt. Like a smoker taking the first hit of nicotine
• 185 •
of the day, I inhaled him all the way down into the farthest recesses of my lungs. I just hoped he wouldn’t prove to be toxic.
He seemed the opposite of harmful to me this morning. More like a
shield from the harm that threatened me as he embraced me in his capable
arms. We stayed fused together like that for a few moments—right in front
of the main entrance of my high school, in full view of the principal’s office,
gawking latecomers, God, and everybody. And it felt good in a way that was
dangerous to the health of my heart.
He’s here to tear my family apart I reminded myself again and again, even as we swayed together as one. Finally, self-preservation kicked in. I stiffened, and
he immediately loosened his hold on me. With a little throat clear, I stepped
away and fingered my bottom lip.
“Sorry . . . I don’t know what that was about.”
Pete’s eyes darkened as he watched my nervous habit, but he kept his tone
light. “Are you apologizing for needing a hug?”
“Yeah.” I laughed, more than a little embarrassed. “I guess I am.”
“You have nothing to apologize for—everyone needs a hug every now and
again. And it just so happens I’m a hugger by nature. And . . .” he leaned in
and whispered, “I needed one, too,”
I gave him a grateful smile. “I, um . . . we better get to class.” I turned
to go, but he caught my arm. Gah! Every little touch sent tingles like little electric shocks of pleasure.
“Meet me for lunch today . . .”
One step up from him, we were almost eye-to-eye. I couldn’t tell if it was
a command or a question. The hypnotic pull I felt toward him was almost
impossible to resist. I wanted to believe in him so bad it was an ache . . . almost as bad as I wanted to lean in and kiss him. Not trusting myself to speak, I
simply nodded my head and scurried to the library before I could get sucked
in any further.
After re-shelving the books, I was able to shoot off an overdue email to
Reese. She informed me my horoscope said I’d meet a mysterious, new love
interest this year. Even though I had a feeling this was a made-up fun-fact,
I just went with it, telling her about Pete but leaving out the weird way we
met and the un-fun fact that he was not to be trusted. I couldn’t very well tell
her my suspicions about my brother’s mentor being here on a secret, sinister
mission, or else she would think I was certifiably crazy. . . . Maybe I am?
Her insights were sweet and thoughtful, but more than a little bit off the
mark since she didn’t have all the facts about what was really going on. She
quickly suggested the elite boarding school would definitely be a good place
• 186 •
for my brother, and immediately found the best perk: when I visited him, I’d be able to see the good-looking (I’d opted out of using the word hot) cadet at the same time. She also pointed out that with Andrew away to a great school,
I’d have more free time to cut loose and enjoy my high school experience.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that was never going to happen—I had
about as much in common with my high school friends as atheists do with
Quakers. And after spending time with Pete Davenport, I was completely
ruined for regular boys. It was like going back to burgers after dining on
the finest steak in the world; you found your palette to be suddenly and
irrevocably altered. Once you’ve had a taste of the best, it really was kind of hard to go back to the rest.
I heaved a sigh and trudged along to my next class, too preoccupied
with scenarios of how things might play out to notice much of anything else.
Miguel sidled up to me. Unsure if he was mad at me or not, I decided to greet
him normally. “Hey, Miguel.”
“Hey, Katie. Whazzup?” Standard greeting, but his face lacked animation.
We walked into class together and sat down in our regular seats—a good
sign. My head immediately sought its desk pillow, but I was sure I would be
drooling within five seconds if I didn’t instantly yank it back up. So I did,
yawning and unzipping my backpack at the same time. All the while, Miguel
quietly studied me.
“What?”
It was hard to tell, but it looked like he might be blushing because his
brown skin was slowly turning mahogany. “Katie, what’s goin’ on with you
and that cadet guy?”
I did the headshake-I-don’t-wanna-talk-about-it thing. “Nothin’ . . .
really.”
“Doesn’t look like nothin’ from where I’m sittin’.”
Now it was my turn to blush. Several ears in close proximity suddenly
tilted our way, so I just sort of rolled my shoulders, hoping he’d get the hint.
“You wait on the guy one time and now all of a sudden, you’re hangin’
out and havin’ lunch together?” he prompted.
I decided to tell him a truthful mini-version of the story. It’d all come
out anyway. Clovis was a lot like living in a fish bowl—sans water. “Actually,
that was the first time we met, but I didn’t know who he was at the time.”
Miguel made a sinusy grunt. “And who is he exactly?” His face looked
un-cute distorted with anger.
I puffed out some pent-up air, somehow not really wanting to say the
• 187 •
words. “He’s Andrew’s new ‘mentor’,” I air quoted, not quite keeping the acid out of my voice.
“Mentor?”
“Yeah. ‘Mentor,’” I air quoted again for good measure.
Miguel’s anger came down a notch directly in proportion to how mine
went up when I talked about it. “You mean he’s only here to mentor Andrew
and then he’s leavin’ again?” The relief in his voice was unmistakable.
“Yup. Pretty much . . . oh, and to see if Drew’s a good fit for his ‘ elite’
school.” More angry air quoting from me.
“So you don’t really even like the guy?” His face brightened a little at this
prospect.
“It’s more like I don’t like his school program,” I said, picking around my
words. “If Andrew’s accepted, he’ll leave the beginning of January.”
“So you mean Davenport’s here all semester?”
I gave Miguel an impatient look. “I think you’re missin’ the point,
Miguel—Andrew, my eight-year-old brother, might be leaving for boarding
school, in California, at the end of the semester!”
“Right. Wow. Sorry to hear that, Katie. I guess that kind of blows.”
Whatever he was going to say was cut short when the bell rang and Mrs.
Jenkins started to take roll.
All during class, Miguel shot sympathetic sidelong glances while Ashley-
Leigh shot daggers at me. It didn’t really matter because neither one was really
penetrating my sleep-deprived haze. Even the omnipresent butterflies that
floated around my stomach every time Pete Davenport so much as flitted
across my brain were subdued today. I could barely keep my eyes open. Lack
of sleep and the strain of trying to keep my family together with nothing
more than bubble gum and duct tape, while the enemy was trying to destroy
us with army tanks and nuclear bombs, well, let’s just say: It was beginning
Thankfully, Mrs. Jenkins never called on me, and the bell rang just as
my head began to droop again. I remained seated, packing up slowly, hoping
Miguel and Ashley-Leigh would head on to lunch. Yeah right. Miguel started
up our previous conversation as if he’d been on pause and the bell signified
the start button. He didn’t get very far though, because Ashley-Leigh came
storming up, waving her outraged grievances at me like purple pom-poms.
“Katie, I’m, like, so pissed at you right now!”—Like I was too obtuse to
read her over-the-top social cues. I remained mute, packing up my books.
“Why haven’t you called me back yet?”
• 188 •
“Because I wasn’t aware that you’d called,” I snapped. It felt good to vent some frustration on someone so deserving.
“Well, I did,” she sniffed, toning it down. “Like five or six times . . . and
I left messages.”
“Look, I’m sorry Ash, I’ve just been busy and there were no messages on
the answerin’ machine when I got in yesterday afternoon. Daddy must’ve
erased them and didn’t bother to leave a note.”
“Well, if you’d just get a cell phone, like . . . oh, the rest of America, you
wouldn’t have that problem,” she said, ever the problem solver.
“Great idea. Why didn’t I think of that?” I yanked the zipper on my
backpack. “I’ll get right on it—right after I get my hair highlighted and my
nails done.” I threw my backpack over my shoulder and headed out with
Miguel following and Ashley-Leigh bringing up the rear.
“Uh! Whadoya mean by that?” she asked, playing dumb.
Miguel and I exchanged eye-rolls in the doorway. “What do you want,
Ashley?”
“I wanted to see if we could grab lunch today,” she said, about as obvious
as a room key presented at prom.
Miguel’s girlfriend was standing around the hall waiting for him, so he
slid past with a “We’ll talk later, ‘kay?”
I nodded and smiled and waved at his girlfriend. And then I saw him
striding my way, making the dingy floors of our hallway look like a runway
in Paris. As usual, everyone was openly staring at him. That meant that in
about two seconds, everyone would be staring at me. I felt a wave of warmth
wash over my face followed by a swell of giddiness inside at the thought that
he was here for me.
Ashley-Leigh saw where my eyes had strayed to, and her face looked as if
she’d just swallowed bleach. “Guess I have my answer.”
“I’m sorry, Ash. Maybe tomorrow?” I said as insincere as her lunch
invitation. But I had a feeling my voice fell on deaf, hula-hooped ears, because
her focus shifted, along with her whole demeanor. She beamed at Pete with so
much wattage I thought she might inadvertently shock him to death.
“Hey Pete! . . . Right on time,” Ashley-Leigh greeted. “We were just
discussin’ what we were gonna do for lunch today!” She smashed our faces
together. “Right, Katie-girl?”
Pete raised his eyebrows at me, and I gave him a helpless look. “Is that
right?” he said, bending to kiss my cheek. The wattage in her smile dimmed
a bit, but I knew Ashley—she considered herself down but not out. Like a
pro, she plastered the smile back on and went for it. It was kinda fascinating
• 189 •
to watch, like a car crash you see coming, but the passenger in the car in front of you is too busy putting on lipstick in the mirror to notice.
“That’s right.” She nailed him in the chest with her finger. “We feel like
it’s unfair of Katie to keep you all to herself . . . and, like, visa versa I guess.”
She giggled like she’d just made a funny, but it fell flat without her backup
laughers.
I had trouble following her one-sided conversation the second a possessive
arm draped around my shoulder. Pete didn’t seem to be paying attention at
all. “Ready?” He looked down at me; I nodded up at him.
In tandem, we began walking through the hall with Ashley-Leigh trailing
us like a high-heeled shoe attached to the newlywed’s getaway car. She was
gibbering on and on about how we used to be known as the “two Lees” and
how we were more like sisters than friends growing up. I have to say: I kinda
started feeling bad for her. She was trying so hard, and Pete wasn’t trying at
all. This would be pretty tough to take—things usually worked out for her
in pretty much the way she planned. If Pete kept this up, she was liable to
get frostbite.
We reached the exit, and he finally acknowledged her presence by holding
the door open for her. “Why thank you!” she trilled up at him as if she were
a southern belle twirling an umbrella instead of a prima donna wearing a
hoochie day-glow tee.
“Looks like this is where we part ways,” Pete spoke directly to her for the
first time, then grabbed my hand and led me in the opposite direction of the
parking lot.
Ashley-Leigh was left standing there with a hangdog expression, which
she rapid-recovered from. “Okay, you two have fun! . . . Don’t do nothin’ I
wouldn’t do!” she called out for the benefit of anyone standing around to
witness her dismissal.
Pete didn’t acknowledge her in any way, so I threw a “We’ll see you in
Spanish” over my shoulder as we walked away. “Wow. Remind me to never
get on your bad side.”
“Why?” He gave me a wicked grin. “You plannin’ on gettin’ on my bad
side?”“You never know,” I murmured, squirming under the heat of his stare.
We’d already arrived at his Hummer, on account of it being parked
brazenly in front of the school, in the zone reserved for loading buses. I shook
my head at him, laughing as he opened up the passenger door and helped
me inside.
“What?” he innocently dropped, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “No
• 190 •
one was using it, so I slipped in and took it—couldn’t let a prime spot like this go to waste because everyone around here is too scared or stupid to go
for it.” His eyes twinkled. “It’s just not in my nature.”
“Maybe nobody took it cause it’s against the rules,” I volleyed back.
He laughed and shut the door, came around and returned with: “Well,
you know what they say about rules . . .” then arched a brow poignantly at me
before throwing his aviators on. Game over, he clicked in the key and fired
up the engine. In no time, we were headed out west again while everyone else
was going east. This time when he cut the engine, I was unsurprised by our
lunch locale.
“Is this going to be a regular thing now?” I said, then immediately
regretted the presumptuous statement.
No need because Pete immediately said, “I hope so. As much as I’ve
enjoyed fighting with you, Kate, I sure would like to know what it’s like to
do . . .”—his eyes fluttered my way—“other things.”
My face caught fire in a nanosecond. Thankfully, he hopped out to come
around and get me before I could spontaneously combust in his leather seat.
“I’m guessing you spoke with your brother yesterday?”
“I did.”
&
nbsp; “So—we good?”
“We’re alright,” I allowed.
“Oh I think we can manage an upgrade from that.” He gave me another
smoldering look, and weird sensations migrated south of my belly. I felt
distinctly tongue-tied as he helped me down and kept ahold of my hand. Pete,
however, seemed unaffected by anything, whistling as we made our way to the
same shady spot I was beginning to think of as “ours.” In no hurry to force a
conversation, he allowed me time to find my voice.
“You know, I’m startin’ to feel like I’m not really contributin’ much
here,” I finally said, swiping the blanket from him and spreading it out on
the ground.
He stopped whistling and shook his head, eyes roving over my face
appreciatively. “I beg to differ.”
Man-oh-man is he turnin’ it on today! My insipid blush was back, and I
lowered my eyes, suddenly anxious to help unpack the food. Pete reached out
and captured my busy hands in his. “I don’t like it when you do that,” he said,
releasing them to rub his thumb across my jawline.
“D-do what?” My skin started tingling. I hoped water was in that thermos
today, because it felt like I was catching fire.
He slipped off my glasses then just stared at me until I got lost in his eyes.
• 191 •
I fumbled around gracelessly for my confiscated disguise, feeling as exposed as if I were lying in this park buck-naked. But Pete wasn’t having it—he tossed
them out of reach before returning his hands to my face.
I swallowed. “W-what are you doin?”
His look was as hypnotizing as his touch. I was a deer in headlights.
Unable to move. Completely at his mercy. He trailed his thumbs along the
circles beneath my eyes. “You’re working too hard, Kate . . . not getting
enough rest.”
“More like workin’ my brain too hard,” I said, closing my eyes and
swaying under his spell. It just felt so dang good—being in this quiet, shady
spot on a warm afternoon, feeling the breeze stir the air, the intoxicating feel
of his hands stroking my face. Heaven. I felt a magnetic pull toward him from
parts of my body that weren’t even touching him . . . but wanted to with a
force that was almost uncontrollable.
“That too,” he said. “Mental stress is the worst kind. You’re putting
yourself through things that haven’t even happened yet.”