“You’ll see . . . it’ll all work out for the best.” He smoothed down my hair as if the strands were frayed nerves curling up at the ends.
I broke free from his arms. And his charms.
“What d’yasay, Kate?—still BFFs?” He raised his palm up, so sure of himself. I could almost see his tantalizing smile, even though I was staring beyond his shoulder—at my future without him. Funny how things can turn on a dime. I learned that little lesson early on, the day Mama came and yanked me out of school.
Yesterday, I recalled being so desperate to keep him in in my life—even if it was just as friends—that I was willing to overlook the fact he was playing for the other team. Yesterday, I would’ve laughed and went ahead and slapped him five, allowed him to throw his arm around me, and razzle-dazzle me all the way to class. Yesterday, I was happy to pretend he wasn’t pretending.
Today was a different day.
I looked at Pete with steely eyes. “With friends like you . . . who needs enemies?” That said, I walked away.
But I may have been the only girl in history to ever leave him hanging.
22
LIAR, LIAR, PANTS-ON-FIRE
I fled down the hallway, ignoring the rubbernecking stares aimed at my back. Ashley-Leigh stopped mid talk-n-walk to gape, then began frantically waving me over, but I just whipped on by her like she was a hallucination. So the Queen-B buzzed over to attack me outside Pre Cal.
“Ohmigod! Katie, what just happened?” Not even attempting to cover the thrill in her voice.
I spun around, eyes flashing from her bug-eyes to where Pete was being enthusiastically comforted by some senior girls down the hallway. “You know what, Ash? You want him? . . . He’s all yours!”
“I don’t really think he’s yours to give away,” she smirked.
Pushing past her into the classroom, I hurled down my backpack, slunk into my seat, and immediately thunked my head on my desk to block out the stares. I focused on hatching a Hail Mary plan to salvage my credibility with Andrew and bring some proof to Daddy—before I was shut out further. For all intents and purposes, I’d been Andrew’s mother for the last couple of years. Where has Daddy been? Nowhere that’s where. And there’d never been a Cadet Davenport before, nor would there be again after Andrew was signed. He would disappear from our lives like he really was a hallucination. Did no one but me realize this?
Inexplicably, I felt betrayed Pete was in cahoots with my father. My face burned with the memory of the kiss in the park, the easy afternoon with the boys trading licks of an ice cream. How silly of me to forget he was here on a “mission” to procure my gifted brother. I was simply a stumbling block along the way. Well, I was gonna morph into a friggin roadblock!—starting this afternoon. While they were busy poring over inconsequential test scores, I would have a little “chat” with Mrs. Woodward. In the meantime, I just had to avoid talking . . . to anyone.
Not exactly easy to do when the hungry patrons of CHS were trying to unearth juicy gossip. But I managed to dodge everyone’s questions and even refused to speak to Miguel in English. He tossed me worried glances, but I pretended to be too absorbed in Canterbury Tales to catch them.
I was fairly sure Cadet Davenport wouldn’t be stupid enough to be waiting for me today. Correctomundo. Could not believe the dull ache of letdown that constricted my chest. It was crazy how he could evoke such powerful feelings in me. Even though I knew he was playing me like a particularly accomplished violinist would a country fiddle. Guess the heart really does want what the heart wants, no matter how bad for it.
I knew I had to completely avoid him like the plague until my heart had sufficiently hardened, so I spent lunch in my fortress of solitude . There was a sweet, upbeat email from Reese waiting for me, asking about my “new crush.” I hammered the computer keys, the words spilling out as I tried to make her understand why I had to fight for my brother. No matter how “golden” this opportunity seemed, I was taking a pass—on the school and the mentor. Then I went proactive in my efforts to distance myself from Pete by going to Spanish early to persuade Mr. Sanchez to switch my seat. My broken glasses were a great excuse, so after a two-minute chat, I found myself sitting up front near Miguel. As soon as he came in, he bumped me on the shoulder.
“Whuzzup, Katie-girl?”
I looked up, bleary-eyed from my ten-second nap. “‘Sup.”
He peered sideways at me. “What’s wrong with you today? You’ve been actin’ like somebody ran over your cat.”
“Nope. Just my glasses.”
“That’s why you’re so pissy?”
“You don’t wanna know,” I mumbled into my arm pillow.
“Try me.”
“They’re tryin’ to buy Andrew.” I didn’t quite make it without my voice cracking.
Miguel leaned over and put an arm around me. “Oh man. That’s so messed up. I’m sorry.”
I sniffed a little. “‘S’kay. Hopefully, I can persuade him to not wanna go. But so far Cadet Davenport”—acid dripped from my tongue—“has him convinced everyday will be like Disney Land over there. “Who cares if they’ve got Olympic-sized pools and field trips to The Eiffel Tower? Iknow it’s not the right place for him, Miguel!”
“Really?” he marveled. “The Eiffel Tower?”
“Yup,” I sniffed. “It’s in the brochure along with a picture of a bunch of phony cadets wearing berets.”
That garnered a derisive snort from Miguel. “Told you that Davenport dude was no good.”
I gave him a watery smile. “Hold on to the I-told-you-so’s for right now. I don’t think I can take it.”
“I’ll save it for a rainy day,” he joked. “Anything I can do in the meantime?”
“No thanks . . . I’ll find a way around it somehow.” I just realized Miguel’s arm was still around me and sat up. And didn’t need to turn around to know that he’d walked in. His presence crept up my spine a beat before Miguel threw him the ole stink-eye on my behalf.
Then a grating voice called out like she was the town crier: “Looks like Katie switched seats to be next to Miguel. Maybe I could sit here today?”
Without waiting for his response, Ashley-Leigh flounced up to Mr. Sanchez to work her magic. He made short work of shooting her down, sending her straight to her regular seat, where she proceeded to sulk like a two-year-old. For the duration of class, I was the poster girl for front-row-student, keeping my pencil moving and my eyes glued to Mr. Sanchez. The bell rang, and I lingered about my desk to give our newest student ample time to make his exit, but needn’t have bothered because when I turned around, he was long gone.
Well good.
Miguel and I lumbered together out the door from Spanish and then again after Chemistry, where we parted ways with a brief hug. I noticed his girlfriend’s wave back to me was a little half-hearted and realized I wasn’t the only one thinking Miguel’s affection for me was a little overboard.
I was half-dreading, half-looking forward to P.E., and a hundred percent disappointed in myself for still having half a mind about Pete. I quickly dressed out, deflecting knowing looks and personal questions left and right. P.E. was over with almost as soon as it began. This was probably because my body was on autopilot while my mind worked overtime, twisting and turning, frantically searching for a way to prove my theory.