Authors: Sandra Cox
“Thank you.” Breathless, lost in the depths of those deep pools of blue, I forget to disguise my voice. Fortunately—or unfortunately in this case—it doesn’t go with my nerd image. Gramps compares it to mermaids’ and sirens’ songs. For an old guy, he’s a romantic. So when I talk, I try to drop toward an unobtrusive alto.
Tyler’s head jerks up. He wasn’t paying attention to who he was helping, just being kind to one of the lesser beings. For the first time, he really looks at me and frowns, no doubt trying to equate the voice with the nerd.
I get a firm grip on my books and my raging hormones, and walk hastily away. I can feel his gaze boring into my back, probably trying to see past the shapeless clothes. I shudder, pick up my pace and, of course, trip. I keep a firm grip on my books, right myself, and keep going.
Fahrenbacher’s hateful laughter rings in my ears. If only there was a convenient hole to crawl into. My sensitive hearing picks up a murmured, “What a voice.”
Tyler’s comment echoes in my head as I hurry through wide swinging doors escaping toward sunshine and a blue cloudless sky. I breathe in fresh air, yearning for the scent of salt water.
I turn right amid the cluster of excited voices around me—also anxious to escape the strictures of high school—and head for the coffee shop. It’s only a block away. I’ll come back later and pick up Beulah, my old truck.
When I arrive at the Pink Cat, Holly has already confiscated a booth. Of course, it’s filled by a couple of the more popular girls in school. This is so not a good idea. She smiles and motions me over.
I shake my head and straighten my shoulders. I’ll at least get my latte. I wait in line and, when I get to the counter, mumble my order.
Ignoring Holly, I grab my latte and head for the door.
“Piper,” Holly’s voice rings out. I cringe but take another determined step toward the door.
“Piper,” Holly bellows again.
I sigh. So much for anonymity. I turn and prepare for twenty minutes of hell. After that, I’ll make my escape. This is such a stupid idea.
I drag my feet over to her table.
“There you are.” She beams. “Sit down. Piper’s going to help me with my chemistry,” she explains to the two cheerleaders sitting with her. They rise with alacrity.
“Uh, catch you later, Hol. Cheerleading practice starts in half an hour,” the taller one says.
“Give our best to your brother,” the other chimes in.
“Of course,” Holly responds sweetly.
They grab their drinks, murmur a hello in my direction, and trot out the door.
“You were going to stand me up,” she accuses.
I shrug. “I’m lousy at chemistry.”
“I’m pretty good at it,” she responds with a mischievous smile.
“You’re bad. I like it.” As always, except for that one slip with her brother, I use my nerd voice. This girl is way too bright.
She gives a modest smile and sips her cappuccino, loaded with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles.
She glances disparagingly at my no-frills iced latte. “That looks very plain.”
“It fits me.” I take a sip and sigh with pleasure as the bite of espresso and the smooth taste of chocolate coalesce and slide down my throat.
She leans forward, her expression both curious and knowing. “Plain’s exactly what you’re not, but for some reason you want people to think you are.”
Startled, I jerk upright. The cup, slick with condensation, starts to slip from my hands. I set it down hastily.
“What are you talking about?” My stomach jumps.
“You’re the only girl in school who hasn’t tried to befriend me in order to get to my brother. It piqued my curiosity.” She places her elbows on the table, rests chin in hands, and studies me.
I squirm. “He’s not my type. I’ve barely noticed him.”
“Oh, you’ve noticed him all right. Even with those tinted glasses, I’ve seen you follow his progress down the hall. So why haven’t you tried to worm your way into my good graces?”
Why indeed? My brain shuts down. “I’m shy,” is all I can think of.
“Maybe.” She sips her frothy drink and leans back, her gaze still on me.
“Your brother isn’t the complete God’s gift to women everyone seems to think he is.” Liar. Liar.
“That’s telling me,” an amused voice speaks over my shoulder.
Crap!
Busted.