Secret Life (RVHS Secrets) (10 page)

It dawned on me just how much work I’d put into this
tutoring deal in such a short time. I’d really enjoyed the whole
crafty-logic-history-happy-colors thing. Plus, History has always been my nerdy
Achilles’ heel.

But now I saw it through
his
eyes. A girl, one he hadn’t gotten around to hooking up with yet, drags him out
to a secluded bridge in the middle of the night and then spends the rest of it
making him a weird gift.

Yeah. I was
so
not
that girl. But he didn’t know that. The wall that had shrunk a little went back
up.
Taller.
With reinforcements.
And maybe a catapult.

“Well, I figured it would help me tutor you. And, if we have
a final project I’d be all set.”
Horse.
Cart.
Feel free to switch places again later.

“Oh.
Great idea.”
Disappointment?
Relief?
Who
knew.

“You’re probably one of those picture book girls too, huh?”
he asked.

Even I couldn’t decipher that.

“Picture books?”

He waved his hand at my craftiness. “You know.
Those books with the pictures and paper and stickers and stuff.”

“Do you mean scrapbooks?”

Chris shrugged, probably unsure what he’d meant. “Whatever.”

I looked at my charts, all the pictures and side notes and
color-coding,
and tried imagining scrapbooking. As soon as I
considered it, I pushed the idea away. Pictures equaled cameras, and a girl
could only stay on the non-photographed side so long.

“Not really. It was more the History than the crafty. Plus
the whole final project thing.”

He did that guy slow head nod thing. “Cool.”

There are certain words I love to use, but hate to hear.
Words like “interesting” or “anyway” …or “cool”. They can mean anything.

I threw back at him a, “Yeah, whatever.”
And
added, “We should get started.”

Between the studying and the study breaks, it was
five-thirty before I knew it. Mom came in and started mixing and dicing and
cooking. Chris watched her wander the kitchen more than he paid attention to
the books. It would have been bad enough while we were working on History, but
now we were on to Calc—finally—and he wasn’t even paying attention.

“Are you going to check my answers?”

His attention flashed back to me, a blush tipping those ears
again. “Sure. Hand them over.”

I watched him run down the page, my work scribbled in
crooked lines instead of the orderly point-by-point proofs on his. He marked
the ones that were right then went back and made a note where I’d messed up in
the ones I got wrong.

“Closer. You didn’t make the same errors as last time.” He
glanced at the page again. “I think you need to slow down a little. It’s like
you just want the answer.”

That had to be the stupidest thing I’d heard him say yet.

“I
do
just want
the answer.”

As soon as it left my mouth, he was laughing at me.

“Right.
But part of the answer in
math is how you get there.”

He wrote out three more questions from our book and handed
them to me. I pushed the History graph his way. We may have both rolled our
eyes.

After a few minutes, I realized he wasn’t writing anything
and glanced toward him. He was watching my mom cook again.

I began to wonder if he had designs on my mom when he asked,
“Do you guys eat all your meals together?”

Why was this food thing such an issue with him?

“Yeah.
Don’t you?”

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving the chicken my mom
shoved into the oven.

“My mom leaves stuff out for me and my dad. You know with
that
scrunchy
silver cover thing wrapped around them
for when I get home from practice and he—”

There it was again.
That tension.
Mom, who had become a pro at reading tension, spoke over her shoulder as she
pulled out the mixer to mash potatoes.

“Chris, why don’t you stay for dinner, and then Rachel can
drive you home?”

I had never seen such yearning for a meal in my life. You’d
think he’d been homeless for weeks and hadn’t eaten anything off a plate in
longer.

“That’s okay, Mrs. Wells. You don’t have to feed me every
time I walk by the house.”

She turned around, the smile firmly planted. I knew that
smile. It was the same one that got me in the car for therapy every time I
didn’t want to go.

“Well, Rachel has to clean up and set the table. I’d hate
for you to walk home when it would be easier to just feed you and let her drive
you.”

Wow, that was some twisted mom-logic, but it was the out he
needed.
So, great.
Another meal with
his new junior fan club and then driving him home.

Halfway through the giggle-fest, I earned the glares of the
junior high contingency by asking if we had earplugs anywhere. This did not
help me make friends and influence people. But they were twelve and thirteen so
I wasn’t overly concerned about it.

Oddly, he seemed relaxed, comfortable with my sisters in a
way I didn’t expect. At first I thought it was the whole
they’re female
thing, but soon it seemed like he just liked kids. I
remembered Amy said he coached during the summer. But those were boys. Should I
warn him that all those smiles he was dishing out to the younger Wells were
going to earn him mini-stalkers?

Mom had no problem getting the girls to clean the kitchen
that night since Chris was sitting in it. Maybe I could harness this to get
them to do my chores too.

Later, at his driveway, Chris hesitated before hoisting his
bag and unfolding himself out of the front seat. Closing the door behind him,
he ducked his head and peeked back in.

“Thanks. That was really helpful.” He flashed me that famous
Chris Kent grin. “I half hope we have a pop quiz tomorrow.”

“Really?”
I couldn’t help laughing.
If there was ever a day to get slammed with one, it was tomorrow. “I almost
hope so too.”

The sooner his grades were up, the sooner I could stop
shuttling him between our houses.

His lips quirked, shifting into an odd
little smile.
“So
,
friend
…see
you tomorrow.”

There was that word again.
Both of them.
I don’t know which one stressed me out more.
Friend or
tomorrow.

Chapter
11

Monday was going to be a good day.

I’d laid out clothes the night before. I’d even arranged for
a backup outfit. My hair was cooperating. I’d stuck my new Totally
Nekkid
glossy in my bag. There would
not
be a repeat of Friday. No matter how many blondes Jared Parker
had tucked under his arm before homeroom.

That was the one good thing about the tutoring-the-enemy
thing. It kept me so paranoid about lies and half-lies and almost-lies, I had
little time left to worry about my ex-boyfriend.

Now all I had to worry about was my best friend’s
ex-boyfriend.

It couldn’t be helped. We saw each other coming. The Senior
Hall stretched out like a red carpet at a Hollywood event, but couldn’t have
been that long. Plus, with Chris’s height it would have been hard not to notice
him. The other students did this sad parting-the-Red-Sea thing as he and a
couple other soccer gods strolled down the hall. I guess the good old RV was
just one stereotype away from becoming the next MTV reality show. I glanced
down to make sure an actual red carpet hadn’t magically appeared.

I knew where he was going.
The Crossroads.
About twenty feet past my locker the
Junior
and Senior
Halls
criss
-crossed. The seniors joked that each side
of the junior hall should have a stop sign to give the seniors right of way. If
only we had that much power.

What it did have was a collection of varsity soccer players’
lockers, so they all managed to congregate there before classes.

I had no idea what “friend” meant in school. That was too
much stress. I’d let him decide. He deserved the stress more than me at this
point.

I turned back to my locker, listening to Amy chatter about
the game that night. She had become an even bigger fan since taking on the role
of team stats girl. She could ramble off soccer statistics for our players, all
the top rival players, and several pro-teams.

But everything always came back to Luke.
As
it should be.

My ears were listening to her talk, but my heart was
skittering a countdown.
Three.
Two.
One.

I turned and glanced up, just enough that our eyes met as he
neared.

“Hey.” No smile. No stopping to chat.
Just
one word.
And he kept going.

Somehow that seemed right to me. In the last second before
he passed, I bobbed my head back at him.

“What was that?”

I shifted back to look at Amy watching Chris and Mark walk
by.

“What?” I squatted to retrieve something from the bottom of
my locker. No idea what it was, but I’d know it when I found it. It would take
a while. Maybe long enough for Amy to head to class.

“That whole,” she waved a hand toward the soccer players.
“Head-nod-hey thing that just happened.”

This is where that lying thing started…if I let it. I wasn’t
going to let it.

“We’re working on a project together for History.” See. Not
a lie.

She looked from me to where Chris stood with the soccer team
and back to me again. She did that Amy-stare where her head tilts to the side
and she looks at you kind of not straight on and said, “What are you not
telling me?”

We only had about three minutes before homeroom, so I
narrowed that question down to:
What are
you not telling me about you and Chris?
For a flash of a second, I wondered
why she cared so much.

“Nothing.
Just two people stuck
together in History trying to play nice.” I went on the defensive, maybe
because I was
feeling
defensive.
“You’re the one who said he’s not as bad as I thought.”

The look didn’t waver, but she finally let it slide. “Oh.
Okay.”

I hoped it would be.

~*~

“Hey.” The boy hovering behind my locker door was a bit of a
surprise. A nice surprise, but still…I hadn’t expected to see Ben drift my way
at school.

“Hey, yourself.”
I stuffed my books
in my locker, switching out for the next period. “How’s your sweet smelling
pillow?”

He quirked that grin. Why girls were not clawing each
other’s eyes out to get at him was beyond me. Proving we really aren’t always
that bright now, were we?

“I had to have it laundered. It smelled all
hairspray-icky-girl stuff after you were sniffing on it all day.”

I closed the locker with a loud snick and waited. There had
to be some reason he was stopping by besides to complain about the girl-cooties
on his pillow.

“So…” Here it comes. “Is there something going on with you
and Chris?”

I can honestly admit I didn’t see that coming.

“No!” I looked up at him—and seriously, all these tall
soccer players were beginning to give me neck strain—and waited to see where
this was going. “No. Why?”

He laughed, his left brow crooking down and in over his eye.
“Why?
Seriously?
Maybe because he
stormed into my room and flipped out when he found us in bed together.”

My hand slammed over his mouth so fast I made my own head
spin. I could feel him smiling under my palm.

“Do I look like I want to become the next RV rumor?”

He was laughing.
Laughing.
Where was there a decent pillow when I needed
something to shove down his throat?

“I’m going to take my hand away and if you start with any more
of the Rachel-was-doing-something-she-really-wasn’t-doing talk, you’re a dead
man.”

I eased my hand back and that killer smile cracked those
perfect lips I couldn’t care less about.

“Seriously, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t screw
something up with us goofing around.”

Oh, no. He was sincere.

“No!
Absolutely not.
I’m not
kidding. We aren’t, haven’t, and won’t be dating. So goof away.” As soon as I
spoke the last part, I saw the flaw in the statement.
“But!
But, not anything so goofy it gets me expelled or written about on the boys’
room wall.”

“What about just in the locker room?”

I grinned up at him, liking this easy friendship, this guy
without the guy-stress.

“Maybe.
Text
me
a rough draft before you post anything there.”

~*~

Kent and Wells are nowhere near each other in the alphabet.
Obviously.
I will always be the girl in the far row near the
back. Typically Amy’s behind me, but History was Amy-free.

Thank goodness.

Of course, if Amy was in this class, maybe I wouldn’t be in
this situation.

From my place by the windows in the back corner, I could see
the back of Chris's head. He'd gotten a haircut sometime between when I'd
dropped him off and this morning. The pale line of hair shaved up the back of
his neck shown like a crescent moon against the tan he'd earned on the field
this summer.

I kind of liked it. That couldn’t be good.

Mr. Reed shut the door and threw the lock the second the
bell rang. The handle immediately jiggled as someone tried to get in.

“Get a late slip from the office, Mr. Morrison.” Why was he
such a jerk? It wasn't as if the kid was strolling in during the second half of
the period...or even a minute late.

I couldn't believe it when the groans arose from the A
through F row as Mr. Reed passed papers back. That could only mean one thing.

Pop Quiz.

Chris turned in his seat, just enough to catch my eye and
grinned. It was a little silly. A look so hopeful even I was rooting for him as
I said a prayer the quiz it covered stuff from the first couple chapters and
not the ones we didn't get to.

The last piece of paper slipped out of V-for-
Vitrano’s
hand and onto my desk without the typical
hey-how-
ya
-doing grin accompanying it. Someone wasn't
ready for the test. Hopefully that someone wasn't Chris.

Or me.

Also, what kind of teacher considers thirty questions a
quiz?
Especially when the last two are essay questions.
More like pop final exam.

Forty minutes later, the last kid handed in her paper and
Mr. Reed started to discuss some history topic my brain was too fried to
process. The precious ding of the timer on his desk cut off his rambling and
pacing. God forbid he
miss
the three minute window he
gave himself every day to inflict us with homework. He jerked the overhead
projector screen and raised it away from the chalkboard so he could point out
the reading and writing and memorizing and typical busy work he gave us every
day.

I scribbled down the assignment and wondered how I was going
to finish mine and catch up on the chart. Time Management was so not my thing.
Time
Ignorement
I was fabulous at. I let everyone
trample out of the room ahead of me before stopping at the edge of Mr. Reed's
desk.

“Mr. Reed? I was wondering about grades.”

He stared at me over the top rim of his glasses. Did he not
realize how old that made him look?

“No excuses for homework not completed. I assure you,
there's no reason you shouldn't be able to complete the assignment I've
outlined.”

Except for the five other full-year classes I had on my
plate.

“No, sir.
It isn't about the
assignment.”
Brown nose, Rachel.
You can do it. “I'm
enjoying the class. I've always found History interesting. I was thinking more
long-term.”

I glanced at his desk, looking for something personal to
give me an edge, to read him.
Nothing except four red pens, a
ruler, and one of those planners.
Which made me ask:
What does a History teacher need a ruler
for, and could he possibly have a life outside of the RV?

“I like to chart out my year ahead of time. Give the
important projects their due.” He tried not to nod, but he loved the idea of
having another person who might need one of those over-priced, over-dated books
sitting on his desk. “I was wondering if there are any big projects coming down
the road.”

He looked at me standing there with my books held to my
chest and shook his head as if the answer didn't really matter. Part of me
wanted to say,
Dude, if you hate kids so
much, what are you doing here?
But, that wasn’t part of the brown nose
plan. Internal editing is exhausting.

“There’s a presentation each semester on a key point or
person in history and a year-end project that overviews a major era.” He pushed
those half-sized glasses up his nose and asked, “Is that enough information for
your planning?”

Bingo.
Exactly what I wanted to hear.
Chris and I were golden.

Well, I mean, I was golden. Chris was
on
his own
. Yup, I was an independent woman. No boy was going to shape my
year. Not a baseball player. Not a soccer player. Not a one.

“Yes.” I flashed him my most girly-flirty smile. Can’t hurt,
right? “Thanks, Mr. Reed.”

He actually smiled back as I rushed out. My study hall
teacher wasn't so crazy about the bell, but no one liked us coming in late—as
if we could do everything in three minutes. I'm surprised riots hadn't broken
out at the thirty second bell.

The halls were already thinning, but my next class was on
the far side of the building. The fastest way there was to cut through the old
wing that was used as administrative offices for the part time
somebodies
who were never there anyway.

It was a weird place. The paint was different and the older
lighting gave off a slightly yellowed glow. Doorways indented between unused
lockers but didn't go anywhere. Every year someone proposed ripping it down.
Every year it was cheaper to just quasi-heat it.

If it was nighttime and I was a
chicken
little
girly-girl, I'd hate cutting down there alone. As it was, I
nearly screamed when a hand reached out and pulled me into one of the empty
alcoves.

I slammed into a hard chest, my nose coming into solid
impact with a shoulder.

“Can you believe that?” The excitement rolling off Chris
felt more typical to the soccer field than the hallway. Any second he’d start
stretching for laps. “I was ready. He gave us the test and I aced it.”

I pushed back, trying to step away from him in the tight
space between the false doorway and the wall.

“You aced it, right?” His grin was kind of …floppy like an
overly happy bunny or a puppy with a new home. His green eyes darkened so the
color blended into the edge of his pupils. And he was totally pumped like he
just
sieged
and captured some castle—or, you know,
won a game.
Joy of victory.
Blah
Blah
Blah
.
Very aggressive.
And it was hot.

I wretched my
arm out of his grasp
and stepped back, out into the hallway.
Out to safety.

There was no way—not one damn way—I was going down that
path. This guy put every personal red flag on the field or the play or
whatever. I could never stand next to him without wanting to check myself.
Adjust my skirt. Watch my too-long arms try to curl around me—into me. Wonder
if my head looked like it was growing. Wonder if literally every person was
seeing Beauty and the Beast in us.

Every fear, every phobia, every “irrational” thought would
stand in sharp contrast next to the gorgeousness on display before me.

And I had no interest in being the next notch on this
particular belt. I glanced down at his belt as I thought that…and jerked my
eyes away.