Fearless (The Story of Samantha Smith #1) (2 page)

There was no way he could see anything beneath or through my knee-length dress, but I squeezed my thighs together, just in case.
Just in case I jumped him. Rawr!

Now that he was my knight in see-through armor, maybe I should stop thinking of him as Psycho Motorbike and call him Motorknight.

“You okay?” A dimple twitched beneath his cheek. I detected a cocky smile. I couldn’t see his lips beneath the helmet’s face mask, but I could imagine them.
Swoon
. He looked at me expectantly.

“Uh…”
Pick up your panties and grow some ovaries, girl! Loosen that corset or you’re going to faint right here!
“Thanks, yeah, I’m okay.”

His face twisted. “Why do you smell like coffee?”

“Um…new body spray?” I said hopefully.

He noticed my legs and the coffee spill. He chuckled. “Looks like you had an accident.”

Boy, he was really looking at my legs. I wanted to squirm. “Yeah. Accident.” I sounded like an idiot.

“What’s your name?” His eyes melted my good sense, like Superman’s laser beam eyes, except blue.

“Sam—”

Cars started honking again. The light had cycled back to green.

“—antha.”

“My work is done here. Sam. Antha.” More dimples. Wow. Was this guy for real?

He slapped the roof of my car, swaggered back to his bike and rocketed down the highway. I wanted to shout “My name’s Samantha Smith! My cell phone number is—” but I had a small fragment of self-respect remaining.

I started my car and tried to follow, but he was long gone. All I had left of that horrible-magical moment was a car floor soaking in coffee and my outfit equally in need of a wash and detailing.

Psycho Blue Eyes had made me forget all about Red Face. But Red Face had brought back everything else.

Bitch.
 

All because of something
I
did…
 

Slut.
 

A mistake
I
could never undo…

Whore.

Something
I
would regret for the rest of my life…

Horribly late, I pulled into the north parking lot at SDU. Coffee sloshed around the soles of my flat sandals every time I braked or accelerated. I would have to deal with it later.
 

The parking lot was the size of a small town, and packed with cars. I grabbed the first available space. I had to shoehorn my VW between the two jackholes who had parked Daddy’s BMW and Mommy’s Lexus over the white line on either side of the space.
 

My car door bumped into the Lexus when I opened it, leaving me no more than a mail slot to squeeze through. I was by no means fat, but I barely made it out of my car.

I jogged across the lot toward the business school. My feet stuck to my sticky sandals, peeling off with very step. Lame. My book bag felt like it was loaded with bricks. Sweat would be running down my face by the time I made it to the lecture hall. Stupid traffic.

At the end of the lot, a black motorcycle parked with the others caught my eye. Was that the bike blue-eyed Psycho Motorknight had ridden? I wasn’t sure. I doubted a guy like him went to college. He was probably heading to an early-morning drug buy or gang fight, by the looks of him.

My cell phone jangled. A text from my first and only friend in San Diego, Madison Lockhart.
 

Where r u? Class has started!

I texted her back.
Late. Running. No pun.
>:|

Her reply:
Look 4 me at the back. I’ll save u a seat.

I shoved my phone in my pocket and maintained a fast walk. Although I knew where everything was, I didn’t remember things being so far apart.

When I finally reached the business school and crept into the back of the immense lecture hall, nobody paid any attention to me. The professor didn’t even notice. Yes, I half-expected the entire class to stand as one to point and name-call at the new girl, but no one did.
 

The nice thing about giant schools like SDU was that I could disappear into the crowd. Nobody cared about Samantha Smith.

I was finally anonymous.

I hoped it would stay that way.

I slid into the seat next to Madison. She and I had met last week during the orientation tour. She was total BFF material. When I’d told her I was from D.C., she’d offered up her SUV to haul the new furniture I needed to buy, and helped me set up and decorate my apartment. “Hey, Mads,” I whispered.

“What took you so long?” she hissed.

“I got stuck in traffic.”

Madison wrinkled her nose. “Why do you smell like coffee?”

“Long story,” I groaned. I considered skulking to the nearest bathroom to rinse my feet in the sink, but my coffee odor would have to wait.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, “I’ll email you my notes later. You haven’t missed much.”

That was for sure. Fundamentals of Accounting. One of the lower division classes for my major. Gag. I was on the fast track. I couldn’t wait to graduate and get my CPA. My mom and dad would be so proud. Yay. Sort of. Who
really
wanted to be an accountant?

I pulled out my laptop and turned it on. I had a moment to look around at the other students in the room. They all seemed to be earnestly following the professor’s every word. Was I the only one who didn’t really want to be taking accounting? I mean, I know college is an amazing opportunity that not everyone gets. But why did my major have to be something sensible and boring like Accounting?

Because you’re good with numbers
, my mother had encouraged. Rah, Mom.
Because accounting is a safe, dependable career
, my dad had said. Go, Dad. Maybe they were right. I screwed up everything else I tried. I had the scars to prove it. Maybe something safe and dependable was exactly what I needed.

Might as well make the most of it.

Samantha Smith, CPA.

Groan. My name was as boring as my major.

Chapter 2

After class, Madison and I packed up our laptops and skirted outside. A throng of people poured out of the surrounding lecture halls and onto the wide walkways between the various buildings. Laughter and first day of school excitement ricocheted everywhere.

“Where’s your coffee, Sam?” Madison asked. She already knew about my caffeine addiction, and harbored one of her own. “I thought you told me you felt naked unless you had one at all times.”

“Ha, ha. I’m wearing it,” I pouted. “I spilled it all over myself on the drive over.”

Madison grimaced sheepishly. “Oh, good. I didn’t want to say anything. The smell was a bit strong. I was worried you were trying out a new body spray.” She wrinkled her nose.
 

“Funny, I said the same thing earlier.”

“To who?”

“Nobody.”

“I see your eyes twinkling,” she singsonged. “What?”

“I’ll tell you later,” I grinned. “Right now, I need to wash off my Parfum de Starbucks. Is there a restroom around here?”

“Yeah, around the corner.”

When I rinsed my feet in the restroom sink, and then my sandals, only about eight girls gave me the stink eye.
 

Madison noticed after the third one. “What are you looking at?” she snapped at the gawker. “Aren’t you late for class?”

The gawker rebutted with an upturned nose and a huff before stalking outside.

I used a wad of paper towels to dry off. I felt like a homeless woman taking a sponge bath in a public restroom.
 

“Ignore them,” Madison consoled. “Wait till it happens to them.”

“Thanks, Mads. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
 

She smiled. “All clean?”

“Yeah. I think I got up on the ass side of bed this morning.” We walked outside.

“We need to turn your frown upside down, girl. You need more caffeine.” Madison was such an enabler. “I’ve got an hour to kill before Spanish. When’s your next class?”

“Eleven.”

“Cool. Let’s stop at the Student Center and grab you another brew.”

My sandals squished wetly as we walked. I hoped no one noticed the trail of wet foot prints I left behind. Ugh. They were like a road map pointing to the idiot.
 

Unlike me, Madison, was the picture of stylin’ beach coolness in her flip-flops, board shorts, and surf t-shirt. You could see that she wore a neon bikini swimsuit top instead of a bra. She was tan from head to toe. Her hair was golden blond from the sun. You couldn’t get that color from a bottle. She was a genuine California Girl.

I was her polar opposite with my dark print dress, drab hair, and pale skin. I examined my fingernails. They were short, chipped, and flecked with remnants of black nail polish.
 

Emo. Goth. Witch. Sorceress. Suicide Watch…

That’s what they had called me back home in Washington D.C., after my life fell apart. My solution to the rejection was to check out completely. I hid behind black clothes and buckets of black makeup. But I wasn’t an Emo, or Goth, or anything else. I just wanted to be left alone. It was the only way I could keep my secrets to myself.

After two years of solitary misery, I was ready to move on. I wanted to reinvent myself here in San Diego, and rise from the ashes of my life like a fiery phoenix.
 

I was determined to shed my bleak wardrobe and frosty skin and finally get a tan. I believed the sun’s rays would burn my old memories and my pain completely away. With any luck, it would only be a few short weeks until I was tan like Madison. And sooner or later, my dishwater blond hair would lighten naturally, like hers.

Then, any signs of my gothish past would be wiped away forever. Hopefully the bad memories would disappear just as easily.

Bitch. Slut. Whore…

The enormous Student Center contained a food court, a movie theater, various meeting rooms, the campus bookstore, and tons of outdoor seating. It was packed with people.

We got in the long line at the campus coffee shop, Toasted Roast. It was so long, it ran out the door and into the courtyard.
 

“Check out those hot guys over there,” Madison motioned with her chin. A bunch of tan, athletic guys sat on top of a table. Was everybody in San Diego tan except me? The guys rough-housed each other and laughed. “I’m pretty sure they’re on the rugby team.”

“Whatever,” I scoffed.

“Come on, Sam. Don’t rule them out. You haven’t met them.”

“Have you?”

“No, but it doesn’t mean they’re jerks. Some of them are pretty cute.”

“Yeah, well, fine for you. You have the whole ‘hot surfer chick’ thing going. I don’t have time for dating anyway.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Sam. You’re totally hot. I’m sure guys fell all over you in D.C.”

“Yeah, whatever.” The story of me and guys always ended in disaster.

Madison’s eyes lit up. “Hello, GQ biker dude!” A new jock had joined the stud farm at the table. “I saw him first!” Madison squealed. “I call dibs!”
 

GQ Biker had dark, naturally curly hair and was taller than the rest of his pals, but equally tan, and very muscular. He wore a white t-shirt and motorcycle boots. Tattoos criss-crossed his arms. His face was turned away, but I could tell his jawline was masculine and rugged.
 

Madison was breathless and close to fainting. “That guy is seriously hot.”

“You can’t even see his face.”

Then he turned. It was Psycho Motorknight, jeweled blue eyes and all. He was stunningly hot.

Madison fanned her face. “O. M. G. I’m sprung.” Madison was in love, no doubt about it.
 

“Geez, I hope your panties are drip-dry.”
 

Madison smacked my arm. “Shut up! I’m busy swooning.”

“He’s all yours, Mads. Go get him.” I was happy she was into him. Not that either of us knew the first thing about the guy. Other than he was gorgeous.

“Bitch alert.” Madison frowned.

What was it about sorority girls that was so identifiable? Was it their impossibly long legs, perfectly fake breasts and cookie-cutter beauty? I’m pretty sure the three that had just walked up to the table of hot guys were manufactured in the same factory as Barbie dolls because they had the same plastic looks and perfect proportions.
 

Two of the sorority girls wrapped themselves around Psycho Motorknight. He sat down on the table top and grabbed the third robot doll by the hip and pulled her onto his lap. Her hair was blond and wavy. She draped her arms around his neck. They were nose to nose. She tongue kissed him. He indulged her.

Psycho Motorknight was enjoying himself like a lion on the savannah. I imagined him rolling around on his back in the tall grass while lionesses fed him and stroked his ego. Men. Maleness transcended all species. Ugh. I couldn’t watch anymore. I turned away. “Gross! Somebody get me a barf bag.”

“Slut,” Madison said, faux-wounded but still curious. “What’s he doing now?”

I couldn’t help but look. Psycho Motorknight had set Blondie down. He stood and motioned like he was playing charades. “I think he’s telling a story.”

Psycho Motorknight suddenly dropped into a crouch and swung a fist through the air. I had seen him do that this morning. Was he telling his groupies about saving me? I hoped not. When he finished, his buddies clapped him on the back. I was expecting him to start signing autographs when he looked right at me. His blue eyes blinked recognition. Oh shit.

I heard him say faintly, “That’s her!”
 

All of them stared at me. Oh no. The sorority squad scowled and narrowed their eyes, targeting me with their daggery sneers. This was how the negative notoriety started. The scrutinizing glares. Crap.

I turned around, looking for cover. Luckily, the line for coffee had made it into the building. I hid behind the doorframe of Toasted Roast. “Shit, shit, shit,” I hissed.

“What’s wrong, Sam?”

“Hide, Mads! Don’t let them see you.” She had no idea what was going on. Did I want her to? She seemed so smitten with Psycho Motorknight, did I want to tell her that he’d punched a guy out while defending me this morning? How would that make her feel? What if it turned out she was totally jealous? I didn’t want to find out. I’d only known her a week and didn’t want to test our friendship this soon.