Geek High (10 page)

By the time they finally agreed to break for lunch, I was exhausted and weak with hunger. We headed to the food court, where Avery and Hannah ordered diet sodas and salads. I had a burger, fries, and a Coke, and after I wolfed that down, went back for a Cinnabon. Avery looked at the gooey, sticky pastry longingly as I pulled it apart.

“That looks so good,” she said, sighing.

“Want some?” I offered, holding a piece of my Cinnabon out to her. “I wish,” she said. “I'm getting fat just looking at it. How do you eat that and stay so thin?”

“I don't know,” I said with a shrug. I'd always been thin. Honestly, I never thought it was so great. I'd much rather have Hannah's curves, or Avery's big boobs. I was flat as a plank, with skinny boy legs.

“You're lucky,” Avery said. She stretched her arms up over her head and looked around to see if anyone—i.e., any cute guys—was watching her. A couple of Goth guys wearing Black Ice T-shirts and dark nail polish who were sitting a few tables down from us eyed her with interest, but Avery just curled her lip and rolled her eyes. Chastened, they quickly looked away.

“So why haven't you bought anything?” Hannah asked me.

“I don't really need anything,” I said. And I didn't. Also, I didn't have a credit card. Sadie thinks they're bourgeois and encourage consumerism.

Which reminded me: Sadie had called me again the night before. She sounded hurt in her message.

“I was hoping to talk to you. I wanted to see how school is going,” she said.

But I'd just erased her message, and hadn't called her back…which was now causing me no small amount of guilt. I tried to shrug it off. After all,
Sadie
was the one who left, not me. I was still really ticked off at her for that. Although…this was the longest we'd ever gone without speaking. And the void that had suddenly come up between us—my anger, Sadie's departure, the Atlantic Ocean—had left me with a sick feeling in my stomach.

“Of course you need something!” Hannah said. She stood and picked up her tray with its still half-full plastic container of salad. “Let's go find a new outfit for you. Come on. It'll be fun.”

Avery stood up too, shouldering her pink patent-leather handbag.

“That's okay,” I said. “I didn't bring enough money with me to get a new outfit anyway.”

“So charge it,” Hannah said.

“I don't have a credit card,” I said.

At this Hannah looked horrified. “You don't? Oh, my God, I'd
die
.” It took her a few moments to rally from this shock and form a new plan. “I know. We'll just put it on my credit card.”

I looked dubious at this, and she shook her head impatiently. “My mom won't care,” she said. “She never even looks at the bills.”

“Hey, then you should totally buy me that key fob we saw at Coach. I
have
to have it, but my dad will freak if I spend any more money this month,” Avery said excitedly.

I was appalled. I couldn't believe that Avery was actually asking Hannah to buy her a sixty-dollar key chain. Hannah hesitated. I could tell she didn't relish the idea of saying no to Avery, but she was also clearly uncomfortable with the idea of letting Avery use her credit card.

I saw a flash of annoyance pass over Avery's face, but a moment later she was laughing. “I was totally kidding, Hannah. God, you should see your face. Did you really think I was serious?”

“God, no,” Hannah said, looking relieved as she laughed too.

But this exchange had left me feeling ill at ease.

“Look, maybe we should just get going,” I suggested. “Your mom might get angry if you buy me clothes.”

“No. My mom told me to do a makeover on you. I'll just tell her, and she'll get Richard to pay her back for your stuff,” Hannah insisted.

“She said that? That Miranda needs a makeover?” Avery asked, her eyebrows raised. “That's really rude.”

For a moment I loved Avery.

“Although, Miranda, you would look a lot better if you wore cuter clothes and maybe some makeup,” Avery said, looking at me critically.

And the moment of loving Avery ended.

“No, that's okay. Let's just go home,” I said, shaking my head.

“Come on; it'll be fun,” Hannah coaxed me.

“Well…” I hesitated.

I really didn't want the makeover. Avery was right—it
was
insulting. But I had to admit, I was touched that Hannah was making such an effort to bond with me. And who knew? Maybe makeup and clothes were the only way she really knew how to reach out.

“Okay,” I said with a resigned sigh. “Make me over.”

I
t was my own fault. After all, I volunteered for the makeover. So I really couldn't blame the fact that I came home from the mall with a bag full of short skirts and tight tops I would never wear in public on anyone other than myself. My cheeks sparkled with powder, and my lips were sticky with a gloss that smelled like fake raspberries.

“You look amazing,” Avery had assured me as she tamed my hair into two low pigtails while I was sitting at the makeup counter in Sephora.

“You really do. Better than I've ever seen you,” Hannah gushed.

But I didn't feel amazing. I felt like someone else…someone who wore too much makeup and not enough clothing. And I really wasn't digging the pigtail thing. I looked like a girl-band wannabe. And not in a good way…if there
was
a good way.

But, I thought grimly as Avery dropped us off at the beach house before squealing out of the driveway, I had bigger problems to deal with.

“What time is Emmett picking you up?” I asked Hannah as she waved good-bye to the departing Jetta. I tried to keep my voice casual.

She turned and looked at me blankly. “What?” she said. Her voice wasn't unfriendly so much as it was completely devoid of feeling. If anything, she looked a little surprised I was talking to her.

Which, considering we'd spent the past four hours together talking and even laughing as though we might actually be almost friends, was more than a little weird.

“Your date?” I prompted her.

She tossed her hair back with a well-practiced swish and turned to walk into the house.

“Later,” she said vaguely.

I stared after her. What was going on? Did Hannah have multiple personalities? Was there a friendly Hannah and an evil Demon Spawn Hannah? Why had she made the effort to be nice to me earlier if just to act cold now? I mean, from the moment we climbed into Avery's Jetta, Hannah had gone out of her way…Oh, wait.
From the moment we climbed into Avery's Jetta
…Did that mean…Was Hannah being nice to me only on account of Avery? But why? Then I remembered Avery's snarky comment about wanting to cultivate a friendship with me so that I'd help her get her grades up. But she'd only been kidding, right? No one was that mercenary…were they?

Feeling vaguely disappointed, I followed Hannah into the house and headed up to my room to get Willow. She sprang up off her round pink bed and danced around me, wriggling her long, sleek body. I kicked off my sneakers and tossed them into my closet.

I slipped a martingale leash over Willow's head, and together we padded back down the hall, took a left at the foyer, a right into the kitchen with its pale wooden cupboards and gleaming stainless-steel appliances, and headed for the sliding glass back doors.

Although I still wasn't happy about being forced to live in the Demon's Lair, the house did have one thing going for it—it was right on the beach. There was a gorgeous view of the ocean from the kitchen and living room, both of which were equipped with soaring glass windows and doors to take full advantage of the scenery. And every afternoon Willow and I took a long walk along the water. The gentle roar of the waves as they crested against the shore relaxed me, and Willow liked finding dead fish to roll in.

We were almost out the back door when my father walked into the kitchen. He was wearing khaki shorts and a white button-down shirt, and his hair was still damp from the shower.

“Hi, honey,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Taking Willow for a walk,” I said.

“Great! I'll come with you,” Dad offered.

“Oh,” I said. “Um, okay.”

I still hadn't forgotten about my dad agreeing with Peyton that I was odd, although the anger had faded a bit, leaving behind a dull hurt. And while I knew I should be happy that my dad was making the effort to reconnect with me, it still felt weird spending time alone with him after how distant he'd been for the past few years. I knew he wanted a second chance; I just wasn't sure I wanted to give it to him.

Dad followed me out the door onto the back deck and then down the tall wooden stairs that descended to the beach. The sand shifted and felt hot under my bare feet. Willow let out a happy woof and dipped her nose down low to investigate a clump of dried seaweed. I gave her leash a gentle tug, and Willow abandoned her sniffing to prance happily at my side as we made our way down to the firmer sand at the shoreline. Occasionally the waves would lap up all the way to our feet, and each time Willow would jump to one side and reach down to nip playfully at the water.

“She seems like a nice dog,” Dad remarked.

I felt a rush of pride, and stroked Willow's head behind her ears, just the way she likes it. “She is.”

“Did she race?” he asked.

I nodded. “For two years. But she didn't win enough races for them to breed her. If the greyhound rescue group hadn't saved her, they would have put her down,” I said.

My dad looked surprised. “Really? They destroy the dogs when they're done racing them?”

“Yes. It's criminal. They kill perfectly healthy, amazing dogs. The greyhound rescue groups save as many as they can, but they can't save them all,” I said, and shook my head angrily. “It's so unfair and so irresponsible that the racing people breed so many greyhounds, and then throw them away as soon as the dogs aren't turning a profit for them.”

“You sound very passionate on the subject,” Dad remarked.

“I am. Every year Mom and I drive down to West Palm to go to a fund-raising picnic for Great Greys, the rescue group we got Willow from. They have games, and a costume contest, and a silent auction. Last year Willow and I won second prize for our Dorothy and Toto costumes—I was Toto; she was Dorothy. This year I want to dress up as—” But then I stopped abruptly and looked down at the wet sand. I was going to say Calvin and Hobbes, if I could figure out how to make a tiger suit for Willow. But then I remembered: We probably wouldn't be going to the fund-raiser this year.

“As what?” Dad asked.

“Actually…nothing. I don't think we're going to go this year.”

“Why not?”

“The picnic is in November, on the first Saturday after Thanksgiving, and Sadie probably won't be back in time to go,” I said. I shrugged. “It's not a big deal.”

“I'll take you,” Dad offered.

“That's okay. You don't have to,” I said.

“I want to,” Dad insisted.

“Okay…maybe,” I said, trying to stay as noncommittal as I could.

The truth was, I didn't want to get my hopes up that he'd remember. After all, he hadn't come to any of my Mu Alpha Theta competitions last year, and he'd completely forgotten about parents' night at school, even though Sadie had called him twice to remind him.

“So how was your shopping trip?” Dad asked.

“Fine,” I said.

“Your hair looks cute,” Dad said, giving one of my pigtails a tug.

I remembered my girl-band hair and makeup, and blushed. I was going to wash my face and shake out my hair as soon as we got back to the house. “Just so you know, Hannah charged some clothes for me on her credit card. She said Peyton wouldn't mind,” I said.

“I'm sure she won't,” he said. “But don't you have a credit card of your own?”

“No,” I said. I was going to add,
Sadie doesn't believe in credit cards
, but I knew from experience that this would probably lead to my dad muttering something under his breath about Sadie being a hippie, and then I'd yet again be put in the middle and feel weird about it.

“Well, we'll have to get you one,” Dad said. “I'll call my bank this afternoon and have them issue you a card on my account.”

“Oh…thanks,” I said awkwardly. And I knew that this was supposed to be the ultimate teen fantasy—parent-funded shopping sprees—but agreeing to it felt like I was betraying Sadie.

“I'm just glad that you and your sister can spend some time together and get to know each other,” Dad continued.

“Sister?” I repeated, confused. “Do you mean Hannah?”

“Who else?”

“It's just…she's
not
my sister,” I said, probably a little more emphatically than necessary. But just because he decided to remarry didn't automatically mean that Peyton and Hannah became my family, too. It didn't work that way.

I glanced at my dad to see if my reaction had angered him. But he didn't look mad. He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “I know this is all new and unfamiliar to you now. But I had hoped that your coming to live with us would be a chance for us to get closer. All of us.”

And since I didn't have a response for this, I just stared down at the sand in front of me, which turned out to be a good thing, since I was able to sidestep a beached jellyfish.

We walked a bit farther, passing onto the public beach. I looked up to see if the lifeguard was on duty—dogs aren't technically allowed on the beach—and was glad to see that the guard shack was closed up.

“Wow, look at that,” Dad said. He stopped and pointed out toward the water.

A parasurfer was deftly moving through the waves, riding one as it crested and then jumping easily to another. His blue-and-yellow parasail soared high overhead. A burst of wind came along, picking the surfer right up off of the water. He flew through the air, and then landed gracefully back on another big wave. A crowd had gathered on the beach to watch him, and they broke into applause. I doubted he could hear them, though. He was too far out, and the thrum of the water too loud.

“Wow,” Dad said. “Do you think I'm too old to try that?”

“Yes,” I said so quickly and so authoritatively that we both laughed. It was the first time we'd laughed together since I moved in. I could feel some of the tension that had been there between us break away.

The parasurfer glided gracefully onto shore and leaped off his board, pulling down on the sail as he did so. The parasail rippled in the wind before it succumbed and dove down into the sand. The crowd cheered some more, and then turned their attention to two teenage boys with long hair and baggy shorts who were attempting to surf on the high waves. They weren't as skilled as the parasurfer, and neither was able to stand for more than a few seconds before wiping out.

“Maybe I should stick to surfing,” Dad mused, watching as one of the surfers rose unsteadily on his board and almost instantly crashed back down into the surf.

But I continued to watch the parasurfer, who had begun folding up his sail. He looked familiar, and I squinted at him, raising a hand to shield my eyes from the sun. And then my heart gave a jolt. It was Dex! I recognized his hair, which glinted coppery red in the sun. And just then, as I was staring at him, he looked right at me and raised a hand in greeting.

Does he remember me?
I wondered. Maybe it was Willow he recognized; she was very distinctive, after all. I waved back and then turned away, not wanting him to think I was lusting after him, like Avery was.

Because I wasn't. Really.

Although I had to admit…the parasurfing? Very cool.

“You want to walk down a little farther?” Dad asked.

“Sure,” I said. I gave Willow's leash a gentle tug—she'd grown bored and flopped down on the sand, resting her head on her front paws—and she stood, panting.

Dad started down the beach, his feet leaving tracks in the wet sand. Willow and I trailed after him. I glanced back once at Dex. He'd turned to talk to another wet suit–clad surfer, who was standing holding a board under one arm. But just before I turned back, I could have sworn that Dex had swiveled his head to look over at me…and that he had the same sardonic smile I'd seen on his face the day before, when he'd helped me up after my fall.

When we got back to the beach house, Dad asked me to grab the mail. So Willow and I walked around to the front of the house, through the side gate, and down the driveway to the mailbox. As I collected the usual bunch of circulars and bills, a Jeep pulled into the driveway and slowed to a stop. My stomach gave a lurch. I'd immediately recognized the Jeep; in fact, I'd been in the habit of scanning the school parking lot for it every morning. The Jeep belonged to Emmett. He'd arrived for his date with Hannah.

I'd actually somehow managed to forget about their date during my walk, thus proving how persuasive my powers of denial truly are. But it was hard to deny that he was here now, especially when the driver's-side door opened and Emmett hopped out. He was wearing a navy blue polo shirt over tan cargo shorts, and I felt a wave of longing wash over me at the sight of him standing there, all beautiful and golden and Emmett-like.

“Hey, Bloom,” Emmett said when he saw me.

Ugh.
Bloom again.

Emmett stopped and waited for me to catch up, so I had no choice but to walk over to him, hoping I wouldn't do or say anything dumb in his presence. But as soon as I got closer to him, I felt almost dizzy with longing. Not only did Emmett look great, but he smelled fantastic, too. Like soap and sun-warmed skin.