Saving Juliet (27 page)

Katrina is one wish away from her deepest desire.

Now if only she could decide what that might be...

Suzanne Selfors

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Read on for a sneak peek at the next funny, heartfelt novel from Suzanne Selfors.

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Two

L
ast year, this guy named Aaron started calling me Coffeehouse Girl. At least it wasn't Hurricane Girl, the obvious choice, since my name is Katrina. And it was better than being called Lard Ass, or Crater Face, or Homo
--
delightful titles bestowed on some of my classmates.

"Hey, it's Coffeehouse Girl."

"Wanna take my order, Coffeehouse Girl?"

"Hey, Coffeehouse Girl, why don't you introduce Lard Ass to the concept of nonfat milk?"

His teasing wasn't a big deal. Neither the popular girl nor the shunned girl, I existed somewhere in the mundane middle
--
the perfect place for the untalented. Fortunately, the nickname hadn't spread beyond Aaron and his buddies. And it didn't feel like a malicious nickname. It was just a factual statement. That's who I was
--
the girl who worked in that weird old-lady coffeehouse. And that's what I smelled like, not like an old lady but like freshly ground coffee. Sometimes the grounds got caught in the hem of my shirt or on my shoes. Sometimes the percolator's steam scented my hair. Aaron's buddies would sniff me.

"Coffeehouse Girl smells
gooooood."

"I'd like to drink her up."

"I've got a grande for you, Coffeehouse Girl."

I wonder if it's a universal law that boys become annoying turds around age eleven and slide downhill from there.

But they never said those things to me when Vincent was around.

Vincent didn't have a nickname. He could have, the way-he always smelled like chlorine, the way his goggles left imprints around his eyes, the way he shaved his legs before races. But no one bothered Vincent. He had broken every swimming record held by Nordby High. Though swimming didn't draw the same kind of frenzy as basketball or football, the line of swimming trophies in the gym's trophy case couldn't be missed.

His size didn't hurt either. Half Native American, half Norwegian, he looked like the offspring of Geronimo and Conan the Barbarian, minus the killer attitude and weaponry. In other words, he was an absolute hunk. So while others bore the weight of Freak or Loser, Vincent got left alone, which was exactly how he liked it.

Vincent and his dad belonged to the Suquamish tribe, as did about a quarter of the students at Nordby High. The most famous member of the tribe was Chief Seattle, also known as Chief Seattle. The tribe owned most of the land to the east of Nordby, and it had plans to build a huge casino and resort. But until the resort's completion, there was little tribal money for higher education. And Vincent's dad didn't bring in much from his job as a security guard. So Vincent needed that swimming scholarship.

Monday morning always began with an assembly in the gym. Paper coffee cups with Java Heaven cloud logos overflowed from the trash can. Kids hung out at Java Heaven because it offered the trendy stuff like smoothies, energy drinks, and iced espresso. Senior citizens hung out at Anna's because it offered the stuff senior citizens prefer, like percolated gut-eating coffee, nondairy creamer, and sugar that comes in cubes.

Elizabeth, my best
girl
friend, waved from the bleachers. I sat between her and a freshman I didn't know. Vincent sat with the swim team a few rows lower. If this had been a picnic, or a movie, or that God-awful monster truck rally he had dragged me to, then Vincent would have sat next to me. But in high school, you gather at the watering hole with your herd. Vincent's herd all wore matching Nordby Otters Swim Team sweatshirts.

I didn't have a herd.

"Face is sitting down there," Elizabeth informed me. She always knew exactly where Face was sitting. You'd think she had stuck a GPS unit up his butt or something. "Face is
soooo
cute."

She said that at least four times a day.

Face was Elizabeth's code name for David Cord. She didn't want anyone to know that she had a killer crush on him. Face was not a member of the mundane middle. His herd wore polo shirts and spent most rainless afternoons at the Nordby Golf Course.

"Good morning, students," Principal Carmichael greeted from center court. "As you all know, winter break begins next Wednesday." Screams of glee erupted. Students stomped their feet. Mr. Rubens, the phys
ed
teacher, jumped out of his chair and blew his whistle. The enthusiasm settled back to boredom.

The principal cleared her throat. "We have a lot to accomplish before winter break, but guidance counselor appointments are of the highest priority. Yellow notices have been placed in lockers to remind those students who have not yet met this requirement. These appointments are mandatory."

Someone behind me hollered, "Fascist!"

Carmichael scowled. "The yearly consultation with the guidance counselor is an important part of your education, especially for those of you who are planning to go to a college or university." She adjusted the microphone. It shrieked like it always did. Elliott, the school's technical genius, ran out to fix it like he always did. No one yelled "Nerd!" Elliott was going to bring teleportation to the masses or invent liquid time or something and we all knew it.

"Thank you, Elliott." Principal Carmichael adjusted her glasses.
"And now Heidi Darling has an announcement, so please give her your undivided attention."

Elizabeth and I groaned as Heidi strode to the microphone. It was the whole perky thing that made us cringe. Natural perkiness is digestible in small amounts. But she was too wide-eyed, too smiley, too bouncy. What kind of a carbon fingerprint does a person leave after maintaining that level of energy?

"Listen up," Heidi said in her clipped way. "This year, my dad's coffeehouse, Java Heaven, is sponsoring the Winter Solstice Festival, so that means that it's going to be the biggest and best festival ever." She paused expectantly. No one applauded, but she kept on smiling. "So the thing is
,
we need help, people. The decorations don't get set up on their own." Groans filled the gym. Heidi planted her hands on her hips. "My dad said he'll give Java Heaven coupons to those who volunteer, good for a free sixteen-ounce Mocha Cloud Frappe, which is organic because we care about the environment."

"Hey, Coffeehouse Girl."
Aaron, the annoying turd, sat behind me. "You got anything free to give out? I'd like to taste your frappe."

Elizabeth jabbed him in the shin with her pencil, then leaned close to me. "Maybe I should ask Face to go to the festival."

"Go for it," I said encouragingly, even though I knew she would never ask him. Elizabeth could jab guys with pencils, she could intimidate them with her big boobs and her in-your-face attitude, but she had no idea how to ask one out. We were both pretty pathetic when it came to guys. Neither of us had ever been on an actual date.

Heidi waved one of the Java Heaven coupons. "If we show our school spirit, we can make this the best Solstice ever.
Gooooo
Otters!"

Heidi Darling was like a virus, the way she invaded everything
--
every school club, every committee and event. Last spring she had painted a mural on the cafeteria wall with the theme "school spirit." Why would a person want to do all that stuff? And who really cares about "school spirit"? What's the point?

"I highly advise each of you to volunteer and help with the festival decorations," Principal Carmichael said, taking the microphone from Heidi. "Volunteering will look good on your college applications."

And there's the point.

Our main focus as teenagers, according to just about everyone, is to jam-pack our lives with activities so that we can get into an Ivy League college and therefore succeed in life. Because that's the way it works. Weak application = crappy college. Crappy college = crappy job. Crappy job = crappy life.
In other words, poverty, alcoholism, obesity, and depression.
It's enough stress to make your hair fall out. By the time Heidi Darling graduated, her college application would be the size of an encyclopedia. She was on the fast track to Har-friggin'-vard.

"Thank you, Heidi," Principal Carmichael said.
Heidi speed-walked back to the bleachers.
"So,
students,
remember to see your guidance counselor before
--
" The principal stopped speaking as the gym's double doors slammed open.

A strange guy entered. He wore a khaki kilt, a ragged sweater, and sandals with no socks. A satchel hung from his shoulder and his long brown hair was all messed up, as if he'd been
sleeping in an alley.

"May I help you?" the principal asked. "Young man, may I help you?"

"I apologize for the intrusion, madame." He walked toward the bleachers. Maybe he was a new student, but that still didn't explain why he had been sleeping in our alley.

"He's
sooo
cute," Elizabeth whispered. I usually ignored Elizabeth's declarations of "cute." With each boyfriendless month that passed, her standards lowered. She was dangerously close to substituting "cute" for "alive." However, the guy did look much better under the bright gym lights than that yellow alley light.

"Excuse me," Principal Carmichael said. "You're not a student here. We have strict security codes."

"I won't be but a wee moment." He stopped walking and scanned the bleachers. "I've come seeking a lassie. I mean, a young lady." A roar of student laughter broke the tension.

"You're not
seeking
anyone until you check in at the office," the principal said. "Mr. Rubens will show you the way. Mr. Rubens?"

Mr. Rubens put his hand on the guy's shoulder. "Come with me, young man."

The guy calmly slid from Mr. Rubens's grasp and walked right up to the first row. "I must reward her good deed." Then he pointed. "There she is."

Oh God.