Love, Lattes and Mutants. Sandra Cox

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СКАЧАТЬ a sense of humor.” Holly laughs. “Who’d a thought?” She looks me over. Her lips twitch; she tries to hold back a smile.

      I grin reluctantly. Then what she tacked on sinks in. “You’re the most popular girl in school right now. Why would you possibly need a friend?”

      She bites her lips and looks at me.

      I cave. “Okay, as a matter of fact, I’d love a latte, but I warn you I’m not noted for my sterling conversation. I’m clueless about the latest trends in hair, clothes, or shoes.”

      At that moment, her hottie-of-a-brother Tyler lopes by. “Hol,” he acknowledges his shorter, fraternal twin. He gives me an absent nod. Not unkind, worse, indifferent. I’m damn sick of fading into the woodwork.

      She looks at me as if she’s waiting for me to figure it out. I glance from her to her brother. Right. Holly’s pretty but hardly drop-dead gorgeous. Though her vivacity makes up for it. And she is the new kid. Still, I get it. The girls are sucking up in the hopes of scoring with her brother.

      “Alright, I’ll meet you at the Pink Cat Coffee Shop at four o’clock.”

      She smiles and her pretty features light up. It takes her out of the attractive—but not mega hot—category and puts her in her brother’s. “See you at the Pink Cat. Don’t stand me up.”

      “Hey, it’s not a date you know.” I’m a firm believer in gay rights, but it’s so not my thing.

      She giggles. “My heart belongs to Ben Henley.” She names the football player who was firmly ensconced as the most popular boy at Rosemont until her twin arrived on the scene.

      “I’ll be there,” I promise and head for social studies.

      It may not have been smart but having a normal teenage destination to look forward to will certainly make the rest of the day easier to get through. I lied when I said I wasn’t interested in hairstyles and shoes. I love girlie stuff. Anyone with a drop of girl DNA loves shoes.

      I look at my clothes and sigh. I’ll be so glad to get home where I can shuck them like a used cocoon.

      For now, I continue the role of uninteresting, blah nerd. I do such a good job even the geeks keep their distance.

      With a sigh, I thump my books on my desk and slide into my seat.

      For the next forty minutes, I immerse myself in the effects of mob behavior on normal people. As soon as the bell rings, I shoot out of my seat and head for the door.

      I hit the hall at a fast pace, not paying as much attention as I should and collide with Edgar the Asshole Fahrenbacher, the most egotistical senior in Rosemont. Although, why anyone with a name like Edgar should be arrogant is beyond me. Maybe he’s overcompensating. He calls himself the Stallion. With chestnut hair, tight jeans, and a swagger, he’s not bad looking, but his looks don’t match his ego.

      “Oof.” My books go flying and so do his. They hit the floor with a thud.

      “Sorry,” I mumble, head down, heat shooting through my cheeks.

      “Not only are you a mouse, you’re a klutz. Pick my books up.” Totally humiliated, I bend to comply, hating every minute of it. I would much rather knock him on his swaggering butt and I could do it, too, if I weren’t trying to keep a low profile. Well, I could in the water anyway. I can hold my own against anybody in the water.

      When I reach for his chemistry book, he kicks it farther down the hall. Embarrassment turns to mad. What a total jerk. Before I totally blow my cover, hands reach out and sweep up the books.

      “Which ones are yours?”

      I look into piercing blue eyes and forget to breathe—and everything else for that matter.

      “Which are yours?” Holly’s brother repeats patiently.

      Mutely, I point at the top three. He hands them to me before he helps me to my feet. The rest he thrusts at Edgar. “I’m sure you can get the other book yourself,” he says easily to Edgar.

      Edgar nods, scowling at the interruption of his version of pull-the-wings-off-the-fly.

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ