Major Crush

by Jennifer Echols

  Mmmmmmm.

  “I wouldn’t tell your secret,” he said. “I wouldn’t do that to anyone, much less you.” He kissed me again.

  “Get it, Morrow!” Luther called out the window of the bus behind us.

  “Get it, Sauter!” called A llison.

  We laughed, then wrapped our arms around each other and hugged hard. It felt so wonderful to finally embrace him again, and rub my cheek against his cheek as I had Sunday afternoon. Or maybe it was just the tractor.

  He kissed my jaw, up near my ear.

  No, I didn’t think it was just the tractor.

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” I breathed.

  He said in my ear, “Dad took the car to work, and the truck wouldn’t start. I had to get here somehow. It took me forever.”

  I pulled back to look him in the eye. “Your dad’s going to kill you.”

  “I called him at work and told him what I was doing.”

  “A nd he gave you permission?”

  “Um, no. But at least I was responsible enough to let him know I was doing it. He’ll come to take it home when he gets off the night shift in a few minutes.” He gestured toward the line of buses. “It would be best if we left before he got here, if you know what I mean. He’s also coming to the contest. If we do well as drum majors, he’ll be more likely to forgive me. No pressure.”

  “Yeah, that’s what Mr. Rush said. No pressure. Ha.” Then I realized Drew had said “we”—“if we do well as drum majors.” I noticed for the first time that he was wearing his drum major uniform. With his Vans.

  “I brought my regular band uniform.” He kicked a bag in the floorboard. “If you want to be drum major by yourself from now on, I would totally understand, and no hard feelings. I’m sorry I was such an ass before. It took me a little while, you know? I needed twenty-four hours.” He looked at his watch. “Well, twenty-one.”

  “I wasn’t mad at you about that. A nyway, not for long. I just thought you’d told the twins about my dad. I didn’t know until this morning that my dad had the affair with the twins’ mother. They found out and told everyone.”

  He went very still, and the dark eyes blinked at me. “Your dad and Lurleen?”

  I nodded.

  His eyes flicked to the bus behind me, where the twins were waiting. “No wonder the twins have been on your case. Maybe they thought you liked me during band camp, and they came on to me and got me to ask them out just to make you mad.”

  I flushed hot with embarrassment, and put one hand up to my cheek, which I’m sure was bright pink. “That would mean I’m very obvious.”

  “A nd that would mean they used me. I feel so cheap!”

  We laughed because we were giddy. Then stopped laughing because it wasn’t funny.

  “Seriously, that’s opprobrious.” He wrinkled his nose. “Reprehensible.”

  “Evil, even.”

  We flinched as the driver of the bus behind us lay on the horn.

  “Nnnn,” Drew said, waving his hand at the bus driver. He stood me up in the cab so he could slide out of the seat. “Excuse me.” He jumped down from the tractor.

  “What are you going to do?” I called.

  “Yell at a girl.”

  “Please don’t. It doesn’t matter now—”

  “Nunn,” he said, waving his hand at me.

  I ran after him as he strode to the senior bus. He pounded on the door. It opened for him, and he stomped up the steps. I climbed up behind him. I had to hear this.

  He pointed to the twin in a seat near the front. “You lay off Virginia.”

  Everyone on the bus, including the twin, gaped at him in silence for a full five seconds. Then the twin hollered, “I didn’t do shit to Virginia.”

  “Come off it. Everybody knows you’re evil. Don’t be evil to Virginia. I’m dating Virginia. I’m not dating you, so get over it.”

  “You never were dating me!” the twin screeched.

  He looked at the other twin, who was standing up toward the back of the bus. “You’re both capable of the same atrocities. You’re genetically identical.”

  A s he stomped down the bus stairs, half the bus clapped. The other half murmured, “A trocities?”

  “A trocities?” I asked him.

  “You burned those SA T words into my brain.” He took my hand and swung it as we walked up the street to the freshman bus. “Let’s go win a contest.”

  “I wouldn’t do that to you,” Drew whispered for the hundredth time.

  We stood close to each other in front of the band, facing the crowded stands of the stadium. A s the band was warming up for our performance, Drew had engineered this new way for us to stand at attention while we waited for the signal to do the dip. Instead of keeping a few paces between us across the grass, he stood right behind me, touching me, with his hand curled around my waist.

  Because we were at attention and were supposed to stay quiet and still, I resisted the urge to put both my hands over his hand and squeeze to comfort him. He hadn’t betrayed me, but he was still horrified that I had ever thought he had. I’d been reassuring him all morning and afternoon.

  Now that the sun was setting, the announcer droned on and on with the contest scores. A ll the bands stood at attention on the field. The ones on either side of us squealed with glee when they got high marks, or sagged in defeat otherwise.

  We had already done our squealing with glee. Our band had gotten very high scores, and Drew and I had won the award for best drum majors. We had saved Mr. Rush from going back to work at Pizza Hut. For now.

  Drew and I had sat together in the stands and watched the performances of most of the bands who’d come before and after us. I was interested in their scores, especially the huge bands that had been in our class. But there were so many scores, and it was a long time to stand still.

  I was glad I had Drew’s hand on my waist for entertainment. I took a deep breath just to feel his grip tighten and shift when I moved. I felt another phantom limb coming on.

  “I can’t believe you convinced me to stand this way,” I said quietly, moving my lips as little as possible.

  “Why?” He sounded hurt.

  “It feels too good. If the judges knew, they’d deduct points.”

  His chest moved against my back as he tried to swallow his laughter. “There are six games left in the regular season, and I wanted to enjoy them. A nd speaking of enjoying ourselves, what are you doing tonight?”

  I’d been waiting for him to ask me. A nd I’d been dreading giving him the answer. “The band got such high marks, I figure they’ll want to roll Mr. Rush’s yard and Oreo his car. It’s probably our responsibility as drum majors to make sure everybody chips in for Oreos and toilet paper.”

  He sighed. “Okay. If the buses get back to the school by eight, do you think we can be out of Mr. Rush’s yard by nine?”

  “Why? Where are you taking me? Rent 2 Own?”

  “Oh, no. Not Rent 2 Own. For you, I’ve scheduled barn time.”

  Would this announcer go on forever? I wanted me some barn time. I couldn’t help giggling in anticipation.

  “We’ve got to stop this,” he said, his breath warm against my hair. “The judges really might take our high scores away if they see me talking to my girlfriend at attention.”

  I tingled at the word “girlfriend.” “More likely, your dad will kill you.”

  “My dad will get over it. Jeez, I drove the tractor to school. A nd I’m wearing Vans with my uniform.”

  Squinting against the setting sunlight, I searched the stands for Mr. Morrow. Near him sat my parents, holding hands as usual. I still planned to have a talk with them. The fact that Drew and I hadn’t been at fault for spilling their secret didn’t make me any less of a troubled teen.

  Now I was just a troubled teen with a boyfriend.

  I was almost looking forward to the talk.

  The announcer had reached the most important awards of the night, the best band in each class. He started
with the smallest bands and moved up. Then he reached the class we should have been in, if Mr. Rush hadn’t been greedy.

  “We sounded awesome,” I whispered. “We would have won that class.”

  “Don’t talk at attention,” Drew said.

  I pinched him.

  “Ouch. Don’t pinch at attention.”

  I was so sure we hadn’t won the highest class that I stopped listening to the drone of the announcer, until the name of our school was called.

  We had won the award.

  What? We had won the award!

  I wasn’t thinking, but Drew was. We were supposed to do the dip now. He put his hand there and his leg there, and leaned me back until my head almost touched the grass.

  The rest of the band was supposed to stay at attention. They should have waited until we collected the other band officers and marched soberly across the field to claim our own trophy the size of a refrigerator.

  But the screaming band swarmed around us. Then past us. The entire band, instruments and all, dashed across the field to the trophy table.

  Upside down, out the corner of my eye, I noticed that most of them were bareheaded. They left a broad trail of hats on the grass.

  Then I looked up into Drew’s dark eyes. “I’m glad I’m still drum major,” he whispered. “But I’m more glad I’m drum major with you.”

  The band caught my attention again. They had found Mr. Rush and stood him up against the trophy to measure them. The trophy was slightly taller. A bout ten boys picked up the trophy over their heads, and another ten picked up Mr. Rush. A ll of them fell down. Our band was like that.

  “Drum major!” they called across the field. “We need a drum major!”

  “They can do without us for once,” Drew said. He kissed me.

  I slid my hands into his hair and kissed him back.

  About the Author

  Jennifer Echols grew up in A lexander City, A labama, where she was the first female drum major of her high school marching band. She also played saxophone, trumpet, and drums, and had an extremely unfortunate turn on the oboe. In college, Jennifer majored in music education and composition before she made the switch to English and creative writing. Major Crush is her first book.

  LOL at this sneak peek of

  Love Undercover

  By Jo Edwards

  A new Romantic Comedy from Simon Pulse

  Dad motions for us to go in my room. “It’s best if we have some privacy. This is a very delicate situation.”

  “A delicate situation?” I repeat, pushing open the door to my bedroom.

  Dad looks me square in the eyes and says, “Blaine’s going to be staying at our house for an undetermined amount of time.”

  I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “What do you mean Blaine’s going to be staying here?” I ask. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He shakes his head. “Blaine may be living here for the next couple of months. Possibly until the end of the school year.”

  My jaw drops. I was expecting him to say days, not months. “What do you mean a couple of months?!” I exclaim. “What is he, some long-lost cousin I’ve never met?”

  Dad chuckles. “Funny you should say that. In a way, yes.”

  A sick feeling comes over me. Oh my God, I’ve been flirting with my cousin! That’s seriously gross. “Which side of the family is he on?” I ask, thinking, I don’t recall ever meeting Blaine before.

  “My side,” Dad says. “A t least, that’s what his paperwork will say.”

  “His paperwork?” I dump the contents of my overnight bag on the bed and begin sorting through the mess.

  “Yeah, his new driver’s license and school records. The central office should have them ready in a day or two.”

  I’m totally lost. None of this is making sense. “Why does Blaine need a new driver’s license? Did he lose his or something?”

  Dad shakes his head. “No, but it’s standard fare—it’s all part of his FBI cover.”

  I stare at him, shocked. “Oh my God.” I can’t think of anything else to say. “A s you know, part of my job at the FBI involves keeping tabs on witnesses before they go to trial,” Dad continues. “Usually we store them at a safe house or in a hotel to keep them out of harm’s way.”

  I nod. “Right. I understand.”

  He takes a deep breath. “Kaitlyn, what I’m about to tell you is classified information. You can’t breathe a word to anybody. Not even Morgan.

  Can I trust you?”

  Whoa. I’ve never seen Dad like this before. He looks deadly serious. “Of course you can,” I tell him.

  My dad stands up and starts pacing the room, swinging his arms back and forth as he walks. A s he gets to the far wall, his left foot bumps against my mile-high stack of magazines, sending back issues of Teen Vogue, CosmoGirl!, and Seventeen toppling over with a crash. Dad keeps right on walking. “Have you ever heard of Harlan Donovan, the Texas oil tycoon?”

  I shake my head. “No, but I’m guessing since his last name is Donovan he’s related to Blaine. A nd I’m also guessing that if he’s an oil tycoon he’s probably a …” I pause, gulping, “… millionaire.”

  “A dd a few zeroes,” Dad says, “and you’re about right.”

  “You don’t mean that he’s a billionaire!”

  “Yes, he is.”

  He continues with the story. “One of the business deals Harlan Donovan is involved in has been attracting a lot of attention lately. Threats have been made against Harlan and his family—and many of these threats have been targeted at Blaine. We’re currently investigating the situation, and we think the people involved may be responsible for strong-arming several other big oil deals. We’re trying our hardest to catch them, but at this point in time, we felt it was best to remove Blaine until all of this can be resolved. Once we catch these thugs, or once the business deal is finished—whichever comes first—Blaine will be out of danger, and he can return to the Donovan estate.”

  “So why is Blaine staying here? Since when does our house qualify as a safe house? You’ve never brought any of the people you’re protecting here before.”

  “The Blaine situation is complicated,” Dad says, “and I can’t give you the specifics. For now, what I need you to do is not mention Blaine to anyone. Not a word.”

  I nod my head. “Don’t worry. You can count on me. There’s just one thing—won’t keeping him a secret be kind of tough? I mean, three months is a long time.”

  “You won’t have to keep him a secret for that long,” Dad explains. “Once Blaine’s new ID and paperwork come in, we’ll be able to get to work establishing his cover. I think he’s going to be posing as a distant cousin.”

  I chew on my lower lip. I’m feeling nervous about this, like I won’t be able to do it. “So I’m going to have to pretend Blaine is related to me?”

  Dad massages his temple, like he’s got a headache coming on. “Something like that. I’ll give you the full details as soon as I have them. What I need now is a guarantee that you’ll keep this, how do you kids say it, on the down low?”

  “Sure, fine,” I say, waving my hand dismissively. “I’ll do whatever you need.”

  “Great! We can talk about this more later,” Dad says, heading for the door.

  I try to digest everything Dad has told me. It’s pretty freaking unbelievable. Dad’s never been the type to bring his work home with him.

  A lthough, in this case, I don’t really mind. A cute boy is welcome in our home anytime as far as I’m concerned. “So what’s Blaine going to do while he’s here?” I ask, as Dad makes his way to the door. “I mean, won’t he be bored out of his mind just sitting around the house all day?”

  “Oh, I thought you realized. That’s part of why Blaine is staying here,” Dad says. “The spring term just started at his old school and it’d be a shame for him to get too far behind in his studies. A t first we were planning to get him a private tutor, but things worked out for him to enroll at Copperfield. So, starting
in a couple of days, hell be going to school with you. I trust you’ll show Blaine around and make him feel at home? Going to a new school is stressful for anyone, and Blaine has been through a lot lately.”

  “Of course I will,” I tell Dad. A nd I mean it. I’m going to do whatever I can to make Blaine feel welcome.

  “A nd another thing,” Dad says, looking me dead in the eyes. “I don’t want to alarm you, but it would probably be a good idea to keep your eyes peeled for anything suspicious while Blaine’s in town. We’ve covered his tracks pretty well, but you can never be completely sure. In some ways, Blaine’s life is in your hands.”

  I feel all the color drain from my swollen face as this sinks in. His life? Good grief, I can barely take care of my own life. Just last month I sprained my ankle while trying to rearrange my closet. I must look pretty panicked, because Dad immediately adds, “That probably didn’t come out right. What I meant was, I’d like for you to keep an eye on Blaine, just make sure nobody treats him oddly or takes an unnatural interest in him. A nd if anybody calls here asking for him, you let me know immediately. If that happens, we’ve got an emergency situation on our hands.”

  “Wow,” I say. “This is totally bizarre.” Dad smiles reassuringly as he walks out the door. “Just think of yourself as a junior undercover agent.”

  A t those words, a chill runs down my spine. A junior undercover agent. A spy. I feel electrified, energized. A lmost like a mini Sydney Bristow. Except with shorter legs. A nd frizzier hair.

  Seven Sins.

  Seven Books.

  Seven Teens…

  … all determined to get what they want, when they want it. No matter the cost, or the drama.

  LUST ENVY PRIDE WRA TH SLOTH GLUTTONY GREED

  SEVEN DEA DLY SINS BY ROBIN WA SSERMA N

  Commit the third sin in this juicy series!

  From Simon Pulse

  Published by Simon & Schuster

  bestselling author of the Mates, Dates Series,

  Cathy Hopkins

  Meet Cat, Becca, Squidge, Mac, and Lia. These girls and guys are totally tight—and totally obsessed with the game of truth or dare… even when it reveals too much!