by M. F. Lorson
Mackey’s eyebrows raised, “Really?” he asked, a slow smile creeping across his face.
“Really,” I answered. “And if you don’t mind I was thinking now would be a good time. I even came prepared,” I pointed down to my 5-inch heels.
Mackey grinned. “And you don’t mind that your first kiss will be with a dumb jock that may or may not have had the kissing disease at one point?” he asked, slipping one hand around my waist.
“I’ll risk it,” I said, reaching up on tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck. Mackey placed his hand on my cheek, gently tilting his head toward mine. Our lips met with a clunk–a first kiss clunk–that soon found its rhythm. A warm tingly feeling spread throughout my entire body, pushing out the cold sting of snow filled air and filling me with a sort of hope and happiness I hadn’t known was missing.
I could have kissed him until our lips were too chapped to go on, but a loud commotion from inside the house caused us to break apart. Standing at the living room window was the rest of the starting five. Together they pounded their fists on the window chanting, “Mackey! Mackey!”
I stifled an embarrassed giggle as Mackey scooped up a small pile of snow, packed it into a tight ball and chucked it at the guy’s reflection. It broke into a hundred tiny pieces against the siding, landing nowhere near their grinning faces. “This is why I play basketball and not baseball,” said Mackey ignoring their mocking.
I looked back at the window where the guys were still cracking up over Mackey’s failed attempt. “Maybe we could forget about sports today and keep practicing the kissing thing,” I said, returning my arms to Mackey’s neck.
Mackey grinned, spinning me around to block their view as he went in for the second of what I hoped would be many kisses.
Epilogue
Dear Jillie,
In the end, I didn’t win the American High School Journalist of the year award. I didn’t get the scholarship to Northwestern University, and I certainly didn’t kiss Elliot Lambert, not under the mistletoe, not anywhere, not ever.
My three goals turned out to be a flop, but that’s all right with me. I wouldn’t trade that flop for anything. Thanks to my assignment covering the starting five I’d made friends that changed the course of my senior year. My Dad and I reconnected, and I’d even determined for myself who the G.O.A.T. was (not that Mackey and I agreed).
This is my final letter to you. But, I think that’s okay. I know you’re somewhere great, missing me buckets.
See you when I see you.
Love,
Lane
Happily Ever After
(Lane Crawford Definition)
What happens when real life turns out ten times better than anything you could have planned.
Thanks for reading!
If you loved Off Center, please take a minute to leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads. Reviews are essential to an author’s success.
And keep reading for a peek of Marlowe Junction in the early 2000’s with Stage Kiss. It’s the first book in the Mountain Creek Drive series, written by the same authors who brought you Varsity Girlfriends.
Plus don’t forget to check out Rebound Boyfriend, the next installment of Varsity Girlfriends, written by Daphne James Huff.
About the Author
M.F. Lorson lives and works in Eastern Oregon as a Youth Services Librarian. She enjoys reading, writing, and copious amounts of Football! She also loves to hear from readers so please send her a message via her website or Facebook.
Special thanks to Jessica Bucher for editing this title.
www.mflorson.com
Also by M. F. Lorson
Delinquent
The Hunter’s Daughter
Stage Kiss
The Exchange
Off Center
Stage Kiss
Available now
Prologue
If I had known on September 5th, 1990 that a Care Bears backpack would determine who my friends were for the next 12 years, I could have opted to pick my own bag instead of begging for my sister’s hand me downs. Then maybe I wouldn’t be a friendless, boyfriend less loser today.
Let me back up a little. I’m Erin Armstrong and I live at 423 Mountain Creek Dr. in Marlowe Junction, Colorado. I’ve lived on Mountain Creek Drive for as long as I can remember, which is why I, along with every other kid in the neighborhood, spent that fateful September morning marching from front porch to the corner of Hall and the Drive. It was my first time riding the school bus and thanks to the fact that I had two working parents and spent my days outside of town on my grandparents’ farm, I didn’t know a single kid on my street. It had never seemed like a big deal before, but as I stood there in my yellow culottes and big poofy hair bow, I was suddenly terrified that everyone knew everyone else but me. Luckily, I didn’t have time to worry too much.
Before long a small group separated from the masses. It was fate, our meeting, totally, completely, meant to be. You see, all four of us were rocking a Care Bear pack. A pessimist might say that four kindergarteners with matching backpacks in a town with only one real kid’s retail option was less fate and more scarcity, but pessimism had no place in our perfect foursome. We were happy and from that day on inseparable.
Inseparable that is, until last week when Libby went rogue and stole my boyfriend.
Chapter 1
“We want to stay friends you know, all three of us. Nothing has to change. Not much anyway,” pleaded Nick. Nick and Libby sat on the squeaky front porch swing of number 421. I stood awkwardly across from them; the nerve of the two of them canoodling in front of me like it hadn’t been just 48 hours since I caught them holding hands behind the porta-potty. Real romantic.
I laughed. “Nothing has to change, except who you spend your Saturdays swapping spit with eh Nick?” If they thought they got off the hook just because they asked me over for this chat, they were mistaken. Nick fiddled nervously with the keys in the pocket of his olive green cargo pants.
“Nothing has to change,” squeaked Libby. “But of course you’ll want to find a new…”
“Libby!” scolded Nick, his eyes wide with warning. I knew that look. It was the same one he gave me every time I was about to put my foot in my mouth.
“What?” she countered. “You promised you would tell her.”
“That’s just it. I promised to tell her.”
“So do it already” mumbled Libby, leaning back on the porch swing, her arms crossed over her chest in true pouting formation. Seventeen years of hanging out with Nick on Grandma’s farm made it easy for me to tell when he was annoyed. His face always turned bright red when frustrated. Right now the pink was just beginning to rise, but it would be full on fire truck any moment.
“Trouble in paradise already?” I smirked. And just like that, from pink to red. Nick pulled his hand from where it was fused with Libby’s knee cap and stood up to pace the porch. He was a wiggler, in class, during meetings, and whenever he had to say something he really didn’t want to. I braced for impact.
“The thing is Erin, I can’t take you to Homecoming.” His eyes flicked away from mine toward Libby’s. She nodded, encouraging him to continue. “Seeing as how I’m with Libby now.”
Libby nodded along. “It wouldn’t make much sense.” Suddenly quiet little Libby had gone from painfully shy to awfully brave. First stealing my boyfriend and now this. Where was the girl that still insisted on a nightlight when she slept over?
“You what?” I screeched. I wasn’t sure I’d heard them correctly over the sound of the blood rushing to my head.
“It wouldn’t be fair to Lib,” he tried again.
“It wouldn’t be fair to Libby?” I asked incredulously. This was getting to be too much. “Pardon me for saying it but... I just gave Libby my boyfriend. I have to give her my Homecoming date too?” I had been good about everything up to this point. But Homecoming? Homecoming was my thing and both of them knew it.
Nick ran his hands through his wavy dark hair,
“We’re not trying to hurt you, it just happened.”
“Really?” Years of controlling my emotions and body on stage kept my hands at my sides instead of punching something. “Because it feels a lot like you’re trying to hurt me.” The two of them locked eyes, like they’d prepared a statement in advance but couldn’t remember who had the next line.
“Nick,” I pleaded. “Please just think about it. We’re nominated. That means something to me and to my mother.” There was a big fat warble in my voice, but I didn’t care. “It means a lot to my mother.”
Nick shifted on his feet, avoiding my gaze. He knew better than anyone
what this change meant in my household. “You’ll get another date, Erin,” he tested. He was using the same tone he used to keep the horses from bolting when something spooked them. “You’re really pretty...” Last straw officially broken.
“I’m really pretty? Pretty!” I cried. “Awesome! Maybe you could stomach fulfilling your promise and going to the stupid dance with me then!” Libby put her head in her hands, preparing for atomic Erin.
“I can’t go with someone else,” my voice grew just a little bit louder with each syllable. “I won’t win with someone I barely know. People know us as a couple. People like us as a couple!”
Libby raised her head and stopped an eye roll halfway through. “You’ve only been going out for like four months.”
“Officially,” I shrieked. “We’ve only officially been going out for four months! You know as well as I do that he’s been mine for way longer than that!” Nick’s eyebrows shot up. This would definitely be the only time two girls ever fought over him. I strongly suspected a little part of him was enjoying it. “We’re practically womb-mates,” I reminded them. “Our mother's had a joint baby shower,” I hissed. “People like us are where arranged marriages come from!” By this point I was yelling so loud the neighbors were starting to congregate on their porches.
“I told you she would react like this,” said Libby turning to Nick with a sigh.
“Good for you Sherlock!” I cried, glaring at my ex-best friend. “How awesome that you know me well enough to know that, yet somehow neglected to remember who my boyfriend was or the fact that I’ve been dreaming about this dance since birth.” Libby looked down her cheeks turning red.
“Enough!” said Nick, with a glance at the growing crowd. “I’m sorry about the dance. I really am. And I’m sorry about everything else. But you know what? Maybe if you didn’t say things like ‘gave you my boyfriend’ you’d still have a boyfriend.”
Ouch, that hurt.
“I didn’t mean it that way. You know I didn’t mean it that way.”
Nick looked up to meet my eyes. “Sure feels that way to me.” He pulled Libby to her feet, the two of them preparing to leave before our love triangle became dinner conversation for the whole street.
“We’ve got to go...now. We’re gonna be late for youth group,” said Libby, grabbing Nick’s hand.
“You don’t even go to church,” I said, aiming my words at Nick.
“Something new,” he shrugged. Suddenly Nick was doing lots of new things.
“Thanks for the loyalty guys,” I called as they made their way toward Nick’s truck. Neither responded. What were they going to say? ‘Sorry for embarrassing you, breaking your heart and sabotaging your chances at Homecoming Queen?’ I felt my shoulders slump in defeat.
“Couldn’t you have just waited three weeks to fall in love?” I moaned, well aware that they couldn't hear me. I stayed on Libby’s front porch, tears of frustration building up behind my eyes as I tried to put it all together.
He didn’t want to go to the dance with me. No surprise there. The only reason I wanted to go to the dang thing was to be crowned Homecoming Queen. He would probably have more fun with Libby. I got that. What I didn’t get was how we could go from cuddling under my comforter with popcorn and M&M’s to just friends in a couple of days. Weren’t all those childhood memories supposed to bond us for life or something? The boy next door...on a freaking farm...isn’t that the happy ending? I hadn’t been a great girlfriend, but was I really so awful that I deserved to find him hooking up with someone else behind a honey bucket? I wished our mother’s had never met.
“You can go home now Erin. The others have gone.” I pulled myself out of my miserable thoughts to find Libby’s mother looming in the door frame. I hated her. When she made the four of us cookies you could never taste anything but the fiber. I used to feel sorry for Libby, living with a shrew like Mrs. Lewis. Now, I hoped Mrs. Lewis insisted on a home cooked dinner every night of the week. Then maybe Lib would get a well-timed bout of food poisoning and miss the next three weeks of school.
I kicked through the damp leaves littering our yards as I crossed from Libby’s place to mine. The golden hue of the leaves was already beginning to muddle with the deep brown of decomposing fall. Fall was supposed to be my favorite time of year. Fall was when the Backpack Crew wore matching Halloween costumes and Nick and me hid our excess Halloween candy under the hay pile in Grandma’s barn. Fall was not me crying in my bedroom because Nick and Libby were suddenly a twosome. Fall was not me hiding from my mother because I let her down. Fall was just not. Not this year.
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Varsity Girlfriends
Sweet YA Sports Romance
Mountain Creek Drive
Sweet Young Adult Series with a touch of 2000’s nostalgia
