He grinned. “Who doesn’t?”
“My dad thinks you have a good future,” I went on. “Plus, they think you’re a good influence on me.”
“I am a good influence on you,” he said, moving closer.
“Too bad you’re not participating in the talent show,” I teased him.
He looked annoyed. “Come on, Daisy. Give me a break, okay? I’ve got a lot of other things going on—track, TV stuff, AP exams … ” He looked at me. “Is this going to be a problem?”
“Um … ” I reached up and put both arms around his neck. “It’s not really a problem. But maybe I can find a way to change your mind.”
His expression softened. “You can try,” he said. “But let me warn you: you’re going to have to work really, really hard at it.”
“How’s this?” I said and kissed him slowly.
“Not bad,” he said. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that.”
I grinned. “In that case I’d better take a break for now and get started on my math project.”
Simon sighed, but he was still smiling. “I guess you’d better tell me what you’re having trouble with.”
We sat on one of the long couches in the family room while I explained the Algebra II project. Simon was taking Honors Calculus, so he had to think back to when he’d been in my class.
As I talked, Simon ran his fingers along the inside of my wrist. Then he lifted the wrist and kissed it. “You’re so pretty, Daisy.”
I blushed a little. “Thanks.”
“Now I’ve got a special ‘Daisy’ folder on my phone,” Simon went on. “For those red bikini photos.”
“That’s a little creepy!” I teased him.
He laughed. “Can I help it if I like looking at my hot girlfriend? And now I can look whenever I want.” He stroked my wrist again. “And, you know, if you ever want to send me something better … ”
“Hmm … What do you mean, ‘better’?” I asked.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead he gently pushed me backwards so I was lying down on the soft couch with him on top of me.
“The red bikini photos are a good start. But a photo without the bikini top would be even better.”
“Oh,” I said lightly. “I see.”
“You are so beautiful,” he told me again. His hand traveled up my shirt and rested on my stomach. Suddenly he was kissing me all over. On my face, my earlobes, my neck, my—
“Simon?” his mother called out.
“Crap!” I whispered. “Your mom’s home!” I rolled away from him and sat up fast. So did Simon.
Mrs. March walked into the room, carrying some bags of groceries. “There you are.”
Simon smoothed his hair. “Hey, Mom. How’s it going?”
“Fine,” she answered. “I—oh.” She’d spotted me. “Daisy’s here.”
“Hi, Mrs. March,” I mumbled. “How are you?”
“I was just helping Daisy with her math project,” Simon put in. “She’s got this big thing due for Algebra II.”
“Mmm-hmm … ,” his mom replied, glancing around.
She’s probably checking to see if there are actually any books in here, I thought.
My math packet had spilled onto the floor. But luckily my textbook was sitting in view. She went back into the kitchen and started unpacking the food. My face felt hot, and I had a feeling that my hair looked messy and suspicious. Suddenly all I wanted to do was get out of there.
“I’d better go,” I said.
Simon offered to drive me, but I shook my head and texted Raymond for a ride. Then I grabbed my books and stuffed them into my backpack.
“I’ll wait outside for my brother,” I said.
Mrs. March called bye to me as we headed toward the front door.
“See you, Mrs. March. Thanks.”
In the front hallway I checked to make sure Simon’s mother couldn’t see us. Then I stood on my tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.
But Simon wrapped his arms around me tightly. “Bad timing, huh?” he whispered.
“Simon … ” I murmured. “Your mom … ”
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “She doesn’t care.”
“Uh, I think she might,” I said, pulling away from him.
Just then my phone buzzed. “Raymond’s here. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
“Yep. Hey—send me that photo later, yeah?”
“Okay.” I nodded and reached for the doorknob.
“Promise?” he said.
I heard a car horn beep twice outside.
“Daisy!” Simon’s mother yelled. “Your ride is here!”
“Promise,” I blurted out. And then I bolted for the door.
That night I grabbed my brother’s laptop and took it to my room. Simon and I had made no progress on my math project, so I had a lot of homework to take care of. But first I wanted to post something about the talent show on Facebook. I logged on and started typing: Calling All Talented Southside Students! Show off your talent at Southside’s first talent show. All profits will be used to help Mrs. Kim’s husband buy a new wheelchair.
I read it over. That seemed pretty good. Suddenly my message box dinged.
What’s up? It was Nora.
Hey! I wrote back. I was just about to post something about the talent show. How was Frosty Treats?
Good. There was a pause while she typed some more. So did you get any … um … studying done?
Ha ha … We were really studying!
I could picture Nora grinning at me.
I guess your project is almost done then, she typed.
Yep. Just have to read everything over one more time.
Yeah right, she replied. Good luck with starting it, Daisy! See you tomorrow!
I reread my announcement about the talent show, fixed a typo, then posted it. I was about to log out when my wall began filling up with replies.
Nick Forrest: I’ll do some stand-up comedy. (I make you laugh in English, right?)
Eternity Tally: I can do a hip-hop routine.
Ella Lopez: I can make some posters for the hallways and cafeteria.
Some other kids just thanked me:
Thanks for doing this for Mrs. Kim, Daisy!
Awesome idea!
I’ll buy lots of tix.
Wow, I thought. This is going even better than expected. When the message box popped up again, I was sure Nora had decided to check back in. She was probably excited about all the activity on my wall too.
But it was Simon: Miss u
Miss u too, I replied.
Fun afternoon. Too bad my mom came home.
Yeah. And too bad we didn’t work on my math at all
We were very busy
:)!
I’ll help you tomorrow, I promise, Simon typed.
Aww. Best bf ever!
There was a pause before his next message appeared.
There’s a way you can thank me, you know.
I smiled. I knew what was coming next.
Send me a pic?
You have photos of me already!
You promised, Daisy
I laughed out loud. It wasn’t really a promise.
Oh yes it was!
I just wanted to get out of yr house, I typed. Your mom wasnt happy I was there.
Well I was happy. And there’s only one thing that would make me even happier …
A few minutes later, I said goodnight to Simon, got off my Facebook page, and put Raymond’s laptop back in the living room.
Back in my room, I pulled out my math packet again. I sighed as I looked at the assignment. I thought I understood the problem and what we were supposed to do. But I had no clue about how to get started.
I just shoved everything back in my backpack. Normally I don’t worry too much about my assignments. But the homework packet counted a lot toward our final grade. If I got a C in math, my parents would not be happy.
Simon said he’d help tomorrow, I reminded m
yself.
Maybe Simon was right. I had sort of promised him something before I rushed out of his house …
I got up from my bed and went over to lock my bedroom door. Then I pulled off my shirt and reached for my phone.
The next morning, I walked downstairs to find Simon at the bodega, chatting with my parents.
“Hey,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“Want a ride to school?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. We started for the door.
“Have a good day, querida mia,” said my father.
“How’s the math packet going?” asked my mother. “You were up late working on it, weren’t you?”
“Uh … ”
My father gave me a stern look. “Your mother and I have told you, Daisy. You need to bring up that grade. No C’s!”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Garcia,” Simon said. “I told Daisy I’d help her this afternoon.”
My father looked at my mother, who nodded. Then my father smiled at Simon. “Gracias, Simon. Our Daisy is a good girl, but she needs help to stay on the right track.”
“No problem,” Simon said. He flashed a smile at me. “Right track. We’re totally there.”
I turned away so my parents wouldn’t see me laughing. But outside, I cracked up. “The right track? It’s more like the wild side, the way you’re acting lately.”
“Oh no,” he said. “It’s the right track.” He put an arm around me and pulled me close. “Thanks for sending that pic last night. It’s pretty hot.”
“You’re welcome.” We climbed into his silver truck.
“Daisy, I meant what I said to your parents,” he said. “After school we can go to the library or hang out at your apartment. I’ll help you with the algebra thing. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks. I’m not really worried. I just have to get a B on it. My dad totally loves you,” I added. “You know just what to say to him.”
He grinned. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m very smooth.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed,” I said.
I spent the next few afternoons with Simon, working on math. When I handed it in the following Monday, Mr. Greer clutched his chest. “Unbelievable! It’s in—and on time!”
“Yep,” I said, smiling. “Mission accomplished.”
“Good for you,” he replied. “Oh, and I saw the posters for the talent show all over the building. So what do you think about my getting up onstage? I could solve some quadratic equations for everybody. That’s a talent, right?”
I just looked at him. Mr. Greer has an odd sense of humor sometimes.
He laughed at me. “I’m just kidding, Daisy. I actually don’t have any talents, other than teaching math to high school students who don’t appreciate my genius. But we all want to support Mrs. Kim. So I’ll bring my family to the show and buy a bunch of tickets.”
“That sounds great, Mr. Greer. Thanks! See—I appreciate you!”
After class, Simon was waiting for me out in the hallway. I told him that Mr. Greer seemed stunned.
“It was great. He didn’t think I’d turn it in on time!”
“He doesn’t know you have a very smart boyfriend. I think you’ll get a pretty good grade on it,” he added. “At least a B.”
“I’d better get a B!” I said, grabbing him and kissing him on the mouth. I felt really lucky that Simon March was my boyfriend.
“That was really good!” I called out. Tara and Kelly Shea had just finished showing us their magic act.
On Sunday night, everybody who’d signed up to be in the talent show met at Eddie’s house. We were rehearsing—sort of—and trying to get the show organized. By that point, we had about eighteen acts.
A group of cheerleaders headed toward Eddie’s back deck, which we were using it as a stage. While they set up, Ella Lopez turned toward me. “What’s your act, Daisy?”
I reached behind my chair. “This,” I said, holding up the Hula-Hoop I’d had since second grade. It was bright pink and covered with stars and gold glitter.
“Really?” Ella grinned. “You’re going to hula-hoop? That’s pretty old-school!”
“It might be kind of funny,” Audrey Clark said, as if she weren’t quite sure about it. “It’s definitely different!”
I shrugged. “It’s pretty much my only talent. I don’t care if I look like an idiot. It’s for Mrs. Kim.”
After the cheerleaders, it was my turn to show everyone my act.
I carried my hoop up to the deck. Then I found the song I wanted on Eddie’s iPod. The beat started off slow, then got faster and faster.
Boom … boom … boom …
As the song built to a frenzy, I dropped the Hula-Hoop over my head and let it fall to the ground. Then slowly I started it spinning around my ankles, sending it higher and higher.
A few people started clapping.
“Whoa, Daisy!” called Luke. “I had no idea. You’re pretty good with that thing!”
I grinned back at him, starting to enjoy myself.
I rolled the hoop around my waist, my chest, my neck. In the darkness, the glitter on the hoop sparkled like fireflies.
As the music got faster, I picked up my tempo too, swinging my hips faster and faster. I rolled the hoop around my chest, totally showing off. Then, as I turned toward the house, I saw someone standing on the deck near the sliding doors.
Simon, I realized in surprise. What’s he doing here?
For a second I thought he had changed his mind and come to help us with the show. Then I saw that his arms were folded against his chest. He was glaring at me. The music continued to play, but the air around us suddenly felt silent and still.
I let the hoop tumble to my feet.
“No!” somebody yelled. “We want more!”
“Hey,” I said, going over to Simon. “What’s up?”
His voice was cold. “I stopped by the bodega. Your parents told me you were here. I told your dad I would pick you up so he wouldn’t have to leave the store.”
“Oh,” I said. “Cool. Now you can see some of the acts in the show.”
“No, thanks.” His lips were tight, and he wasn’t looking at me. “Are you ready to go?”
Go? What was his problem?
“I’m not ready,” I said, shaking my head. “We’re still rehearsing, and Nora and I are in charge of everything.”
“Hey, Simon.” Nora waved to him and came over. “Did you come for a sneak preview?”
“Nope,” Simon answered. “We actually have to get going.”
“I don’t have to go,” I said.
“Yeah, you do,” Simon snapped at me. “I’m your ride—remember? I told your parents I’d bring you home.”
“Yeah. Later,” I shot back. “Not now.”
Nora looked mad too. “Last time I checked, Simon, you weren’t her keeper,” she blurted out.
Simon glared at her. “Thanks, Nora. But this has nothing to do with you.”
“It has a lot to do with me,” Nora said. “I need Daisy’s help.”
Simon ignored Nora and grabbed my arm. “Come on, Daisy.”
“Let go of me,” I said.
He froze. By then everyone in the backyard had started to look at us. Including Eddie’s mother, who was watching the scene through the sliding doors.
“Daisy?” she said. “Is everything okay?”
I swallowed. “Yep. Everything’s great, Mrs. Beyer.”
Simon still had my arm. We were making a scene. “Fine,” I mumbled to him. “Let’s go.”
I reached down to pick up my Hula-Hoop. Then I followed Simon as he led the way through the backyard and out toward the street. My flip-flops made angry slapping sounds along the sidewalk. But I didn’t say a word until after we’d climbed into his truck.
“Nora’s right!” I burst out. “You’re not my keeper! You can’t just come over there and tell me to go home.”
He stared at me. “You mad that I interrupted your little Hula-Hoop routine? You looked lik
e you were really enjoying yourself up there.”
I blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, it looked like you were giving a peek to every guy in Eddie’s backyard!”
I gasped. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“Well, I can’t believe the way you were acting. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Not after the show you put on for Deonte and Mason last weekend at Laurel’s.”
“I didn’t put on a show for Deonte and Mason! You were watching me too! And you thought it was funny!”
“I didn’t think it was funny.” He started up his truck. “You know something?” he went on. “I think you should forget about hooping in the show.”
“What’s wrong with you?” I sputtered in anger. “It’s just a goofy act! I’m just trying to help Mr. Kim buy a new wheelchair—remember?”
“It didn’t look like a goofy act to me,” he said in a low voice. “It looked like … ”
“What?” I demanded.
“Like something else,” he finished. “Not something you’d see in a school talent show.”
I drew in a sharp breath.
We stopped at a traffic light. I turned toward the window, trying hard not to cry as he went on and on about what a flirt I was, how he’d had no idea that I was like that, how if I kept it up I would regret it …
I stopped listening. I’d already gotten the message: he thought I’d been acting like a slut.
The light turned green, and he started driving again. Outside the window, lights and street signs whirled and blurred. My heart was racing, and I could feel anger building inside my chest.
Finally we pulled up in front of the bodega. Before Simon had stopped the car, I flung open the door and hopped outside. Simon yelled something behind me, but I didn’t bother to stop and listen.
I just kept going, running away from him.
When I burst into our apartment, Raymond looked up from watching TV and murmured, “Hey.”
I waved but didn’t stop, heading straight for my room, where I flung myself onto the bed. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks.
Did Simon really think I’d been acting like a slut? Did everyone think that, or was it just him?
In my pocket, my phone buzzed.
Overexposed Page 2
