A Penny's Worth (The Cephas Bourdon Series)

by A. M. Hooper

  “Go home and sleep it off,” Cephas ordered. “Don't bust yourself up before the game.” Cephas turned to walk away. I gasped again as Chase grabbed Cephas and spun him around, laying a fist into his jaw. Cephas fell to the ground, landing on his back. He sat up and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Pulling himself up off of the ground, he stood in front of Chase. He pulled back his arm and launched it into Chase's jaw. Catching Chase by the arm as he stumbled backward, Cephas pulled him back for more, releasing his anger into his face. Chase returned his punches for a few minutes until Cephas slammed his fist into Chase's stomach. He threw punch after punch until Chase finally fell on the ground without much defense. Cephas strode over to Chase's crumpled body and lifted him by his shirt to a standing position. He held him up close to his face and nearly spat as he spoke. He spoke too quietly for me to hear. Releasing his grip, Cephas let Chase fall to the ground in a pile. He shook his head in disgust. Marian was by my side now and she hugged me around my shoulders.

  "Girl! Are you ok?"

  She inspected my face and began to pull me away from the crowd.

  "I saw what happened! Was that Cephas? I heard someone yelling about a fight and I ran out in time to see Chase getting his butt kicked!" She led me toward the chain-link gate, mumbling something about stupid men. I glanced up and met Cephas’ eyes. Was that worry on his face? I scowled, upset Cephas had witnessed my weakness, and embarrassed he had had to save me. I wiped a tear from my eye and turned back toward Marian, reassuring her that I was fine. We walked out the gate and I turned to latch it shut. I looked up again, hopeful, but Cephas was gone. My heart sank a little, though I wasn't sure why.

  "Come on, girl, let's get you cleaned up," Marian offered, tugging at my arms. "You're a mess."

  I felt blood rolling down my cheek.

  CHAPTER 5

  The hall was crowded with freshmen who lighted from locker to locker, bouncing from person to person. The air was filled with the students' dull roar of voices. I walked through a set of French doors that opened out to a large cement pad. A set of steps ran down the hill to the parking lot, grass and small bushes lining either side, and a couple of freshmen sat under the Big Oak, as they called it. They were holding hands. The Big Oak was where you gained the status of “True Thunder." You had to kiss at midnight on a full moon for a full two minutes. Chase had always wanted to be "True Thunder," but I always stopped at a minute and a half. I smiled. I was really good at making him angry. Just then the scar on my cheek began to burn.

  I reached up to touch it and began walking, tearing my eyes from the Big Oak and the couple beneath it. Cars maneuvered crazily around the small parking lot. Was that Cephas? A tall figure walked near the edge of the parking lot. His jeans were in style, matching a green, unbuttoned shirt with the long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. As I neared him, I noticed he wore a white tee beneath the green shirt, and very high—end shoes. Perhaps I should thank him. I took a step forward but stopped—a group of girls pranced up to his side and began talking wildly. They had stars in their eyes. I didn't wait to hear the conversation, but instead turned swiftly and began walking quickly home. Of course all of the girls would love him—he was gorgeous. I shifted the weight of my over-the-shoulder back pack, but the strap was still cutting into my shoulder. Why did I always bring so many books home? I swung the bag to my other shoulder, but it didn't land there. Looking up in confusion, I saw Cephas clutching my bag in one hand. The corner of his mouth was inching upward. Why was he always smirking?

  "That looks heavy," he commented. Duh. Why did guys always want applause for a little chivalry? He swung it over his shoulder.

  "Can I walk with you?" he asked. He waited for my response.

  “Unless you're planning on kidnapping my bag,” I replied, looking away to hide my reddening face. “But I go the long way around," I warned. He smiled and spread his arm gallantly forward.

  "Shall we?" he offered. I raised my eyebrows and began to walk forward. My shoulders felt a lot lighter.

  "What do you carry in here anyway?" he asked innocently.

  "Why don't you have a backpack?" I retorted. He chuckled a little.

  "You're quite sassy, aren't you?" he observed. Every time he spoke, his tone was so proper, his words so particular. He paused a moment, still walking.

  “I was supposed to graduate early, but they thought it would be a good idea if I came out to play on the AAU team. So they let me play ball, and I only take one class.”

  "They?" I asked, encouraging him to expound.

  "Oh, uh, my dad's lawyer," he explained. "He's my guardian."

  "Huh. My econ teacher gives us tons of reading, so that's why my bag is so heavy." We walked around the corner to a dirt road and followed it a ways to a ravine. Tall, slender trees stood side by side, flourishing near the small creek. I stopped and spun on my heels.

  "Cephas, I—"

  "Emma, don't,” he interrupted me. I looked up into his face, eyebrows raised.

  "I just wanted to say—that is—" I stopped midsentence. He touched my cheek with the back of his hand, his thumb running gently over my newly acquired scar. His hands were warm on my skin, though slightly rough.

  "Does it hurt?" he whispered. His usually heavenly blue eyes were clouded gray. I shook my head just before he released my face and turned away. He began walking and I followed.

  "I—I never got to say thank you," I began.

  "No thanks necessary. Any coward who would hurt a girl . . ." he spat out, the words spewing like venom. His voice trailed off into angry silence.

  "Nobody else would have done a thing," I replied. "So, thank you" He nodded his head once, still looking forward. Silence prevailed for a moment, so I changed the subject.

  "So, where'd you come from?" I asked. That was an innocent enough question—right?

  "My parents died a couple of weeks ago. I moved away to finish out my senior year." His voice was cold. I wasn't sure how to respond.

  "I'm so sorry. That's horrible," was the best I could come up with. "Why did you move here?" I couldn't help but asking. He must have thought it entertaining that I would pursue the conversation, because the corner of his mouth twitched upward again.

  "I just wanted to get away from everything, and I love basketball.” His smile was brilliant. "And why are you here?" The question took me by surprise.

  "Well," I stammered, "I've always lived here."

  "And why did your parents move here?" he urged. I thought a moment—I wasn't sure.

  "Something to think about," he replied to my lack of a response, shrugging his shoulders. He laughed and shifted his weight.

  "This bag really is heavy. I can't believe a little thing like you was carrying this," he replied in a lighthearted voice. He stopped walking and set the bag down on the ground.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, stopping next to him. He jiggled a latch on the fence and grabbed my hand.

  “Follow me,” he muttered, tugging my hand. He walked backward, pulling me after him.

  “Where are we going?” I laughed. I looked down at my feet, careful not to trip on the cracks in the asphalt pathway. We rounded the corner of a white, wood-slat building. The black pathway enlarged into a makeshift basketball court. An old basketball hoop stood waiting at the other side of the court, the chain net rusting with age. Cephas released my hand and bent down to pick up a basketball.

  “Where are we?” I asked, trying to restrain my elation at the surprise.

  “I found this place the other day,” he said, standing up straight. “And it even comes with a basketball.” He lifted the basketball in the air.

  “You any good?” he asked, bouncing the ball in place.

  “Not really,” I said, pushing up my sleeves. “But I could probably beat you.” He raised his eyebrows and took a step backward, still bouncing the ball.

  “You think, huh?” he asked, moving farther away toward the hoop. I shook my head and lifted my hands in the ai
r.

  “Yeah, but I think I should get the ball first,” I argued. Cephas stopped bouncing the ball and tossed it to me. I caught it and began dribbling.

  “So you must be pretty good at basketball if Chase used you to replace his guard,” I said, not moving much from the half line.

  “I'm alright,” he replied. I moved to the left, then to the right, moving easily around Cephas. The ball bounced a few times and I went for a layup. The ball bounced off the backboard and swooshed easily through the chain net. I caught it before it hit the ground.

  “You let me do that,” I complained, throwing the ball to him. “Or else you really suck.” Cephas stopped and held the ball with one hand, feigning surprise.

  “Well aren't you all flattery,” he complained, dribbling the ball again. “You aren't like most girls.”

  “Yeah, like the ones dancing around you earlier?” I teased, moving in front of him to block his dribbling path. “Did you let those girls beat you at something, too?” Cephas faked right, then spun around me, laying the ball up to the hoop. The ball swished through the net.

  “I don't let anyone beat me,” he argued, sounding kind of serious. “I just wanted to confuse you. You know, let your confidence grow so it's easier for me to beat you.”

  “Why? You don't think you can beat me on your own?” I held up my hands to receive his pass. I bounced the ball a few times and bent my knees. I sprung upward and flicked my wrist, then watched the ball fall through the hoop without even touching the net. Hands on hips, Cephas walked toward the ball.

  “Wow, you really can play basketball, huh?” he asked. He passed me the ball. “Check.” I passed the ball back. He dribbled the ball in place. “Let's see how you do at defense.” He dribbled the ball around the court and I followed him, holding out my hands. There was no way I was letting him beat me. He tried to fake to the right, but I jumped in front of him. He moved to the left and I followed. Finally resorting to pushing through me, he shoved his way down the court. I was laughing so hard my defense was miserable. Grabbing onto his arm, I pulled him away from the basket. He laughed and pushed me away.

  “That's cheating!” he complained, the left corner of his mouth twitching upward. He turned and shot the ball through the hoop with one hand, tripping over my feet on the way. We landed on the ground in a crumpled mess. I couldn't suppress my laughter as I pulled myself out from under his heavy body. I collapsed back on top of him, my head landing on his abdomen. I let myself relax against his body and listened to his heart slow as his laughing subsided. He clasped his hands beneath his head and situated himself into a comfortable position, joining me in staring up into the sky like me. The warm breeze wafted over my skin and I let out a contented sigh.

  “You're kinda good at basketball,” he said. “When you're cheating, that is.”

  “Oh, please,” I replied jokingly. “You didn't warn me about how good you were. I had no choice.” Cephas was silent for a minute. The wind rustled the leaves of the oversized willow tree near the edge of the court. I felt Cephas’ hand move softly through my hair. I shut my eyes and listened to the crickets chirp over in the bushes. Cephas’ thumb traveled behind my ear, then down my face. He paused on my cheek, rubbing gently around the bruise Chase had given me.

  "Wasn't your dad angry when he found out your boyfriend hit you?" Cephas asked suddenly.

  "Oh, well, he isn't home right now. He's away on business for a couple more days. It should be healed up by then," I muttered. He paused before speaking again.

  "So you're not going to tell him?" he asked, sitting up and leaning against his hand on the ground for support. His fingers stayed near my ear, though, running through my straight hair. Concern hid his smile.

  "No. It would be better if he didn't know."

  "But you're not going to keep dating Chase, are you?"

  "Why shouldn't I?" I asked sarcastically, lifting my head to face him. "Who else would I date if not the great and noble Chase?"

  His eyes narrowed. There he went reading my mind again. He could see straight through me—he knew I had yet to break up with my stupid boyfriend, and he also probably knew I probably wouldn’t.

  “Why do you date a guy who treats you like that?” he asked seriously.

  Truthfully? I wasn’t ready for people to know who I was, yet. If I broke up with Chase, people probably wouldn’t like me, and they would definitely think I was an idiot. High school was not the place to be brave and courageous. I could be myself after graduation. The reasoning sounded shallow, even to myself, but it was true: I couldn’t survive high school on my own. I needed Chase. I jolted myself away from my thoughts, embarrassed at the despair so evident on my face. I looked at the ground, but Cephas’ hand tipped my chin toward his face.

  "You know, I can't always be around to save you," he smiled. His voice always sounded so warm and welcoming.

  "Why not?" I questioned. A sudden frown furrowed his brow. He looked sad. In fact, the expression froze onto his face for a long moment as his eyes held mine captive.

  “I should probably get home. I have lots of homework to do before tomorrow,” I offered. His silence made me uncomfortable. His hand released my chin and I sat up; I ran my fingers haphazardly through my hair in an attempt to straighten the disheveled mess. Cephas stood and held out his hand. I took it and he pulled me to my feet. Steadying me with his left hand, he stared into my green eyes. I observed his face, running my small fingers along the crease in his forehead. I wanted to thank him somehow for saving me last night (at least, that’s what the justification I used to explain away my growing desire to feel Cephas’ lips against mine). His eyes softened as I lifted my face to his. I could taste his minty breath mingling with mine. My eyes partially closed and I leaned in toward his face. My mouth stopped against his cheek: he had turned his head! Was he rejecting me? I took a step back, though he held me from moving any farther. The left corner of his mouth was smirking. I struggled in between his arms, but I was no match for his stubborn strength.

  “Let me go, Cephas,” I demanded. He didn't release me; he just kept smiling. “I can't believe you would do that!”

  “Why not? I thought you would have had me pretty figured out by now.”

  “What do you mean?” He turned me around, twisting my arms in front of me and pulling my back against his chest. His head lowered near my ear.

  “I'll kiss you when I'm good and ready,” he whispered. A low laugh emerged from his throat. I turned around in his arms and shoved him, slightly hurt at his mocking attitude toward kissing me. This was all a joke to him!

  “You're such a jerk,” I laughed, trying to clear the hurt from my voice. He grabbed my hand and kissed it softly, his eyes holding mine. “Forgive me?” he asked quietly, smirking again. I rolled my eyes and he released me. Laying my backpack strap over my shoulder, he allowed his hand to slowly travel the length of my arm, finally clasping my hand. Attempting not to shudder visibly at his insinuating touch, I looked away.

  “Let's get you home,” he muttered.

  We walked to my house, mostly in silence, just listening to the night. Dusk was coming on. The sun was low on the horizon, beckoning the darkness to catch it. The sky was clear tonight, though the stars were always visible in Woods Bay. A few dotted the sky, their light not yet overpowering the setting sun. We walked across the gravel street to my driveway.

  "You try to stay out of trouble, alright,” he advised, tweaking my nose before walking back the way we came. As he was walking under the pool of light emitted from the street lamp, he turned back toward me, as if a thought occurred to him, but he simply waved, that ever present smile flashing in the dim light. I waved back and watched him pick his feet up into a light jog. I walked up the cement driveway to the front porch. Decorative iron rail lined the large patio, guarding four lawn chairs and a small table. Turning the key, I pushed the door open and flipped on a light. I made my way upstairs to my bedroom, feeling the weight of my bag with each step. Why did I always brin
g so many books home?

  Flipping on the light in my bathroom, I quickly brushed my teeth, rinsing my mouth in the sink. I put my pink toothbrush in its holder, then looked at myself in the mirror. Wiping some smudged mascara from beneath my eyes, I splashed some water on my face. I was patting my skin dry with a hand towel when I thought I heard a noise. Our house seemed eerie at night, especially when my dad wasn't home. The rest of the lights were off in the house. I started when I heard a tap on the window. Standing perfectly still, I waited a moment. Another pebble hit the window. Oh, great. I walked over to the old storm window and pushed it open. Chase stood on the lawn beneath me, looking up at me with the saddest face he could muster.

  "Emma, I'm sorry," he began. "Can I come up?"

  I scowled at him and shouted in a whisper, before slamming the window shut, "If you want to. You know it's always unlocked anyway. You didn't have to be dramatic!" I turned away from the window and hurriedly put on my sweater. I flipped on the hall light and creaked down the stairs. Chase was standing at the bottom, the same, ridiculous look plastered on his face. Funny—I always seemed to be looking down at him. That thought sounded rude to me, but I was so fed up with Chase. He didn't speak for a moment, so I urged him forward.

  "Why are you here, Chase?" He looked taken aback. I wasn't usually that blunt with him, but I had had enough. I stood with my arms folded, glaring like only a woman completely put out about a man can glare. He raised his hands as if to explain, but no words came out of his mouth. His arms fell to his side, his head slumping in shame.

  "Emma, please take me back. I'm sorry—I'll do anything!" he begged.

  "You've already done enough," I responded coldly.

  "I just—I drank too much. I didn't know what I was doing," he tried to explain.

  "That's the problem—you drank . . . too . . . much." I tried to speak slowly so he would understand. "You always do. And then you act like an idiot. I'm sick of it. I'm not your mother. Grow up." I saw his face turn from shame to anger. Good. Now he would quit trying to get me to take him back. He was easier to deal with when he was angry . . . besides the other night, that is.