by Cassie Mae
Becca Ann
Tessa Marie
Copyright
Copyright © 2014 by Becca Ann and Tessa Marie
Sale of the electronic edition of this book is wholly unauthorized. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part, by any means, is forbidden without written permission from the author/publisher.
Cookie Publishing
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover photo courtesy of Prochkailo via Shutterstock
First Edition: July 2014
Becca Ann’s dedication:
To those who feel friendless. This book has now claimed you as its “Bestie.”
Tessa Marie’s dedication:
To those who never felt good enough. You are.
Chapter 1
These gym shorts come with built in butt floss. Seriously, every time I move an inch, I get an instant wedgie and have to wiggle the material out.
“Oh these things!” I growl to the heavens, and Cindy Lawston, who’s stretching next to me, laughs as I yank the shorts down.
“You should’ve ordered the bigger size,” she says, her long tan legs poking out of her own wedgie-inducing gym uniform.
I roll my eyes and rip the hair tie from my left pigtail. “I should’ve ordered a boy’s one.” My eyes drift over to all the guys lined up on the track. Today’s a “work out however the heck you want” day, so most of the girls lounge on the grass only pretending to do something when Coach Harris looks over. The guys like to show off how fast their legs can go, or do push-ups, or make complete idiots of themselves. These kinds of days are my favorite. It’s unbelievably entertaining.
Cindy stands upright and stretches her arms to the sun, sticking her jiggly C-cups out toward the guys warming up before their run. I think Sean Dixon’s tongue is about to touch the asphalt.
I smack her across the boob, and she automatically curls in.
“Stop torturing them.” I laugh, bending over to touch my right toe. My shorts creep up my butt again. Gar!
The boys start running past, and I get wolf-whistled at as I stretch to my other foot. Just for them, I straighten and pick my wedgie with grand bravado.
A high-pitched laugh echoes across the track, and I spot Lexie Boggs with Ryan Parker. Looks like he’s dumped his entire water bottle over her head. Ryan takes off down the track, Lexie right on his heels screaming obscenities.
Lexie is probably the only girl who doesn’t hang out with… well, the girls. But she’s not a total flirt. I mean, she bats her eyes at Sean Dixon every twenty seconds, but the guy is hot, so I don’t blame her. Not my type. My type is currently picking up the water bottle Ryan dropped and examining it.
Nate Hatfield’s brow furrows, and his jaw moves up and down like he’s clucking his tongue. He scratches his dark hair that looks soft as a feather and flicks the cap off the bottle. To anyone else, that water bottle would be trash, but to him… I know he’s thinking of some brilliant way to use it for an illusion.
My cheeks blossom with warmth when his eyes flick up and catch me staring. Oiy… how many times is this? Eight million? I force a big smile and wave, then I turn back to my final stretch before I start cartwheeling the crap out of this turf.
“You want to do a lap?” Cindy asks, and I shake my head, pigtails swinging off my shoulders. She shrugs and starts toward the track, nearly running into Ryan as he turns around and throws a charging Lexie over his shoulder. Seriously, those two… I can never tell if they’re dating, or if they’re just friends, or if they’re head-over-heels in love.
I’m one of four girls left on the small piece of grass we’ve claimed for our tumbling. Mindy Peters is amazing. She’s already doing a back-flip double twisty something or other. Kiki Oliver does a handspring, landing pretty solidly for it being grass. Me? I can rock a handstand.
I’d run with the guys, but it’s hard enough being around Nate in gym. Physical activity makes me sweat so much I can wring the armpits of my gym shirt and fill a jug. Or two.
I turn around, stuffing my stomach butterflies into a jar. Better keep those suckers under control.
The grass is a little wet because I got stuck in first period gym. I do a quick cartwheel, but with my shorts riding up my butt and not enough stretches, I slip on the landing and fall straight to my rear. Kiki lets out a high-pitched laugh and rubs it in by doing a double-backhand spring. Show off.
I fold myself in half and growl into my knees. The stretch in my hamstring feels good, so I press farther down till my face is grazing the grass and my fingers latch to my toes. Ah, there we go. Releasing my feet, I lie flat on my back, placing my hands by my ears, and do a quick bridge. My shirt is pulling up at my bellybutton, and if I hold it much longer I’ll give the guys a great show. My sports bra isn’t extremely effective.
Once I’m back on my feet, I shake my arms and legs loose, loving the feel of after-stretched limbs. I’m going to kick this cartwheel’s booty.
I take in a long breath, hold it, and then fling my body into the air.
Thwack!
“Aiy!” Nate cries as I tumble to the ground, foot throbbing. When my world turns right-side-up, his hand flies over his nose, eyes watering to the brim.
“Omigosh, omigosh, omigosh,” I sputter, crawling over to him. I yank on his gym shorts, urging him to a crouch. “Sorry, I didn’t see you. Lemme see—”
“Immmokay,” he muffles through his fingers. I tap my hand over his, tingles shooting through my skin as we make contact. He quirks a semi-smile when I coax his hand from his face. No blood. Thank heavens.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again, totally breathless. “I was in the zone, and I didn’t see you, and normally I’m really observant, but I fell on my butt and I wanted to prove to all those tumbler girls I could do a simple cartwheel, but I guess that didn’t work and I ended up…oh my gosh, like seriously, I’m sorry. I should be restricted from doing any physical activity ever ever ever.”
Nate’s gorgeous face blooms red, and he offers a shaking hand out to me. “No, I-I shoulda announced myself or something. It’s okay. Really.”
He helps me to my feet, and tiny pops crackle through my palm making my stretched limbs wobble.
“Glad I didn’t break your face.” I laugh. Oh my freaking heavens, I sound like a hyena.
Nate’s lip turns up at the corner. I love how it makes these teensy crinkles by his crystal eyes. My mouth is hanging open. Whoops!
“Yeah, me too.” His eyes latch with mine for the most amazing half a second of my life then he’s suddenly really interested in the grass. “So, uh… I noticed you can touch your toes.”
What the what? “You were watching me stretch?”
He nods. “You’re really flexible.”
“Thanks.” Wait… was that a compliment?
His eyes keep flicking up to mine then back to the grass like he’s not sure which one he’s talking to. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t stop the smile from stretching across my lips.
“I know this is gonna sound weird,” he says, “but you know the talent show coming up?”
“Sure.” Everyone knows about the junior talent show. Freshmen get the play. Sophomores get the Silver Wolf Olympics (I totally won the silver in Jell-O wrestling last year.) Seniors get the ski trip. And juniors have the talent show.
“Well, uh, I made the last cut.”
“A
wesome,” I say, and totally mean it. I’ve been not-so-discreetly admiring Nate’s illusions since I first caught sightof him freshman year.
“Thing is… there’s a couple tricks I want to do, and I need an assistant.” His voice starts shaking. “A-and she needs to be… flexible.”
My feet bounce before I can stop them. I nearly jump on him as I squeal, “Of course! I’d love to help out. Anything you want.” Oh… maybe one step too far.
But he smiles and says, “Great,” like it really is great, and then I curse the gym coach for blowing the whistle. Time to rack in.
“Um, I’ll catch you later?” he asks. “Maybe I can get your number. You know, for practices and stuff.”
“Yeah, definitely.”
“Awesome.” He turns toward the school, the wind blowing his short black hair. “Thanks.”
“It’s no prob—”
“Nate, help me out, man!” Ryan shouts from across the field. Lexie has one of his shoes and starts running toward the girls’ locker room. A giggle slips past my lips, and Nate shoots me an apologetic glance before he jogs off after Lexie. I watch his butt the whole way.
***
My locker is in the worst place in this school—the one right by the exit. It’s nowhere near any classes, and I have to book it everywhere I go or carry every book I own.
So I don’t understand why someone would travel all the way to my locker—every day—just to slip notes in the top slat.
I bite back my smile as I open the crumpled blue notepaper.
Caela Sculptoris, the sculptor’s chisel. It was the closest constellation to the name “Kaylee” I could find. The brightest star in it is called Alpha Caeli. Seems fitting, I think.
A tiny sigh flits through my lips, and I lean back against my locker. How many months does this make? Four? Five? I don’t know, but whoever this guy is, he sure is dedicated. And shy. Because after five months of notes in my locker, I’d think he’d have the guts to actually talk to me.
Marcus Clegg turns the corner, and he shakes his head when he spots me with my blue paper.
“Another one, huh?” He flicks the combination on the locker next to mine. “Girl, whoever that boy is, he’s got it bad for you.”
“Maybe someone is just making my day a little bit brighter.”
“Mmmhmm.” His dark eyes roll, and he pulls his bright green English folder out. “I still say we do detective work and find his sweet ass.”
“How do you know he has one?” I shut my locker with a smile.
“I’ve read some of those sweet nothings. He’s funny and ba-rilliant—like moi. So a sweet ass comes with the territory.”
“You are so right!” I shove his shoulder. “You track down all the adorable male butts in this school and let me know what you find.”
“Gladly.”
“All right, I gotta run. I expect a report in fourth!”
He waves at me, and I spin the corner, not able to stop my mind from running with my legs. I wouldn’t be lying if I wanted the notes to be from Nate.
But I don’t want to get my hopes up either.
Chapter 2
I lean back into the couch, holding Kaylee’s number. Sweat beads on my forehead as I dial. My finger trembles against the first number, and my whole hand shakes by the second. I go to hit the third number, but the shaking makes it impossible, and I hit the wrong one. Darn it. I hang up and try again.
I steady my hand and dial as quickly as I can before my brain can process, but by the fifth number the shakes take over and my phone falls to the floor.
Smooth. Real smooth. I reach down to grab it, but as my fingers graze the screen, I’m pulled up by my suspenders. There’s only one person who feels the need to tug on my suspenders whenever the opportunity arises.
“What do you want, Nick?” I ask my older brother, who’s home for the weekend. He decided to spend his spring break torturing me when Mom and Dad wouldn’t give him money to head to Cancun with the rest of his frat brothers.
“What are you doing down there?” he asks and lets my suspender snap back into place.
I wince then grab my phone before he steals it and sends out an inappropriate mass text to everyone. “Dropped my phone.”
Maybe I can program Kaylee’s number, that way once it’s in I can just hit call. Problem solved.
I should’ve just had her type her number in to begin with. But when she bounced up to me after school and reached her cute little hand into my shirt pocket, I froze. Before I could suggest it, she jumped up, kissed my cheek, and took off.
If it wasn’t for Ryan, my best friend since third grade, I’d probably still be standing there. He tapped my shoulder and knocked me out of my trance.
“She kissed me,” I mumbled just as Lexie, the girl Ryan is not-so-secretly in love with, jumped on Ryan’s back and he pulled a runaway bull, bouncing her up and down as he ran off toward his car.
Nick snatches the small piece of lined paper off the coffee table. “What’s this?”
I reach for it, not that I need it anymore. I have Kaylee’s number memorized. “Nothing,” I say, and try to get it back, but he puts me in a headlock.
“Did Natey get a girl’s number?” He messes my hair up before finally letting go.
I run my hand through my hair, pushing it back into place. I don’t answer him. The bubbly handwriting and adorable doodles make it a dead giveaway. I especially like the heart in the upper left corner.
“So did you call her yet?”
“I was about to before you came in and turned me into a human bungee cord.”
He hands me the piece of paper and waves to my phone. “Then go for it.”
If it was only that easy. For Nick it is. He’s the ultimate Playboy. I can’t even bring him to my favorite magic store without Tracy, the store manager, drooling over him.
He might be a pain in my butt, but he has always supported my dream of becoming the next Criss Angel. Plus he’s always good for advice.
I scratch my chin. “What do I say when she answers?”
“Why don’t you start with ‘Hi’ and go from there.” He pats me on the back. “It’s only as hard as you make it.”
Nick takes the phone then snatches the piece of paper with Kaylee’s number. “The hardest part is dialing.” He taps the numbers into the keypad in one fluid motion and hands me the phone.
My heart beats an erratic symphony when the first ring ends. I go to hang up, but just as my finger hovers over the red circle, her sweet voice floats into my ear.
“Is anyone there?” she asks when I don’t respond to her first “Hi.”
“Uh…” My words stick in my throat, and I try to force them out, but they are hanging on for dear life. “Uh…” Nick smacks my back—hard—and the words tumble out. “Kaylee, it’s Nate. Nate Hatfield. You gave me your number after school. Probably not for like a date or anything, but because you know, I asked you to help me out with the talent show and all.”
As if I didn’t already know I sounded like a babbling loser, Nick shakes his head, and laughs hysterically all the way to the kitchen.
“Hi, Nate Hatfield,” She says, and I can picture her winking. “You did ask me to help you out with the talent show, and I’m totally in, but I was also wondering if…” Her words trail off and I’m left wondering myself.
She was wondering if the chicken came before the egg. Wondering if a goldfish’s memory span is really three seconds. Wondering if I’d meet her under the oak tree at school to make-out. The suspense is killing me.
“Wondering what?” I ask.
“Would you be willing to return the favor?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Swing dance lessons.”
Come again? Dance? I don’t dance. I can’t even handle a simple game of Just Dance. There is no way. I can’t let Kaylee see me make a fool of myself.
No way.
***
Three days later we’re standing in the dance studio on M
ain Street. Kaylee is in a white tank top that hugs her boobs just right, and a yellow skirt that swishes back and forth when she walks. There are other couples—not that we are a couple—in the room, but I can’t take my eyes off Kaylee. Her big green eyes light up when the instructor walks to the front of the class and asks us to gather around.
She wraps a hand around my bicep and pulls me close. My entire body goes stiff at her touch.
“Loosen up,” she says, shaking my arm. “It’s just dancing.”
“Yeah, just dancing,” I repeat, hoping maybe I’ll actually convince myself. But it’s not just dancing. It’s touching Kaylee in places I’ve only dreamed about. Holding her hand and getting sweaty together.
I shake my head to get off the X-rated route my brain just took and focus my attention back on the instructor.
“My name is Ava, and I’ll be your instructor for the next six weeks.”
Six weeks? Kaylee must have forgotten to mention that. Not that I’m complaining. Between these lessons and Kaylee helping me with my act, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together. I’m not exactly sure what it means. Are we friends? Just two people helping each other out?
Her eyes meet mine, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her heart-shaped lips. One thing I know for sure… as long as I get to see that adorable smile, I’m game for anything.
Chapter 3
This is a beginner class. I mean major beginner. Ava first teaches us how to hold each other which is like middle school dance 101, but when she forces Nate’s hand on my waist and he looks as if she’s asking us to have sex right here in the middle of the floor, I think maybe some of us need the instruction.
“I’m not like a weirdo swing dance enthusiast,” I say to Nate once we’ve all started practicing the box step. Ava keeps shouting, “Learn your partner! Learn yourself!” and I have to keep biting back my giggles.
Nate’s eyes move from his feet to my face. “Uh…”
Okay, maybe that conversation starter came out of nowhere. Or maybe not and he has no clue what to say. Gar, I hate silence.
