"In theory, I can't. But she has the power. My permanent record is at Ms. Perkin's mercy."
Eyes on the cafeteria door, Travis' gaze sharpened when Delaney Pope entered. Finally. He tracked her progress, noticing the way she almost hugged the wall, head down, clutching a book to her chest with one hand, a brown paper bag with the other.
"By now, your permanent record is what it is," Travis said absently, frowning when Delaney took a seat at an empty table. "Why start worrying now?"
"According to the guidance counselor, my chances of getting into the University of Washington are borderline. The red marks in my file for untoward behavior—her words, not mine—could be the difference. I blame Perkins."
Travis picked up a tray, loading on a fork, knife, spoon, three napkins, and two cartons of milk.
"I blame your uncontrollable need to pull practical jokes."
Eddie grinned, his tray mirroring Travis'.
"Filling Principal York's office with chickens was pure genius. An all-time classic. Kids will be talking about that one for generations. And I would've gotten away scot-free if Randy Simmons had kept his mouth shut."
"Three days suspension and two days cleaning chicken shit off every inch of the office. Plus, the weekend you lost repainting the walls."
"I don't know what old man Stoneridge fed those birds, but sometimes I swear I can still smell the stuff they crapped out. Who knew chickens could suffer from diarrhea?" Eddie shuddered at the memory.
Smiling, Travis nodded at the lady behind the counter. Mrs. Muir had worked at the school since long before he was born. She arrived early every morning, tucking her cap of silver hair into a perfunctory protective net. Donning a starched white apron.
The thirty extra pounds she carried on her five-foot-nothing frame meshed perfectly with her perpetually affable, everybody's granny, demeanor.
However, make no mistake. Sweet could turn to iron-fisted in a flash. After forty years, she was the last person to put up with teenage antics. Mess around while standing in her lunch line, and she pounced like a hungry lion after a defenseless lamb.
Because the students liked her—and because they were more than a little intimidated by a mere lift of her brow—the lunch room was the best behaved, no drama area in the entire school.
"Hamburgers and tater tots," Eddie sighed with pleasure. "My favorite day of the month. Hey, where are you going?"
Instead of taking a right toward their usual table—the one they and their crowd had occupied every day without fail since freshman year—Travis turned left. An impulse. Unexplainable, even to himself.
"I'll see you in class."
"But—"
"Later," Travis said with a wave.
Eddie watched for a few seconds as Travis weaved around the tables, then with a shrug, continued on, more interested in his stomach than his friend's odd behavior.
As he walked, Travis wondered what he was doing. Why he'd developed a sudden interest in the habits of Delaney Pope.
He thought he'd put her from his thoughts.
After driving home and taking a much-needed, long, hot shower, Travis enjoyed dinner with his father, followed by an hour of television before finishing up a term paper for history class.
Admittedly, Delaney flitted through his thoughts once or twice. Why wouldn't she? After their meeting in the music room, followed by the way she rushed home—with him foolishly following behind—he was bound to wonder about her just a little.
However, by morning, Travis was more worried about the fact that his motorcycle wouldn't start—as usual. As he grumbled all the way to school, Delaney, and her odd behavior—didn't cross his mind.
Until he caught a glimpse of her in the hall.
Dressed in her usual baggy dress—dark green today—scuffed loafers and ankle socks, she occupied the same unremarkable space as always. As close to invisible as a person could be. Yet today, Travis zeroed in on her immediately, as if she was suddenly painted bright red neon.
Delaney couldn't go back to hiding. Not from him.
Travis had heard her play the piano. So intensely beautiful, the notes still resonated through his brain. He knew what she hid behind those incongruously thick, completely unnecessary, black-rimmed glasses.
Shy he could understand. But Delaney's problem went far beyond the simple malady. Travis had the feeling—if humanly possible—she'd welcome the oblivion of total nothingness.
Why? Delaney was intelligent beyond the scope of his understanding. She had musical talent—a gross understatement. And, she was pretty. Now that Travis took the time to look, he knew she had more to offer than just a pair of stunning purple eyes.
Who was Delaney Pope? What was her story? Travis knew himself. Now that she was on his radar, he wouldn't be happy until he knew the answers.
Stopping by the table where Delaney sat alone, nibbling on a sandwich while engrossed in her book, Travis set down his tray.
"Mind if I join you?"
Delaney gasped, her head shooting up, her glasses tilting to the side. In one motion, she lowered her head, fixed her glasses, and frowned.
"What are you doing?" she hissed.
"I'm about to eat my lunch." He slid onto the bench seat, opposite Delaney. "With you. Any objection?"
Her eyes, what Travis could see of them, quickly moved from side to side, looking for God knows what. If possible, she sunk further into herself, her shoulders rounding into an uncomfortable looking ball.
"Go away. Please."
"Nope." Travis popped a tot into his mouth. "I like where I am."
"Why?" Delaney asked, her tone almost desperate.
"I've never eaten lunch over here. I decided getting a new perspective might be a good thing." Travis slowly surveyed the room. "I was right."
"Fine. If you won't go, I will."
Delaney smashed her sandwich into the crumpled bag. Swinging her legs around, she banged her knee. Hard. Travis winced in sympathy.
"Careful."
The look Delaney shot him—filled with frustration and just enough anger to make Travis smile—gave him a glimmer of hope. Perhaps under all the cowering lurked a trace of a backbone.
"Fine," Travis sighed dramatically. "If you would rather eat outside, I don't mind. But I think we're due for some more rain."
To no surprise, Delaney didn't answer. Instead, her eyes widened in what he hoped was exasperation before she scurried for the exit. Picking up his tray, he followed.
"You lead, I follow," he called out, garnering the attention of half the room. Whispered gossip flew from table to table, ensuring that by the time he reached the door, every person in the room knew he was about to leave—and why.
Travis caught up with Delaney, holding the door for her.
"Chasing women isn't my usual style. But what the heck. Just this once."
Delaney rushed around the corner to a place where nobody could see them. She didn't raise her voice, but her head shot up in a flash, giving Travis his first look at her face in the light of day.
Oh, yes, he thought, taking in the flush of red that stained her cheeks. Pretty. If she made a little effort to stand up straight, and maybe smile now and then? Who knew? Beautiful wasn't out of the realm of possibility.
"I asked you to leave me alone."
"Yes," Travis nodded slowly. "I believe you did."
"Then, why didn't you?"
"I'd like to be your friend."
Travis didn't know who was more surprised by his declaration. Delaney, or him? She was a mystery that needed solving. Nothing more. Besides, he had all the friends he needed. Why should he push himself on a girl who didn't want any part of him?
The flash of want—ever so brief—on her face gave Travis his answer. He'd never met anybody who needed a friend more than Delaney.
"You—" Delaney swallowed. Her eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to make me the butt of a joke the whole school—besides me—is in on?"
/> "Jesus. Really?" Travis shook his head. "You've watched too many bad teenage comedies."
"I haven't been to see a movie in forever."
"What about on television?"
Delaney shook her head.
A typical teenager, Travis couldn't imagine a life without TV. Or movies. The small theater in Green Hills was a little behind the times, but eventually, all the new releases made their way to town.
Rather than possibly making Delaney feel bad—Travis changed the subject back to where they started.
"What do you say? Friends?"
"I'm not a charity case."
"If you were, I wouldn't be interested." Travis' lips quirked, filled with self-deprecation. "I'm the least altruistic person you'll ever meet."
"Travis." Eddie rounded the corner. With long-practiced ease, he quickly dismissed Delaney with little more than a glance. "The whole school is buzzing. What the hell is going on?"
"Can't you see I'm busy?"
"With her?"
Delaney took her chance, brushing past Travis. Her book hit his arm, falling to the ground. She hesitated, her eyes filled with longing, but gave up, leaving the pieces of bound paper where they lay—a kind of collateral damage.
"Delaney! Wait!"
Travis' entreaty fell on deaf ears. Before he could call out again, Delaney was safely out of his range, inside the school.
"Damn it."
"Spill, man." Eddie gave Travis a shove. "Why the interest in what's her name?"
"Her name is Delaney," Travis ground out.
"Whatever."
Two things kept Travis from plowing his fist into the sneer on Eddie's face. Years of friendship. And the fact that—before yesterday—Travis would have dismissed Delaney with equal ease.
The knowledge didn't sit well.
"Never mind." Travis slapped Eddie on the back—a little harder than necessary. "Let's get to class."
"Sure." With a frown, Eddie rubbed his shoulder. "Whatever you say."
Travis bent, picking up the book, absently checking the title, expecting some dull, non-fiction historical tome. However, what he found was as far from dull and dry as he could imagine, making him grin.
Passion Under a Moonlit Sky.
Delaney Pope read romance novels? Not only was the girl a mystery. She was—to Travis' growing puzzlement—full of surprises.
OUT OF BREATH, Delaney ran into the bathroom, locking herself in the stall as far away from the door as possible. At any second, she expected her heart to burst from her chest. Taking a seat, she filled her lungs. In. Out. In. Out.
All around Delaney, voices buzzed. Girls—fixing their hair, applying layer after layer of lip glass—exchanged nonsensical comments about boys, their current favorite band, or television show, or blouse. And then they returned to boys. First and foremost, boys ruled their conversations.
Delaney settled her feet on the toilet seat rim, her arms locked around her legs. These girls—her peers, her classmates—weren't interested in her or her problems. Perhaps if they knew what she hid behind the wall she'd built around herself. If they had any inkling that beyond the stooped shoulders and baggy dresses lay a girl in trouble, one or two of them might have reached out.
How to make the first move? Delaney didn't know. To them, she was the weird girl they had long ago ceased to notice.
Except somebody had noticed.
Travis Forsythe. One of the most popular boys in school wanted to be her friend? Why? What was his motive? And wouldn't those giggly girls who went on and on about him, their sighs almost rapturous, be amazed if they found out.
Resting her cheek on her knees, Delaney's lips curved ever so slightly. Travis Forsythe had asked to be her friend. Imagine. The impossible had come true.
For a brief moment, Delaney allowed herself to float on the possibility. Somebody to talk to. To confide in. She didn't want anything romantic, and she was certain Travis felt the same.
Friends. Delaney decided the word—and all it encompassed—was her favorite. Bar none.
As if somebody snapped her fingers, cruelly ending her wonderful dream, Delaney tumbled back to reality, her smile gone.
The giggly girls would never find out about Travis' offer. Nobody would. She couldn't have a friend—especially a boy. What if Munch found out? A shaft of fear raced down Delaney's spine, not for herself. For Travis.
When riled, Munch was unpredictable. Usually, he took his anger and frustration out on his wife, using Alma as his own private punching bag. However, on the occasions when he used his fists on somebody else, his family took care of any potential backlash.
His brother, Rick Brill, was the town sheriff. His uncle, Horace Detwiler, had been mayor for over twenty years. Plus, all the cousins and relatives by marriage wielded way too much power to be ignored—were better than a get out of jail free card.
Not once—for all his many crimes and misdeeds—had Munch been arrested. Or spent a single second behind bars.
The feeling of helplessness that permeated Delaney's existence had become a constant, unshakable companion. She hadn't given up all hope. But she was close.
One thing kept Delaney going. The college scholarships she'd applied for with the help of Ms. Watts. A roving counselor, once a month, she visited a dozen different schools—all too small to keep her on as a full-time employee.
Because Ms. Watts didn't live in Green Hills, she wasn't influenced by Munch and his family. Her only concern was her students.
More than once, Delaney had been tempted to unburden herself, but after keeping silent for so long, she didn't know where to start. The words would rise up in her throat, only to form a lump she couldn't push out.
Besides, what could the sweet but less than robust looking middle-aged woman have done? Other than make a bad situation worse.
Delaney getting away from Munch had dwindled with each passing year. Slim to none about summed up her chances. His family had a wide reach. As long as she was underage and legally bound to his control, running would be difficult.
Hiding? Almost impossible.
However, she did have one ace in the hole. A secret she needed to keep to herself as long as possible.
Ms. Watts seemed hopeful that Delaney could score a full-ride scholarship. Applications had been filled out. Sent with fingers, toes, and anything else she could cross.
California. Oregon. Washington. Even Alaska. Far, far away from South Carolina, Munch, and his many-tentacled family.
Hawaii was her dream. Delaney hugged herself tighter at the thought. Warm, sandy beaches would be nice. The freedom they represented even better.
Alma would be a problem. She couldn't leave her mother behind and trying to convince the meek shell of a woman to run would be almost impossible. But if the moment came—please, please, please—she was determined to figure out a way.
As for Travis? Delaney sighed.
Where had he been seven years ago? Even six? Back when she would have welcomed him as her friend. Before she was completely cowed by Munch and his sick obsession.
Maybe—with a friend like Travis—Delaney could have kept her identity. Or at least a bit of backbone. Maybe not. Either way, he was too late. She didn't want to risk Munch's wrath.
Delaney was tempted. However, she had herself and her mother to worry about. The last thing she needed was to be responsible for putting an innocent young man in her stepfather's crosshairs.
Travis would thank her if he knew. However, since she couldn't tell him, Delaney would do what she'd learned to do best.
Blend into the woodwork.
CHAPTER FIVE
● ≈ ● ≈ ●
DELANEY QUICKLY DISCOVERED that avoiding Travis Forsythe was harder than she could have imagined.
She'd become used to flying under people's radar. Days could go by without another student saying a word to her. Teachers—rather than fight a losing battle—had long ago stopped trying to get h
er to participate during class. Delaney did her assignments, received excellent grades. In fact, academically, she sat at the top of her class.
Socially, she was… nothing. Someday, Delaney promised herself, she'd push out of her shell. But not now. Not today. Or in the next six months. When she burst from her cocoon, she'd be far away from Green Hills.
Unfortunately, Travis had other ideas. Hard to avoid—sneaky. Why was he picking on her?
His campaign—Delaney couldn't think of any other way to describe Travis' tactics—began the next day.
"Good morning," Travis said with a warm smile.
Certain he couldn't be speaking to her, Delaney kept her head down as she took her books from her locker. The one on the end of the row—where she could get in and out with as little fuss and muss as possible.
"I said good morning, Del." Travis bent over just enough to bring his face even with hers. "Now, you say, good morning, Travis."
Delaney didn't know who was more surprised. The pretty brunette sophomore who—only a few feet to the right—had quite naturally assumed Travis had meant his greeting for her? Or Delaney, who wished she could crawl into her locker and lock the door?
Rather than stick around and contemplate the answer, Delaney scooted around the gaping girl—and several of her friends—careful not to look at Travis. She didn't know what had gotten into him, but whatever his problem, the last thing she wanted to do was give him any encouragement.
"See you in class."
Delaney bit her lip. Hard. But not because Travis' sudden interest upset her. Inexplicably—for the first time in she didn't know how long—she wanted to laugh.
Skirting around the crowd that always seemed to follow Travis from place to place, Delaney couldn't resist taking a peek, hoping he wouldn't notice. No such luck. As if reading her mind, he grinned. And winked.
Delaney concealed her laugh behind a cough. And people called her crazy.
Entering her first period advanced calculus class, she took her usual seat in the back. Travis always sat near the middle. Delaney waited, wondering if he'd break protocol and sit by her. To her relief—honestly, she assured herself, she was relieved—he barely glanced her way as he slid his long, lanky body onto the same chair he occupied every day.
For All We Know (One Strike Away Book 3) Page 4
