T is for...he's a TOTAL jerk (Grover Beach Team #3)

by Piper Shelly

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I slowed down and peered at them from the corner of my eye, wondering if I should try to talk to Tony. Since he seemed determined to put me into the same boat as my cousin without knowing me at all, this was a good chance to set things straight. Okay, the thought of Cloey turning scarlet when she found out I was talking to someone I wasn’t supposed to, according to her, might have helped sway me to go for it.

  I crossed the street. “Tony?”

  He turned around. His smile faded the moment he saw me.

  Ugh.

  Eyes narrowed, he angled his head and studied me as I drew closer. I knew this look. It spelled Just get out of my way. Uneasiness settled in my stomach. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. My next step was hesitant. But it was too late to back down. Everyone was looking at me.

  “I—” I clasped the cuffs of my hoodie, which reached the middle of my palms. “I just wanted to say sorry. You know, for what happened back in there. With the soda and—”

  “For you,” he interrupted my stuttering with a drawl. “It’s Anthony.”

  He turned back to his friends, and they walked away.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Welcome to Grover Beach, Sam,” I muttered to myself and trudged to Cloey’s car. Banging my head on the steering wheel, I wished she had never dragged me out of the house.

  It was just my luck that I hadn’t paid attention when we’d come to town, so I had no idea which way to go to get to my uncle’s house. I drove around for a while, but that still didn’t get me home. Of course, Cloey’s car came equipped with a navigation system, so I finally punched in the address and let the female voice direct me to the Summers’ villa. I parked the car outside the closed double-door garage. Moments later, I let myself in with Cloey’s keys and stashed them under the doormat. I would send her a text in a minute and let her know where to find the keys later.

  The guest room I occupied was on the second floor, and the twin windows overlooked the wide garden below. Right now I could see nothing but my frustrated face reflecting in the glass when I gazed out.

  I kicked my boots into the corner and dropped across the bed. This room was twice as big as my old one back in Cairo, and though it was fully furnished in matching pieces made of cherry wood, it looked rather empty without any personal decoration. I didn’t bring much stuff. Just a suitcase packed with my favorite clothes, which mostly consisted of hoodie sweaters and army pants, and then of course my drawing stuff.

  My cell phone lay on my night stand. I reached for it, wanting to talk to someone and get all the sorrow of a miserable first day off my heart. Egypt was ten hours ahead of California. I could call my mom now and probably reach her during breakfast. But then, what would I tell her? That Cloey had mutated into a bitch and that this guy in the café had embarrassed me like hell?

  No, my mother would only worry, and I didn’t want to trouble my parents. Letting me go was hard enough for them. If I gave my mom a call, I’d have to sound happy, and I just couldn’t summon the effort to do that right now. So I only sent a text to Cloey about the keys, then put the phone back down.

  I decided to draw instead. It always helped to soothe me. On the wide desk in front of the window paper, pencils, and charcoals were scattered all over the place. Before Cloey had hauled me out, I’d started to draw Lucifer, the wild stallion that used to roam the grounds around our house on the outskirts of Cairo sometimes. Nobody ever managed to touch him, but for some reason, he’d always come closer to me than to anyone else. My dad used to say it was probably because he felt connected to me. Untamed and stubborn. Or maybe he just liked my hair, which was pitch black like his fur.

  Whatever it was, I’d enjoyed the animal’s presence and sketched it a hundred times back then. But now, the features, muscles, and shadows just wouldn’t work out as I wanted. It was hard for me to draw from memory. I missed the live model.

  At two in the morning, when Cloey finally sneaked into her room and closed the door just a tad too loud, I gave up and went to bed. Closing my eyes, I expected to dream of Lucifer and the wide scenery of the Egyptian desert. But what came up was a boyish face with eyes that scowled when he looked at me. I groaned and rolled over, dragging the comforter over my head. Sure as hell that rude idiot would be the last thing I was going to think of before falling asleep.

  *

  Sunday was cool. I didn’t see much of Cloey. Apparently, she was used to sleeping in after a late night out. No one cared. Least of all me.

  In the evening, I packed my schoolbag and went through all the stuff I needed three times. I didn’t want to miss anything. But already on Monday morning, I realized I had missed one essential thing. A ride. Cloey had left without me. And without leaving any directions for how to get to school, too.

  “Gee, gonna be a great start at Grover Beach High.” I squeezed my eyes shut and released a frustrated sigh, then I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulders. There was always the possibility of asking Aunt Pamela to drive me, but it would mean giving reasons, and I really wanted to avoid that today.

  Walking down the lane, I asked the first person on the street for directions instead. The old and obviously deaf lady shouted back, “What do you want?”

  “Grover Beach High School! Which direction?” I pointed left and right in turn, making a hopeful face.

  Now the woman smiled. “Ah. It’s two miles that way,” she screeched so loudly I wondered if she thought me as deaf as herself. She pointed her walking stick to the left.

  If I wanted to be at school before the bell rang for the first class, I’d better run. Two yolk-yellow buses passed me as I jogged down the street. At least now I knew when to catch one tomorrow.

  Sweating and panting, I arrived at the building within fifteen minutes. And I still had enough time to look for the head office and get my schedule.

  Mrs. Shuster, the secretary, was already expecting me as I opened the opaque glass door and stepped into the office. I had spoken to her on the phone the previous week, letting her know which classes I intended to take apart from the four core subjects, English, Math, Science, and U.S. History. I’d picked Journalism, PE, and then of course, Arts.

  Mrs. Shuster had told me about a special class they offered, which was called Animation & Visual Effects. I had been in a similar advanced class back in Cairo, and couldn’t wait to continue my studies here. Gifted with calm hands and an eye for detail, my goal was to work for Disney Pixar one day. Either that or I’d become a stage dancer. I loved to move almost as much as I loved to draw.

  I signed a few forms, then the secretary handed me my class schedule and a map of the school building. With that many corridors, it would be a miracle if I ever found my way back out.

  I tracked my way to Science with my finger on the map, looking up every now and then, checking that I was still on the right path. One last turn left and…ta da! Lifting my chin, I stared at a closed door that had the image of a stickman on it. The sound of flushing toilets and running faucets drifted out. This was probably not the Science class.

  Totally lost. Wonderful. I checked the map again. Where the heck did I take a wrong turn?

  The door suddenly swung open and, with the large paper clasped in both hands, I gaped at the busboy’s face. Before I knew why, my heart lurched to my throat.

  Tony stopped dead before he ran me over. He made an effort to look down on me, as if my short height annoyed him above all else. Oh, come on, it wasn’t really that bad. If nothing else, my height was just cute. He could probably rest his chin on the top of my head if he hugged me.

  Wait. I didn’t just think hug, did I? Definitely not with this ass, no way.

  “You’re going to school here?” he asked, and by the sound of it, that sure was the worst thing that could happen to him.

  “Umm…yeah.” Dammit, I hated my recent habit of stuttering. This wasn’t me speaking. Well, not the normal me, anyway. I cleared my throat and straightened my spine, which gave me the final inch I needed
to find my self-confidence again. “First day.”

  Tony’s gaze dropped to the map in my hands, then rose to my face again. His expression changed to one of amusement as he arched one brow. “Taking your first class in the men’s room?” He gave me no time for a comeback, but carefully shoved me to the side with the back of his arm and walked away.

  I stuck my tongue out after him. Then I banged the back of my head against the wall and immediately regretted it as the pain vibrated though my skull. Okay, start again. I located the men’s restroom on the map, then worked my way from there to the Science class. This time I found the way and slumped, relieved, into a seat at the back of the room.

  A bunch of students filed in at the ring of the bell. One very tall guy with a black sweater and the hood pulled up over his head walked toward me and then stopped, giving me a strange look. The slim cable from iPod headphones ran down the length of his neck, and a few strands of red hair flashed from underneath the hem of his hood. “Move over,” he growled. “This is my seat.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” I mumbled, but I didn’t think he could hear me with the headphones plugged into his ears. I scooted to the seat next to him, sliding my books along with me. Well, he didn’t send me away, so I might have to sit next to an unfriendly giant, but at least I got to sit somewhere.

  A female teacher walked in behind the last couple of kids. Her hair was dyed a brilliant white and funky green glasses sat on her pert nose. She looked around the room until her gaze landed on me. Smiling, she motioned with her hand that I should come forward.

  I knew this was going to happen, but a shudder slithered down my spine at the thought of the formal introduction nonetheless. At least I’d only have to do this seven times today, and then the horror would be over.

  Mrs. Hallshaw, that was her name, made me stand in front of the class and tell them where I came from and what I liked to do.

  I shoved my hands into my pockets. “My name is Samantha Summers, but please call me Sam. My dad’s a general in the U.S. army, but he opted for out-of-country work, so that’s why I’ve been to nine different schools already.” Rocking back on my heels, I leaned against the blackboard. “In nine different countries.”

  Some of the faces in the crowd took on intrigued expressions. One of the guys in the back even whistled though his teeth.

  “Awesome,” said a girl, her eyes widening behind her glasses. If she knew the bad side of it, which mostly concerned the non-existent social life of that general’s daughter, she probably wouldn’t have said that.

  “Try memorizing nine different city maps, nine maps of high schools, and learning four different languages just to be able to order the right sort of spaghetti in a restaurant,” I said with a smile. “It’s not that much fun really. And just when you figure out where to buy cool clothes in that new town, your parents tell you sorry, but you have to move again.”

  The girl with the glasses pulled a face. “Ouch. That sucks.”

  “You speak four languages?” the teacher asked, and I turned to look at her impressed face.

  “Yes, ma’am. I speak English, Portuguese, Finnish, and a little Arabic.” In fact, my Arabic was limited to the basic terms of greeting and asking for the price. But it was enough to get me through eight months in Cairo. I was lucky. Most people spoke English there, and even the school I had gone to was a private one for American kids.

  “Can you say something in Finnish?” another girl with pigtails asked. She looked slightly familiar. I wondered if I had seen her somewhere in the café Saturday night.

  “Rakastan piirtämistä ja tanssimista,” I pulled from the top of my head.

  Some of the kids laughed at the clearly foreign sound of it, but all of them seemed super-impressed.

  “What did you say?” Spectacle Girl demanded and pushed her wavy brown hair behind her shoulder.

  “She loves to draw and dance.” The answer came from the tall guy with the hood and the iPod. His lips were pressed together, but he smiled.

  He completely had me gawking at him open-mouthed.

  After Mrs. Hallshaw dismissed me and I walked back to my seat, the tall guy turned to me and pulled down his hood. No longer disguised as a thug, he actually looked cute. He held out one hand. “Hi. I’m Niklas Frederickson. You can call me Nick.”

  “Hi, Nick.” I wanted to say something cool, but I only stared at him for a second, then I said, “Are you from Finland?”

  “Sweden, actually. But I lived in Finland for a few years before we moved to California.”

  “Cool.” And I really meant it. “How long have you been living here?”

  “Six years. So…you love to dance? What do you do?”

  “A bit of everything. Ballet, hip-hop, funk, street dance.” I grinned, knowing this sounded like I couldn’t get my shit together and stick with one style. “I’m enthusiastic.”

  He gazed at me with narrowed eyes, as if he was deliberating something. “Sounds good. You should speak to Alyssa Silverman. She’s a friend of mine and captain of the cheerleaders. I know she’s looking for new members for the team.”

  “Wow.” A cheerleader. I laughed. “I know I just said enthusiastic, but I don’t think I’m that type of girl.” Mostly because I was short and didn’t have the hairstyle for it; long, blond, and perfect. Now I was wondering if Cloey was with the cheerleaders.

  Mrs. Hallshaw cleared her throat, and Nick and I fell silent for fifteen minutes. But when we had to do a partner experiment on some dead fish, he gave me a small piece of paper with a number scribbled on it. “This is Allie’s number. If you want to check out the team, give her a call.”

  “Okay…thanks.” I tucked the note into my pocket. “I’m surprised there’s some cheerleading going on here at all. Does Grover Beach even have a football team?”

  “We don’t. But we play soccer at this school.”

  I had watched one half of a soccer game in Finland. Not my kind of sport, really. “You play?”

  “Yep. I’m a Grover Beach Bay Shark.” He gave me a smile, showing that one of his front teeth was chipped. Maybe a soccer accident. I tried not to stare at it, but it was hard when he didn’t stop smiling.

  “So, um, what position do you play? Quarterback? Pitcher?”

  Nick angled his head as though he was trying to figure out what language I was currently speaking. “Quarterbacks are for football. And we sure as hell don’t have a pitcher. I’m the goalie.”

  “Oh.” So he probably stopped a ball with his face once, thus the chipped tooth. I resisted asking about it and instead pushed the plate with the fish toward him to let him do the dissecting. “I can’t handle dead animals. Gives me the chills.” Even now a shiver made my hair stand on end.

  Nick had no problems with the dead fish. He sliced into it like it was a warm bun.

  After Science, I battled my way through the crowded corridor to U.S. History, and then further on to English, where I found a seat next to the girl from Science class with the wavy brown hair and glasses. Her name was Susan Miller, and she turned out to be really funny. We had to write a poem about any fruit we liked, and she titled hers Ode to My Banana. I’d just taken a sip from my Coke while she was reading out the poem, and when everyone barked with laughter, I snorted Coke through my nose. Yeah, I could be so attractive when I wanted to be.

  Susan also had Math with me, and since she’d heard my introduction four times today, she took it into her hands to introduce me to two of her friends before fifth period; Simone Simpkins, who looked like a Norwegian model in super-tight clothes and with perfect blond curls, and Liza Matthews. Both girls seemed very nice, even though Liza didn’t say much. She seemed to study me for a really long time. Awkward. The fact that she was one of the couple Tony had talked to in the café on Saturday made me doubly uncomfortable.

  “You’re Cloey Summers’ cousin, aren’t you?” she finally said, tying her long brown hair up in a high ponytail.

  “Um, yeah. Is that a problem?” After
the incident with the busboy, I wasn’t sure.

  “Seriously? Cloesetta is your cousin?” Susan blurted and shoved her metal-rimmed spectacles farther up her nose. “I would have never guessed that. You’re so…down to earth.”

  Everyone laughed. Me the loudest. Most of all because she’d called my cousin Cloesetta and I had no idea why. “Yeah, she’s a little…eccentric. I’m living with her and her family until my parents move back to the States in four months. I don’t remember her being that snobbish from when we were younger.”

  “She’s like—the Barbie clone,” Simone said, then pointed a thumb at Liza. “Her words, not mine. But she does have a rep at this school, and not a very nice one, if you get what I mean.”

  Oh, I totally understood. Took me only five minutes with Cloey to figure that out.

  After Journalism, the three girls pulled me along into the cafeteria. It was nice to have someone I could sit with during lunch break. Normally, it took me a few days to make friends at new schools. Today was different. I really enjoyed the girls’ company. And in the cafeteria, I also saw Nick again. He sat at a long table with a few other athletic guys. His red hair stood out from them all. I waved at him as we passed them, and he smiled.

  “You know Frederickson?” Liza said into my ear as we lined up to get our lunch.

  “Yeah. Finnish broke the ice.” I grinned at her over my shoulder, then ordered a thin slice of pizza, table water, and a cherry lollipop.

  Simone grabbed half a pizza, and Susan and Liza each got themselves a hamburger with fries. I followed them through the room, wondering where we’d sit. My mouth fell open when we steered toward the table with the hunky guys, but I closed it quickly.

  “Hey, Finn Girl,” Nick said and pulled out the chair next to him with his right foot for me. “How’s your first day going?”