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© 2012 by Melody Carlson
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-3601-2
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
The internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publication. They are provided as a resource. Baker Publishing Group does not endorse them or vouch for their content or permanence.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
1 2 3 4 5 6 7
8 9 10 11 12 13 14
15 16 17 18 19 20 21
About the Author
Books by Melody Carlson
Back Ads
Back Cover
Sometimes the best way to handle rejection is to simply expect it. Just accept that antagonism is coming your way and get beyond it as quickly and quietly as possible. At least that was what Chelsea Martin had been telling herself since hitting adolescence. But with two more years of high school lurking ahead, her resolve, not to mention her patience, had worn thin. And she wondered . . . just how old did her peers have to become before they eventually grew up? Forty-eight, perhaps? Maybe by their thirtieth class reunion they would treat people humanely and with an iota of respect.
Consequently, no one at her school was happier to see June arrive and the school year end than Chelsea. With almost three blessed months before she’d be forced to reenter that adolescent torture chamber, she planned to spend the summer underground, geeking out on her phony Facebook page, reading sci-fi and fantasy, and catching up on her favorite reality shows. Not exactly high aspirations, but after an academically packed year as well as keeping her GPA high enough to remain in the top ten of her class, she concurred with the old McDonald’s slogan—she did deserve a break today. But then, after just one week of sleeping in and vegging out, her “vacation” was cut short.
The madness began on Saturday morning. Awakened from a deep sleep and a delicious dream (Rob Pattinson was vying for her affection), Chelsea was in no mood to “rise and shine!” But there was Dad, standing over her wearing a silly apron that said “Kiss the Cook” and a grin that spelled nothing but trouble. Plus he had a pancake turner in his hand.
“Go away,” she said, longing to escape back into her dream. Although it was probably too late since Rob (aka Edward Cullen) had already vanished into the misty twilit forest.
“Up and at ’em,” Dad hailed in a painfully cheery tone.
“Is the house on fire or what?” Chelsea demanded.
“No, I just want you to get up. Come on, Chels. I’m fixing your favorite—blueberry pancakes!”
“I don’t want any pancakes.” She groaned and rolled over. It wasn’t even nine o’clock. And since when were blueberry pancakes her favorite? Did he think she was still seven? All she wanted at the moment was to return to her dream and that dreamy Edward.
“Come on, Chels.” Dad changed his tone from cheerful to pitiful. “We haven’t really talked all week. I miss you, sweetie.”
She sat up and sighed. That was actually true—they hadn’t talked much lately, maybe not even for two weeks. But that was Dad’s fault, not hers. All Dad did was work, work, work.
“Come on,” he urged her. “I already heated the griddle. And the coffee’s brewing and—”
“Okay, okay.” She reluctantly crawled out of bed, shoved her feet into her pink bunny slippers, and shuffled her way toward the kitchen. Sure enough, Dad really was making pancakes, complete with fresh blueberries.
“What’s the special occasion?” she asked as she filled a mug with coffee and sat down at the breakfast bar, gazing blurrily at him.
“Just us.” He grinned broadly, and she was surprised to see his dimples make an appearance. She’d almost forgotten he had them. The dimples combined with his messy bed-head hair, plaid flannel pajama pants, and faded blue T-shirt were surprisingly endearing—almost enough to wipe out her suspicions that something was seriously wrong. But not quite.
“Uh-huh . . . just us. Right.” She tried to suppress her skepticism as she spooned sugar into her coffee.
“You know, father and daughter hanging out and eating blueberry pancakes together.” Another spoonful of batter sizzled onto the hot griddle, releasing a delicious crispy smell and almost making her hungry.
She still wasn’t awake enough to put her finger on it, but something was definitely not jiving here. Why was Dad acting so weird? Did he think he was running for Father of the Year, or something worse? She glanced around the kitchen, wondering if there might be a hidden camera somewhere. Maybe he was auditioning for a father-daughter reality show.
“Okay,” she said carefully, “what’s really up with you, Dad?”
Both his boyish grin and his dimples faded. “We need to talk.”
She took in a quick breath. “If I was your girlfriend, those four little words would have me seriously freaking.” She was trying to be funny, but the truth was she did feel worried. What had she done to warrant a “talk”? She couldn’t remember any particular offense. It was pretty hard to break the rules when you didn’t even have a life to start with.
She dipped her spoon in the sugar bowl again. It wasn’t that she didn’t like coffee, she just liked it sweetened up—a lot.
Dad dumped another circle of batter, using the bottom of the ladle to enlarge it. “Well, as a matter of fact, this is about my girlfriend.”
“Huh?” Chelsea’s hand stopped in midair. With her third spoonful of sugar halfway between the sugar bowl and her coffee mug, she gaped at her dad. She could tell by his creased brow that he was feeling very uncomfortable about something, like he was about to disclose some bad news, something he knew Chelsea would not want to hear. It reminded her of that time more than five years ago when he’d told her the worst news imaginable. But nothing could possibly be that terrible.
“Your girlfriend?” she asked. “What girlfriend would that be?”
“Kate, of course.”
“Kate?” Chelsea tried to wrap her head around this. She barely knew Kate. In some ways she seemed almost like an imaginary person to Chelsea. Like someone she’d seen on a TV show or passed on the street. Kate was beautiful, stylish, perfect . . . and a perfect stranger to Chelsea. Dad was calling this Kate his girlfriend now?
“Yes . . . Kate.” He flipped his pancakes, acting preoccupied and focused, like he hadn’t just said something totally out of left field. Like he didn’t get that Chelsea still considered her mom the only woman in his life. Like he didn’t know how creepy it sounded to hear him use the word girlfriend when he was referring to himself. What was wrong with the man? Didn’t he know that dads don’t have girlfriends? Not her dad anyway.
Chelsea had been eleven when her mom suffered an aneurism and died almost instantly. Mom’s death had blindsided and devastated Chelsea and her dad. Even five ye
ars later, it was still hard for her to think about it. And up until recently, Chelsea’s dad had shown absolutely no interest in dating anyone. That was okay with Chelsea. So far the two of them had managed just fine on their own. Housekeeping was a bit random and haphazard, but there’d been no real complaints. Chelsea was used to doing her part.
Then Kate Bradley came along . . . and Dad had cautiously reentered the dating world. He’d reassured Chelsea it was “nothing serious,” and she had believed him. In fact, it had been somewhat amusing seeing her dad worried about how to act and what to say on a date. In some ways Chelsea thought the experience was probably good for him. She’d even been a little envious, wishing she had someone to date too—like that would ever happen. But during this relatively short amount of time, Chelsea had never once heard Dad call Kate his girlfriend. That word alone was totally unnerving. Still, she planned to play it cool. Perhaps like other aggravations in life, this too would pass.
“So . . . tell me, Dad, what’s up with Kate?” She took a sip of her sweetened coffee, trying to act perfectly normal.
“Well, honey, I’ve been meaning to tell you that it’s been getting more serious.”
Chelsea frowned. She didn’t even know it was serious, and now it was more serious? “You guys only go out once a week at the most. You’ve probably had a total of six dates and—”
“Oh, it’s been a lot more than six dates, Chels. We meet for lunch occasionally, and we go for—”
“But how is a couple months long enough to get serious, Dad?” It was bizarre, but for some reason she felt like the parent now. Like she needed to advise him about the dangers of dating and getting serious.
“Sometimes you just know about these things.” He neatly flipped a pancake.
“Know what about what things?” She knew her tone was too sharp. She could tell by his expression that she sounded rude and angry. Okay, maybe she was angry.
“You know when it’s right . . . when you’ve met the right one.”
“The right what?”
“The right, uh . . . soul mate.”
She blinked. “Kate is your soul mate?”
He set the pancakes on a plate and handed it to her. “She is, Chelsea.” He nodded in an assured way. “I know it.”
“But how can you possibly know that?”
“Because I just do.” He poured new circles of batter onto the hot griddle. “To be honest, I think I’ve known it almost from the start.”
“Are you saying that you’ve been in love with Kate since you met her?” She glared at him. “And you never even told me about this? You didn’t give me any kind of warning whatsoever?”
“I guess I was in denial.” He slid the bottle of maple syrup toward her, followed by the butter dish. “I honestly didn’t think it would be possible to love someone else again.”
“Maybe it’s not possible.” Even as she said this, she knew she sounded ridiculous. Lots of people fell in and out of love every single day. She saw it at school all the time. Of course, they were just kids and most of them were dumber than dirt anyway. Dad was in his late forties.
“I know it’s going to take some time for you to process this.” He set an empty plate next to the sizzling pancakes. “I’m sure it’s kind of a shock. But I need you to try to understand. Okay?”
With her lips tightly together, she nodded. Spearing a large section of pancake with her fork, she crammed it into her mouth, but the pancake tasted like sawdust, like it was turning into a large, hard lump that would probably stick in her throat. Perhaps it would lodge there and choke her to death. Just the same, she swallowed it. Maybe she didn’t care if she choked. So what if she died on her dad’s blueberry pancakes. But worried she really couldn’t breathe, she took a big gulp of coffee, and even though it washed the glob down, the liquid was so hot it made her eyes water. Now Dad would assume she was crying.
“Anyway, Chelsea . . .” His eyes were on his pancakes, like they needed his full attention. “I proposed to Kate last night. I asked her to marry me.”
Chelsea wanted to scream or to throw something. What was wrong with her dad? Why was he doing this? But he was so focused on turning the second string of pancakes that it looked like he was in some kind of cooking competition. Perhaps a blueberry pancake trophy was at stake.
“And Kate said yes.” Dad peered at Chelsea like he thought she’d be delighted by this news. Did he expect her to say congratulations?
“Oh.” She pushed her plate away. What little appetite she’d had was completely gone. “So . . . you and Kate will be getting married then. Wow, that’s just great, Dad.” Her words dripped with sarcasm. “I hope the two of you will be very happy together.”
He looked hurt. “I know you’ll need to get used to this, but I want you to understand that—”
“Yeah, I know. I’ll get used to it.” She nodded, blinking back real tears. “I’m not hungry, Dad.”
“Oh, Chelsea.” He turned off the stove and hurried around the island. Before she could escape, he wrapped his arms around her. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you. You’re my best buddy, Chels.”
She wanted to point out that she used to be his best buddy. Obviously he’d found someone else now. But she knew if she tried to speak, she’d start blubbering like a baby. This whole thing was bad enough without adding stupid tears.
“This doesn’t change anything between us, Chels. You probably don’t feel like that’s true right now, but you’ll see in time that having Kate as part of our family will make everything better—for both of us.”
“Right.” Her voice sounded gruff. Pulling away from him, she stepped back. “I just need some space right now.”
“You don’t want your pancakes?”
“No. Thank. You.” She stepped back farther, preparing to dash back to her room, slam the door, and try to make sense of why Dad was doing this to her.
“There’s more,” he said in an even more serious tone. “Please don’t run off yet, Chelsea.”
“There’s more?” she said. “What do you mean, more? Don’t tell me that Kate has a bunch of kids and that I’m going to have to share my room and babysit and—”
“No, no, Kate doesn’t have any kids.”
“Is she pregnant?”
“No, of course not.” He frowned at Chelsea like she’d just made some sort of nasty insinuation. Maybe she had. Maybe she didn’t care.
“Well, what is it then?” She planted her hands on her hips, glaring and waiting.
“My job is getting transferred to San Jose.”
“Huh?”
“San Jose, California. We have to move in six weeks, honey.”
“We have to move?” She shouted this back at him like it was the worst news ever, when in truth she didn’t even care that much. Still, he didn’t need to know her true feelings. Especially since he seemed to enjoy being generally clueless about her. Why not throw a hissy fit over moving—didn’t he deserve some friction?
“I know it’s a lot to take in—”
“So let me get this clear.” She shook a fist in the air. “Not only are you turning my life totally upside down by getting married to someone you hardly know, someone I’ve barely even met, but now you’re forcing me to move away from the only home I’ve ever known. You’re making me change schools right before my junior year?” She glared at him. “What’s next, Dad? Am I going to find out that you plan to sell me into the international slave market and use my college savings to buy you and Kate a new love nest in Bermuda?”
“Chelsea!” He frowned in a disappointed way.
“I’m just saying.”
“Look, I don’t have a choice in the job change. The company is downsizing, and several other executives are being laid off right now. I’m actually fortunate to still have a job—in a way, it’s a promotion.”
“Well, that’s just peachy, Dad. You’re getting married and you’re moving me out of my home and halfway across the country. I just couldn’t be happier.” Sh
e turned and ran from the room. And she did slam her door. Juvenile, yes, but necessary all the same.
She flopped onto her bed, wishing she had a good friend to call and vent to, but the truth was her closest friend, Sharee from drama, was just not that good a friend. In fact, Chelsea hadn’t had a real best friend since middle school—back when she and Virginia had been inseparable. In fourth grade they went to youth group together, and together they professed to follow Jesus and promised to be best friends forever. As it turned out, both commitments turned out to be short-lived.
Chelsea went over to her dresser and picked up a framed photo. It had been taken on her twelfth birthday, right after Chelsea had gotten braces and zits. Virginia had fared better on her twelfth birthday—she’d gotten a pink cell phone and breasts. Although both girls were smiling in the photo, with their other friends gathered in the background, she could see the truth in Virginia’s face. Chelsea had been oblivious on her big night—she’d begged her still grief-stricken dad for that slumber party. She later saw (with twenty-twenty hindsight) what had really been going on at the time.
Virginia had coaxed Chelsea’s other so-called friends (other youth group girls) to come that night, for what was probably a true pity party. Feeling sorry for Chelsea because it had been only three months since her mom’s death, the girls had shown up to celebrate Chelsea’s birthday. Pathetic, considering those girls were finished with Chelsea by then. As soon as seventh grade started, they left her in the dust. Chelsea never went back to church or youth group again.
Even now, it still bewildered Chelsea the way Virginia and her circle of picture-perfect friends had made that amazing transition—it seemed like overnight—abandoning bikes and Barbies for boys and fashion. But Chelsea hadn’t been invited to cross that bridge with them. Probably because she was incapable, handicapped, broken—or maybe she’d been too distracted by her own grief. At least that’s what she’d consoled herself with back then.
She studied the photo, seeing that kinky, mud-colored hair, those ugly braces—which she got shortly before everyone else got theirs off—and those horrible zits that seemed to have popped out of nowhere and just never went away. Though not everything showed in that photo—like her complete lack of breasts and deep-rooted insecurities—thanks to her many shortcomings, Chelsea became an overnight misfit, and she’d spent the next four years trying to disappear or blend into the walls at school . . . hoping to survive.
Jerk Magnet, The (Life at Kingston High Book #1) Page 1
