The Tomboy & The Movie Star: A Sweet YA Romance (Jackson High Series Book 3)

by M. L. Collins

  “You are. Keep your eyes on the card.”

  When we got to the end of the deck, I stopped to catch a breather and looked around at all the cards I’d missed scattered on the ground. “Looks a lot like when we were little kids and played 52 pick-up.”

  “Actually, that’s pretty good for your first time. Good job, Grant.” Bernie’s gaze met mine. “You’re very athletic and you’ve got excellent eye-hand coordination.”

  “Ah…eye-hand coordination. I see the method to your madness.”

  Bernie jumped off the bucket and together we gathered the cards, set them to the side, and grabbed a lacrosse stick and a bucket of balls.

  “Now grab your goalie stick and you’ll see how it all comes together.”

  I stood in front of the goal and took my stance.

  Bernie tilted her head before giving it a shake. “I’m thinking a helmet might be a good idea.” She moved back over to her pile of supplies and pulled a helmet out of an old canvas bag and tossed it to me. “It’s one of my brothers so it should fit.”

  Considering my mother and my agent and the movie studio would be less than thrilled if I showed up with a black-eye or a concussion, I happily agreed with Bernie and took the helmet, strapped it on and retook my goalie stance.

  “This is called quick stick. I’ll shoot the ball at you and your goal is to stop as many as you can. Here’s where the juggling and the cards come in... It’s the same principles. Keep your eye on the ball, drive your stick with your top hand, and step toward the ball.”

  With that, Bernie stepped on the end of a nearby lacrosse stick, making it pop up in the air where she grabbed it and scooped up a ball.

  “Ready?” She waited for my nod and then like a machine started shooting ball after ball at me.

  We started off slowly so I could think about all the moving parts. The more shots Bernie took, the better I understood and the better I got.

  “That’s it. Good eye, Grant.”

  Praise from Bernie was high praise for sure. Because the more we practiced, the more I realized Bernie was easily as good a lacrosse player as some of the better players on the team.

  In fact, at one point I got so distracted watching Bernie I totally missed seeing a ball take a bad bounce, sending it at me fast and low. Ouch. Right in the crotch hard enough to drop me to my knees.

  “Yikes, sorry about that,” Bernie said. “That one took a wicked hop. Are you okay?”

  “I will be in a second.” I bent over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath. “So a helmet was a great idea, but a cup would’ve been better.”

  “Oh, double yikes.” Bernie began collecting all the balls by scooping them up in her stick and tossing them into the bucket. “Sorry about that.”

  “Not your fault at all. Totally my fault.” I stood back up, turning my head to look at Bernie. “I didn’t take into account what a good athlete you are. If I had, I would’ve had all my protective gear on. And that’s on me.”

  “With four older brothers, I played a lot of sports with boys. Boys who gave no quarter because I’m a girl. I learned not to cry real fast.”

  Was that why Bernie came off so tough and independent?

  “Do you want to practice some more?” Bernie asked.

  “No. I’m good.” I laughed, leaning down to help her gather the rest of the lacrosse equipment. “Seriously, I feel like I learned a lot. Let’s move to the garage and focus on our competition. That’s our main goal and I don’t want to short change that.”

  14

  Where the Magic Happens

  Bernie

  “Sweet garage.” Grant stood next to me, taking everything in.

  “My dad’s a mechanic. He used to run his shop out of this garage until he invested in a shop in town.”

  I ran my gaze around the three-car garage. The wall to my right held all our tools. There were two large deep red craftsman tool chests, a line of old kitchen cabinets that held oil, grease, gas cans and paint. On the back wall were three deep wooden shelves which held car parts; one shelf for each of our project cars. The wall to the left contained a well-used oil-stained workbench which right now was filled with my mess. Tucked in next to the workbench was a sink, an old ancient refrigerator and an old love seat of Lolli’s covered in lilac cabbage roses.

  “Is your dad at work? I’d like to meet him.”

  “My dad’s in the Reserves and they just left on a deployment to Iraq. That’s why my grandma Lolli is staying with me.”

  “That’s cool.” Grant shook his head at my raised eyebrows. “I don’t mean cool he’s gone. That must be tough on you. I mean cool he’s in the military.”

  “My dad and I are close, so yeah, I miss him when he’s gone.”

  “Nice Vette.” Grant said. He walked over and ran his hand along the tail end. “She’s a beauty.”

  “That’s my dad‘s latest project car.”

  “Whoa. What’s that?” Grant asked, his attention caught on something new as he moved toward the workbench. “Is it a lamp?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It looks like... Is it made out of car parts?” He picked one table lamp up, turning it around to examine it before turning to look at me. “You made this. These are the parts you had in your trunk. This is...amazing.”

  “They’re not amazing. They’re just lamps. Made with car parts. I just—I mean, I was teaching myself to weld and a couple people liked them. So now I sell them to pay for car parts.”

  “They’re not just lamps, Bernie. They’re works of art. They’re cool and retro yet modern and industrial. How much do you sell them for?”

  “Twenty-five for the small lamp, and fifty for the large.”

  “You could charge a lot more. You should charge a lot more.” He set the lamp down and picked up a smaller one. “I’ll buy this one.”

  “I’m not letting you buy a lamp. Not after everything you’re doing for me.” I shook my head. “You can have it.”

  “Thank you. But I might need to buy more for gifts. I know a few people who would love these.”

  “Oh, okay.” I wasn’t going to turn that down. Car parts and car maintenance weren’t cheap. And whatever I had leftover I put away to save toward tech school. I knew my dad would try to help me all he could. But after years of living under the weight of Mama’s medical bills, the last thing I wanted to do was let my dad take on more debt because of me. I walked over and opened the hood on my old Ford truck. “Ready to get going?”

  “I was born ready.” He walked over until we stood side-by-side looking down into the engine. “This is nice. Is it a ’55 F-100?”

  “Good eye. This is my starter project. I’ve learned almost everything I know about engines by working on this truck.” Dad and I had spent many hours in here with him teaching me about cars. It had been a way for us to keep moving forward. A way for us to ground each other without having to expose emotions neither one of us was ready to deal with. “As soon as I have enough money to get Earl the paint job he deserves, he’ll become my daily driver.”

  “Earl, huh?” Grant grinned at me. “I can respect that. He looks like a solid workhorse.”

  I smiled up at him, enjoying that he got it. Poor Lacey never understood my relationship with Earl.

  “I thought we could start by going over the transmission system we studied at lunch today,” I said, dragging my gaze away from his.

  “Sure, but I’ve got it.”

  “What do you mean you’ve got it? You only looked over the chart for ten minutes yesterday.”

  “I mean I’ve got it.” He leaned his forearms on the truck and pointed into the engine. “The oil pan is at the bottom of the crankshaft and stores the engine’s oil. The oil pan is connected to the oil pump which pushes the oil through the filter and squirts it on the crankshaft. The timing belt coordinates the movements of the camshaft and crankshaft. The valve train is made up of valves, rocker arms, pushrods, and lifters. How am I doing so far?”

  “Um...great
. Perfect so far.”

  “I told you I had it. Moving on to the combustion chamber…”—he turned and wiggled his eyebrows at me with a grin—"That’s where the magic happens.”

  “M-magic?” I blinked at him, distracted by his brown eyes and his lopsided grin.

  “Oh yeah. Fuel, air pressure and electricity come together creating a small explosion. Should I go on?”

  Apparently when this adorable nerd talked about cars it created a small explosion in my chest, blowing my lungs apart until it was impossible to breathe.

  “Nope. Nope, you’ve got it.” Breathe, Bernie, breathe. “It sounds like you know more about cars than I thought. Which is great.”

  “Yeah, about that… I wish that were true, but the truth is I have a photographic memory. So, I don’t have a lot of car knowledge yet, but I will in two weeks.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose and gave me a firm look. “You can count on me.”

  The weird thing was I did count on him. I totally trusted that he would do everything he could to help me. And I didn’t trust easily. A sad side-effect of people exiting my life when I wasn’t ready, not that either my mom or my dad had a choice.

  I lost track of time after that. Together, Grant and I started digging into the engine, talking through different systems, and bringing up scenarios of diagnosing and repairing different problems. We spent some time rolling around underneath Earl, stretched out on wheeled-creepers with a shop light hanging from the front axle. We explored from above, bent over with our hands elbow-deep in Earl’s engine.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a break,” Grant said, grabbing a rag to wipe some of the grease from his hands.

  I jerked my gaze from Grant to Dad’s clock on the wall with wrenches as arms. “Wow, is it after eleven? Yikes! I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, no worries. I’m enjoying this. It’s just my back muscles are screaming at me.” He lifted his arms high, stretching out the muscles in his back. “Obviously, this nerd needs to work out more.”

  “It’s not you.” I moved to the sink and began scrubbing my hands with the lava soap. “It sort of goes with the job some days.”

  Grant joined me at the sink and I handed him the soap. He scrubbed his hands next to me, his arm bumping up against mine before he took his turn under the flow of water as soon as I finished.

  Stepping away, I dragged a rag over my face and neck.

  “You, uh, missed a streak,” he said, his gaze on my face. “On your cheek.”

  I scrubbed the rag back over my cheek. “Better?”

  “No.” He grinned and stepped close, He took the cloth from my hand and gently ran it across my cheek. “There.”

  “Thanks.” I quickly pulled away, sticking my face into the fridge to cool my heated cheeks for a few seconds before grabbing two waters from the fridge. I handed one to Grant and sagged onto the loveseat.

  Grant relaxed down next to me, tilting his head back to polish off half his water in a few swallows.

  “Can I ask you a question?” He turned to face me, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. “Why do you need this so much?”

  “You’ve heard Todd.” I blew out a frustrated breath, sending loose curls of hair off my face. “Because I need to prove that I’m as good a mechanic as a guy.”

  “Won’t passing a certification test do that?”

  “Yes. No. I just…” I clenched my jaw, trying to find the words to explain.

  “Just what?”

  “I’m tired of being told I don’t belong. I don’t belong working on cars because I’m a girl. I don’t belong in the girl’s bathroom because I’m not girly enough.”

  “What? Are you telling me girls give you a hard time using the bathroom? That’s so not cool. And it’s not right. Who would do that?”

  “Gah. I don’t want to talk about it. I’m just—I’m tired of feeling like I never fit in anywhere.” So tired that I’d stopped trying a long time ago. But that hadn’t made the feeling of being an outsider go away. It was a lonely place to be. And the dumb thing was that I shouldn’t be feeling this way. I had a family who loved me and an amazing best friend.

  Trying to thrive in a guy-dominated field didn’t help. Not when guys like Todd reminded me I didn’t belong. My dad and I were close, but there was no way I was going to worry him about anything. He’d gone through so much when we lost Mama. The same with my brothers. I knew they’d swoop in if I asked for help, but we’d all been so lost after her death. Now that my brothers were each finding their way, I wouldn’t worry them either.

  But I’d had this growing feeling for the last few years now that I was lost. Sailing through life with no rudder to steer my ship. And I wasn’t sure why. Some days I was confident in who I was. Other days I wished my mama had left me a map to navigate how to be a girl.

  “So stop trying.”

  “What? Stop trying to be a mechanic?”

  “No. Stop trying to fit in. Sometimes it’s not about you. It’s their problem.”

  Ha. Easier said than done. Especially if you hadn’t experienced it.

  “Have you ever felt like you never fit in?”

  “Actually, I have. I know the feeling,” he said, staring off into space before turning his dark gaze on me. “I’m adopted. My younger brother and I went into the foster care system before I turned three. My brother got adopted within the first month. The case worker said infants always get adopted first. All I knew was I wanted to go with him so badly. I couldn’t figure out why his new parents didn’t want me too.”

  That must have been so hard for a three-year-old to understand. My mind filled with the image of a small boy with big brown eyes filling with confusion and tears as his brother was taken away. Taken away by a family he’d hoped for. My heart hurt for both Grant the little boy and Grant the guy sitting next to me.

  “I moved around the foster system for three years, each move brought new hope that it would be the last one. That someone would finally want me. That each new foster family would want to keep me. But for three years no one did. So, yeah, I know what not fitting in feels like.”

  “Grant… I’m so sorry. And now I feel completely ridiculous for complaining.”

  “Don’t feel ridiculous. I only told you my story to show you that I get it. I understand what you’re feeling.” He shook his head with a grin. “And my story has a happy ending. Of course, now with hindsight, I can say the reason it took three years for me to be adopted was that I was waiting for the perfect parents to arrive. Sometimes when things seem dark it’s because the shining light we’re looking for is just around the corner where we can’t see it.”

  “What happened to your brother? Do you get to see him?”

  Grant’s smile disappeared and his gaze moved away. “With closed adoptions, it took a few years to track him down. My dad had to file paperwork with the adoption agency to reach out to his family. I finally got to see him two years ago.”

  “And?”

  “Let’s just say it wasn’t the reunion I’d hoped for.” His gaze moved back to mine. He shrugged and shot me a smile that had my stomach fluttering. “So we’re just a couple of misfits, I guess. Maybe it’s just me—but I feel like we fit together.”

  “We fit together?” Warmth spread through my belly.

  “Uh huh. You and me. I like you. Bernadette Jewell, would you like to go out with me?”

  “Out?”

  “Yes, on a date.” He grinned. “I know. I’m totally springing this on you. A decent guy would have at least dropped a hint or two.”

  “Ha!” Grant had given me plenty of hints. I just hadn’t believed him. “I told you… Teens don’t date anymore.”

  He tilted his head and sent me a heated gaze that had my pulse revving up like it kicked into fourth gear. “Isn’t that the beauty of not fitting in? We don’t care what other teens do. We can do whatever we want, right?”

  “Right. And you really want to take me on a date?” No guy had ever asked me on a d
ate. I’d been asked to join pick-up games when they were short a player. I’d been asked to hang out. I’d been invited to watch the College Lacrosse Championships with some players on the varsity lacrosse team. I’d even been asked my opinion on girl issues, but those questions always started with “Hey, Bernie, if you were a girl…”

  “More than I’ve wanted anything in a long time,” he said, kicking my pulse into overdrive. “Guys on the team seem to like Burger Barn.”

  “They’ve got great burgers and excellent shakes.”

  “Excellent. So…is that a yes? You and me on a date to Burger Barn tomorrow night?”

  “I’d like that,” I said. Even as the words left my mouth, they didn’t seem real. Was this my life? Was this me about to go out with an adorable, sweet nerdy guy? My cheeks were on fire.

  “I say we change the subject before you change your mind. What’s under the tarp?” Grant asked, making my gaze jerk over to the third stall in the garage. “Another project car?”

  “Sort of.” I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “It’s my mom’s old car. A Mustang.”

  “A Shelby?” His voice full of the proper awe a Shelby brings to real car enthusiasts.

  “No.” A Shelby would have been out of my mama’s price range even back when she bought it.

  “Can I look?”

  “Um, sure.” I stood, moving toward my mama’s car, pulled in like a magnet. My muscles tensed as Grant drew the tarp off. I hadn’t looked at the car in a very long time. Three years, in fact.

  “A ’68 convertible. Very sweet. I guess she doesn’t drive it.” His gaze ran over the car. “Is your dad restoring it for her?”

  “He was. My mom died when I was eight.”

  Grant’s head whipped around to me. “I’m sorry. That…sucks.”

  “Yeah. This was the first car my mama ever bought. She paid for it with her first job as a bank teller. It was her pride and joy. Her baby. Only, they had to sell it when my second brother arrived. When Mama got sick, Dad tracked it down and bought it back. It was trashed. The restoration gave them something to look forward to during the chemo treatments.” I folded an arm over my stomach, squeezing tight. “He used to work on it while Mama sat in a chair next to him. When she got too sick to sit with him, he’d only work on it late at night after she was asleep.”