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

by M. L. Collins

  “Is it going to be weird working with him now that you’ve kissed him?” Lacey asked.

  “Aaargh!” I whipped my head around to her and stared. “Why did you say that? I should never have told you about the kiss, dang it. Of course it’s going to be weird. But I didn’t think about it until just now when you brought it up. Ugh. I’ve never worked on a car with somebody I’ve kissed before. What am I going to do?”

  Lacey snickered. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  Together, Lacey and I gathered up the rejected gowns to carry downstairs. We’d just reached the foyer when Lolli called from the kitchen.

  “Did you find a gown?”

  “Got the gown!” I called back.

  “The color is gorgeous on her, Lolli! You’ll love it!” Lacey added.

  “Wonderful. Take the accordion to the garage so you can practice during your breaks!” she called again. “And tell Grant hello.”

  “Will do!” I pushed my back against the screen door since my arms were full of dresses, holding it open for Lacey. “It’s a mystery to me why Lolli loves pageants so much.”

  “Maybe it brings her happy memories from when she was crowned Miss Armadillo.” Lacey popped her trunk so we could lay the dresses inside. “Kiss Grant hello for me.”

  “Haha. That’s not funny.” I made a face at her. “You know I’m going to blush the minute I see him now.”

  “I know. You’re adorable when you blush.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m never adorable.” I scrunched my face at her and popped the trunk on my car to grab out the accordion. “Tomboys are not adorable. It’s part of our tomboy code of conduct.”

  “Tomboys are totally adorable.” Lacey got into her car, rolling the window down to add, “It’s just you don’t think you’re adorable. You are.”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” I hefted the accordion strap over one shoulder and threw a wave in the air to her. “Later, Lace. Thanks for your help.”

  “Honestly, I’m having so much fun. And tomorrow we’re doing makeup, so yay!”

  She drove off and I headed to the garage realizing tomorrow—after the makeup session with Lacey—I’d have officially lost the make-over bet. I’d have to sell a few more lamps to pay all my brothers. And Gigi. Thank goodness Lolli and my dad didn’t join the betting pool.

  “Hey.” Grant sent me a wide lopsided smile that magically made everything negative fly from my mind. “How’s pageant practice going?”

  “Found a dress, so both Lolli and Lacey are happy.” I set the accordion onto the loveseat. “The bad news for you is that Lolli wants me to practice my talent on our breaks.”

  “How is that bad news?” Grant handed me our lacrosse sticks before grabbing his goalie equipment and the bag of balls and we walked around to the net on the side of the garage.

  “You’re either very nice, very optimistic or weirdly into painfully bad renditions of classic Beach Boy songs.”

  “Maybe I’m all three.” He grinned at me and shoved on his helmet. “Or…maybe I like you so much that I’m willing to let you fire wicked-fast lacrosse balls at me, kill my enthusiasm for music and emasculate me with your encyclopedic car knowledge.”

  “Ha! Very funny.” I dumped the bag of balls in the grass and scooped one up in my stick.

  “I’m totally serious,” he said.

  “What?” I was in the process of taking a shot on the goal, but that threw me off and my hands jerked in the middle of my throw making it go wide by twenty feet. “You make me sound scary.”

  “If by scary you mean totally hot—then yes!”

  I had no idea what to say to that. At all. So I stood there while my cheeks went hot.

  “I’d say you’re adorable when you blush, but I’ve been told women don’t like that.” He shrugged. “Besides, it isn’t true.”

  “Not true? Lacey assured me I was adorable when I blushed.”

  “Lacey’s wrong. You’re not adorable when you blush.”

  “Not adorable?” Sure, I wore my brothers’ hand-me-downs, had grease under my nails instead of pretty polish and the closest I got to perfume was eau-de-gasoline or when I detailed my car—but still… “Huh. Not even a little adorable?”

  “Nope. Afraid not.” He grinned at my frown and then he shook his head and hit me with his intense look. “You’re beautiful.”

  “You’re crazy,” I said, ignoring the fact that my cheeks had moved from flushed to burning like the surface of the sun.

  “Crazy for you. Now, let’s finish this because I have a surprise for you.”

  “I don’t do well with surprises.” Ever since Mama got sick—and even more after she died—I found comfort in routine. An orderly predictable existence. Things I could count on.

  “What if I tell you it’s only a little surprise and I think you’ll like it. Your grandma Lolli is helping me with it.” He jumped up and snagged my shot. “What’s your favorite color?”

  “Tahoe Turquoise.”

  Grant had come up with a game to motivate each other. Each time Grant blocked a shot, he got to ask me a question. And each time I scored a goal past him, I got to ask him a question.

  “That’s weirdly specific,” he said, arching an eyebrow at me.

  “It’s the original color of my mama’s car and pretty close to the color of the pageant dress.”

  “Ah. That makes perfect sense now. And turquoise will bring out the green in your eyes.”

  “That’s what Lacey said. How do people know these things?” I whipped off a shot to the upper corner of the goal which he missed. “Give me the three ‘C’s’ of car repair.”

  “Concern: what the customer is complaining about. Cause: diagnose the vehicle to find out what’s wrong. Correction: what repair and what parts are needed.”

  I took more shots on goal, making sure to hit his weak side. After we’d been practicing for thirty minutes, it was time to wrap it up. “Okay, last one for the night.”

  I wound up my shot, aiming for the upper corner of the goal on his weak side.

  Grant took his goalie stance and proceeded to heckle me with “Swing, batter, batter, swing.”

  “Weak sauce, Stutterfield. First, that’s the wrong sport. Second, that doesn’t work on me. I grew up with four older brothers.”

  But just as I whipped off my shot, he winked. He winked! Apparently, winks did work on me since it distracted me enough to throw off my aim and Grant snagged the ball from the air before it hit the net.

  “Ha! Who’s the king of the goal?” He raised both gloved-hands high in the air, waving his goalie stick in victory after a sweet save. “What’s your favorite movie?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “What? That’s impossible.” He pulled off his helmet and gloves, tossing them all into his equipment bag. “Favorite TV show?”

  “Nada.”

  “Bernadette Jewell, that’s un-American. Do you know how many hours of television the average American teen watches?” He ran his hands through his damp hair, yet somehow the curls all fell into a sexy disarray. “Over twenty-two hours a week! The government, the Nielsen Ratings Company and I want to know what you’re doing with your twenty-two hours.”

  “Um…living? I don’t know. I work at Al’s, work on cars, play sports and just stay busy.” I shrugged. “I never could sit still long enough to watch a whole show.”

  “I’m going to let you get away with that answer because it’s a good one.” He pointed at me. “But it’s also time for the surprise. Wait here…”

  17

  Exactly Like a Hero

  Bernie

  I watched him jog off to my front porch and into my house. It had taken Grant all of five minutes to charm Lolli. The guy didn’t seem to have a shy bone in his body. He did everything with confidence—even the stuff he was bad at like lacrosse and cars. It was like his curiosity outweighed his ego.

  Grant returned with a quilt tucked under one arm and Lolli’s picnic b
asket in the other.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Solving a problem.” He grinned at me. “See, we’re short on time, right?”

  “Yes.” We were making good progress but the clock was definitely ticking when it came to the auto tech state finals.

  “And it’s time for our second date…” He handed me the quilt and picnic basket. “Hold these, please.”

  “Our second date?” I asked, watching him go into the garage and come back out with the old folding table dad used to use when he tail-gated before my brothers’ football games. He set it up under the oak tree shading the garage, covered it with the quilt only to disappear back into the garage and return with the portable work light that had been hanging over Earl’s hood.

  “Absolutely our second date.” He swung the cord of the work light over one of the lower tree branches so that it hung, swaying softly over our heads and the table. “Where could we go for a second date that wouldn’t take much time and would keep us from running into Todd again?”

  Not that I had to be sold to agree to a second date, but he totally sold me on not running into Todd.

  Grant disappeared back into the garage and must have plugged in the extension cord for the light because it lit up. He came back out carrying our wheeled work stools, setting them at the table.

  “Bernie, would you like to go on a picnic with me?” He held out his hand for mine.

  “I’d love to.” I took his hand and he helped settle me onto a stool.

  “I’ll admit the light is overkill since it’s still light out.” Grant sat and dug into the picnic basket, pulling out paper plates, napkins and serving up Lolli’s fried chicken, pasta salad and biscuits. “But who doesn’t want a little romantic ambiance on a second date, right?”

  “I’m not complaining.” At all. It turned out, even a tomboy like me liked romance—especially when it was a guy as nice, cute and funny as Grant.

  Our second date was a success. We ate and talked and laughed.

  “Time’s up.” Grant wiped his mouth on one of Lolli’s fabric napkins and cleared our picnic remnants back into the basket. “Back to work. I for one won’t be happy unless I know we’ve done everything in our power to beat Todd.”

  “You and me both,” I agreed.

  We worked under Earl and over at the workbench for the next two hours. As we worked, I quizzed Grant on all things tires, four-stroke engines, safety standards and circuit boards. We focused on the stations in the morning session that required individual responses. The afternoon was all team work. I’d take the lead on diagnosing & repairs while Grant backed me up with his knowledge, being our parts-runner and double-checking to make sure our ROs were filled out correctly. We had a solid plan of attack.

  The only thing Grant had trouble picking up was when I taught him how to solder a wire harness.

  “Ouch!” Grant dropped the soldering iron onto the table, shaking his hand in pain. “Dang it, that’s the second time I’ve burned myself.”

  “Sorry. There is a learning curve.” I grabbed his hand and guided him over to the sink where I slid his hand under running water. “If it makes you feel any better, I did the same thing while I was learning.”

  “Not right at this moment it doesn’t.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “Besides, you were probably ten when you learned to solder.”

  “Actually, I was six.” I handed Grant an ice pack from the top freezer before grabbing us water from the fridge and then sprawled on the loveseat. “Dad decided to teach me how after he caught me messing with his.”

  “Smart dad.” Grant nudged me over so he could sit down next to me. “Do you think he’ll finish restoring the Mustang?”

  “No.” My gaze moved to the car in question, once again covered by the tarp. “It’s been sitting under that tarp since my mama died. Dad gave it to me the day I turned fifteen.”

  I felt Grant’s head whip around to me.

  “The Mustang is yours?”

  “She is.” Like it always happened whenever I thought about the Mustang—my lungs felt like they were being squeezed by some giant invisible hand. “Tammi is all mine.”

  “Tammi?”

  “Mama named her car after Tammi Terrell.”

  “Right. How could I forget your mom’s love of Motown? Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, If I Could Build My Whole World Around You, Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing.”

  Huh. Obviously, he was familiar with Tammi & Marvin’s greatest hits.

  “So why haven’t you started restoring the Mustang?”

  “I don’t know.” I knew. I shrugged, ignoring the way my stomach twisted whenever I thought about working on Tammi. I just…couldn’t yet. The only way I’d made it this far was with strict control of both my life and my emotions. I couldn’t think about my mama and her car—not without feeling like I’d explode into a million little pieces that might never go back together. “Time and money for parts I guess.”

  “Uh huh. So that shelf of Mustang parts is for…?”

  “Has anyone told you that you’re hyper-observant to the point of being annoying?” I asked, frowning across at him.

  “A few times as a matter of fact.” He grinned, but took my hand in his, giving it a comforting squeeze. “I’m just trying to understand. I feel this burning need to understand everything about you and what’s going on inside that head of yours.”

  I sucked in a huge breath of air. “When my dad gave me Mama’s car, he gave me his restoration plans. So I have a list of all the parts I need. Ever since I’ve had the car…whenever I have this overwhelming need to scream and cry about my mama…I shut it down and buy a part from the list. One day—when looking at the car doesn’t make me feel empty inside—then I’ll be ready to restore her.”

  Grant stood and walked over to the shelf of Mustang parts. He even flipped through the clipboard of paperwork hanging from a nail on the shelf, running his finger down the three-page parts list before running his gaze over all the parts.

  “You’ve bought a lot of parts.” He looked at me, his eyebrows pulled down low over narrowed eyes.

  “I have.” Each part on those shelves represented a time when the overwhelming loss of my mama threatened to pull me under. And it scared me, so I managed it the only way that made sense.

  “Come here,” he said, pulling me up and into his chest. “You’re killing me, Bernadette. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve known. But I wish I’d met you three years ago so you could have called me every time you felt like screaming or crying. I’d have come running.”

  “Like a hero,” I half laughed, half cried into his chest.

  “Exactly like a hero.” He wrapped his arms even tighter around me and pressed his lips to my temple.

  “Well, you’re here now.” I closed my eyes, relaxing against him. I wasn’t used to sharing my sadness, but if it always felt this good, I could get used to it.

  18

  A Loss & A Win

  Grant

  Mom: Alison just sent me an ALL CAPS text to check on you. She thinks you might be having a heart attack.

  I looked up, scanning the sidelines of the lacrosse field to see who was doing today’s workout for me.

  Josh—and he was doing it while polishing off a party pack of tacos from Taco Loco.

  I laughed and texted my mom back.

  Me: Tell her I’m fine. Just doing a workout wearing a weighted vest.

  Maybe Alison would buy that excuse.

  We’d just lost another lacrosse game—but a close one—and were doing cool downs and having a captain’s meeting on the field.

  “Good effort, guys. We played a solid game.” Grady looked around at the team. “We kept it close thanks to Grant.”

  “Horse shit,” some guy in the back mumbled.

  “How many goals did you score, Chad?” TJ asked, his gaze laser focused on the dude. “How many passes did you intercept? How many guys did you run down?”

  That shut Chad up.

 
; “TJ is right. This is a team effort,” Grady said. “It takes all of us to win a game and takes all of us to lose a game. So don’t criticize a teammate unless you can say you played a perfect game.”

  I didn’t let Chad bother me. Making movies was a team effort too. Even though I was a big enough star and could probably get away with throwing fits and blaming someone else if a scene wasn’t working and we had to do a retake—I didn’t. My parents made sure I knew that being famous didn’t make me better than anyone else. I owned my mistakes and accepted when other people made them. That’s what being a team meant. No one was more important than any other part of the team.

  Besides, my practice with Bernie was paying off. Grady told me a good goalie stops about fifty percent of the shots on goal. Granted, I had a lot of room for improvement, but I’d say I’d gone from stopping ten percent of the shots on goal to over thirty percent. Not bad in a week.

  My goal was to improve enough to actually help win a game. We would win a game before I left or I’d die trying.

  “All right, let’s bring it in,” Dax DeLeon, the third captain, called. “Our next game is on Friday. We’re prime for a win, so let’s practice hard the rest of this week.”

  “Sticks in,” Grady said and we all moved in, putting the heads of our sticks into the circle. “Jackalopes on one.”

  “Jackalopes!” we chorused and then broke apart.

  “Grant!”

  I turned to the bleachers, searching the stands, and sure enough there was my dad standing next to Mom. I waved and jogged over, meeting them on the track that separated the bleachers from the field.

  “You made it!” I hugged my dad before moving to give Mom a one-armed hug. “Well, what did you think?”

  “My first thought was when the heck did you learn to play lacrosse?” Dad said. “My second thought was how cool it was that our son plays varsity lacrosse.” I will always remember the look of excitement on my dad’s face in this moment. He loved sports, so this was his moment to finally, finally get to be the proud sports-nut dad. “My third thought was you’re a little weak on your left side.”