Resisting the Rebel

by Lisa Brown Roberts

  “Smoking,” she said, her low voice matching his. “Black leather totally turns me on.” Her thumb rubbed the inside of his wrist, and Caleb swallowed.

  “It does?” he asked, more hopefully than he should.

  She leaned back, grinning, wrenching her hand out from underneath his. “It worked! She stormed out.” She sipped from her weird green juice. “And no, black leather doesn’t turn me on. Not even.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  He stared at her, keenly aware that he’d been played. By a crazy hippie. She took another bite of salad and winked at him.

  Fuuckkk.

  This was not how this was supposed to play out. He was running this game, not her. She was not supposed to impact him like—

  “There you are!” Cammie slid onto the bench next to Mandy, and J.T. plopped down next to Caleb. “We looked in our regular spot, but of course you’re eating with your boyfriend.” Cammie shot him a warning glare full of implied castration threats.

  J.T. reached over and stole one of his fries. “Yo, Red Ranger. How’s it hangin’?”

  Caleb’s glare took in all three of them. “Does this look like the IHOP? Do I have a ‘welcome’ sign on my forehead I don’t know about?”

  “I’m a package deal, Caleb. Date me, date my friends.” Mandy smiled again, and though her words pissed him off, there was something in her smile and the teasing lilt in her voice that made him want to laugh. And he didn’t do that very often.

  “Hey, Gus,” J.T. said, and Mandy tensed, all the laughter disappearing from her eyes, replaced by something…swoony, misty. Completely unlike the fake sexy eyes she’d turned on him just a few minutes ago.

  His gut tightened.

  “Hey.” Gus hesitated at their table. He shot Caleb a curious look, then glanced at Mandy, and Caleb decided it was showtime again.

  Caleb stretched out his denim-clad leg, moving it against Mandy’s bare leg under the table. She dropped her fork, heat flooding her cheeks again. He sent her a silent message with his eyes, reminding her they were onstage.

  “So we’ll meet after school in the library, babe,” he said, casually reaching his hand across the table to cover hers again. “I’ll help you with your essay.”

  “You will?” She sounded shocked.

  He squeezed her hand. She needed to focus and get into her role, or else Gus was going to figure them out.

  “Or you can come over to my place,” he said, working his thumb on her palm like he meant it. “But we both know we won’t get any studying done if you do.” He gave her a simmering look that could’ve melted ice.

  “O-okay,” she stammered, her cheeks pink again.

  He liked making her blush. A lot. He shot a glare at Gus. “You need something, dude?”

  Gus’s eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to reply, but Kay suddenly appeared next to him, snaking her arm through his. “There you are! You keep disappearing on me.” She glared at everyone, then tugged Gus away.

  “Wow,” J.T. said, stealing another of Caleb’s fries. “That whole scene was better than Teen Wolf.” He grinned at Caleb. “Do you howl at full moons?”

  Mandy leaned forward, furious. “You weren’t supposed to scare him away!”

  “Your real boyfriend would.” He glanced at J.T. and Cammie. “I assume you two know about our fake relationship, since the three of you share a brain or whatever.”

  Mandy stood up in a huff, grabbing her lunch tray. “It’s called friendship, Caleb. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

  Before he could respond, Mandy stormed away. Cammie jumped up to chase after her, pausing only long enough to shoot a glare at Caleb.

  J.T. sighed, stealing another fry. “Girls,” he said, shrugging sympathetically. “Some days I’m so glad I’m gay.”

  Chapter Seven

  Got to Get You into My Life

  Wednesday, September 21

  Mandy was halfway down the hallway at the end of the day, the doors to freedom in sight, when a hand rested on her shoulder, stopping her.

  “Trying to ditch tutoring, Disco?”

  She shrugged Caleb’s hand off her shoulder and spun to face him. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Nope.” He matched her glare with his, trying to signal something with his eyebrows. She glanced over his shoulder to see Elle leaning against the wall. Watching. Probably with an ice pick in her boot.

  “I see,” Mandy whispered, her voice tight with frustration. “You don’t really want to help me out. You’re just saving your own—”

  “Let’s argue motivations later.” He steered her one hundred eighty degrees, pointing her away from the doors to freedom.

  She glared up at him. “This better not be a waste of my time.”

  His eyes narrowed, but the corner of lips quirked up. “I never knew you were so feisty, Disco.”

  She scowled. “That makes me sound like a poodle.” But she fell into step with him, because maybe he could actually help her with her essay, and she needed all the help she could get.

  He grinned as they passed Elle, lifting a lock of Mandy’s hair, then releasing it. “I can totally see it. You’d be a red-haired poodle with painted toenails and bows in your ears and—”

  She sighed as she pushed open the library door. “If I’m a poodle, then you’re a Rottweiler.”

  “Rotts are cool. They’re actually sweet dogs, unless they’re raised by assholes.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “So what’s your excuse?” She loved the look of shock on his face as she turned away to find a table.

  Who knew it would be so fun teasing the Big Bad Wolf? She was surprised she wasn’t intimidated by him, but for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she had a feeling she could handle him. Well, maybe not handle him, but…tolerate him.

  She settled at a table in the corner and spread out her notes, then dug an apple and a tub of pistachios out of her bag. She needed brain fuel if she was going to work with the big brain himself.

  Caleb slid into the chair next to her, and she tried to ignore the way her pulse sped up. Her body was getting confused by this fake boyfriend thing. Not him, she told herself. Gus.

  “So have you thought about reporting Elle?” Mandy asked casually, digging in her purse for a pen so he wouldn’t notice her heated cheeks. “I think stalking falls under the no-bullying manifesto.”

  Caleb moved his chair closer to hers, and she subtly tried to inch away from him. The last thing she needed was Caleb’s confusing presence muddying her already-jumbled thoughts. She was beginning to think that this tutoring session might end up hurting her grade instead of helping.

  “She’s not a real threat. She just needs to focus her energy somewhere else.”

  “So get her a poodle. She can name it after you and take it everywhere.” She took a bite of apple, crunching extra loud to annoy him, and to remind herself that nothing was going to happen between them.

  Caleb’s eyes darkened. “You can’t stall forever, Disco. Show me your paper.”

  …

  Caleb didn’t need to be here. He could’ve bailed on the fake tutoring arrangement, especially after the way she’d stormed out at lunch. But he figured just another day or two of enforced togetherness and Elle would back off and Gus would move in…though that image made his stomach clench.

  “Okay.” Mandy heaved a sigh. “But before we start, I just want to say that Holden Caulfield is a whiner. I can’t stand him. I don’t get why this book is so famous. At all.” Mandy paused to take a bite of her apple.

  She frowned, and the little crease over her nose distracted him when he thought about kissing it. Focus, moron. He reminded himself she’d just insulted one of the most important books in American literature.

  “You don’t mean that,” he said.

  Her nose crease deepened. “Yeah, I do.” She rolled her eyes. “I know you and J.T. think this is an awesome book, but dude. It stinks.”

  His brain almost shorted out because a) since when did he and J.T. agree
on anything? and b) she wasn’t kidding around. She hated Salinger.

  “Have you actually read it?” he asked. “Not just the cheat notes on the internet?”

  She looked ready to throw her apple. “Hilarious, Caleb. News flash: I can read. I just didn’t like the book.” She chewed on a thumbnail, which should’ve grossed him out but was oddly okay coming from her.

  He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. “Look, Spriggs must’ve told you about how important this book is. It basically started the whole YA genre. You wouldn’t have all your…uh”—he gestured toward her weird hippie bag—“whatever books you read if it weren’t for this one.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him and leaned forward. “Really? I wouldn’t be able to read about hot aliens or teenage spies if stupid whiny Holden’s story hadn’t been written? There’d be no demon romance books if Holden didn’t worry about how he’s a sex maniac just because he likes that girl?”

  Caleb’s brain imploded, trying to follow her zigzagging train of thought. And what sort of books was she reading, anyway?

  “Demon romance, huh? I thought you were scared of demons? Me, in particular.” She scooted her chair away again, and his smirk deepened. It was a lot easier to do this with her than argue about her obvious literary ignorance. Fixing that was going to take a lot of work. Teasing her? Flirting with her and watching her panic? That was easy. And entertaining.

  “I won’t apologize for what I read.” Her eyes flashed.

  He leaned an arm on the table, watching her. “Not asking you to. But if you want a decent grade from Spriggs, you can’t talk crap about Salinger.”

  She turned away from him, staring at her notes and nibbling on her thumbnail again. “I’m not going to lie just for a good grade.” She shot him a sideways glare. “Wouldn’t that be phony of me, just what Holden’s always complaining about?”

  Caleb sighed, running a hand over his chin. “When is your paper due?”

  “Next week.”

  He studied her. This was it. If he committed to this, he’d be all in, because when it came to his favorite authors, he was passionate.

  “If you really want to do this,” he said, keeping his gaze locked on hers, “I’m in.”

  She blinked at him, her crazy spider eyelashes fluttering. “Really? Not fake tutoring to make Elle crazy? You actually want to…help me?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t stand to see Salinger go unappreciated.”

  Mandy rolled her eyes. “So you’re performing a service to literature, is that it?”

  He laughed. Just when he thought she was a total flake, she surprised him. “Yeah. And the clock’s ticking on my offer. You have sixty seconds to make up your mind.”

  She stared down at her notebook covered with her messy handwriting and lots of circled question marks. He frowned, thinking of his own precise printing and organized notes. No wonder she was struggling.

  “Thirty seconds,” he said, grabbing a few pistachios from her Tupperware container.

  “Hey!” She glared at him. “I think you have food boundary issues. First my Frappuccino, now my snacks? What are you, a freaking Chihuahua? Control yourself, dude.”

  “I thought I was a Rottweiler.” Caleb smirked as he reached for more pistachios. Why did he like messing with her so much? “Fifteen seconds.”

  “Okay. I accept your offer. But there are conditions.”

  …

  Mandy couldn’t believe she’d just agreed to let Caleb help her. Even though her gut screamed Danger! her heart said, “Yes. Let him help you.” Then her brain chimed in. “He’s an AP English genius. You’ll ace the paper if he helps you.” Two out of three body parts won. This was crazy, because this whole…whatever…between them was based on a lie. She was probably earning vats of bad karma with this fake girlfriend act.

  “Hello?” Caleb prompted. “Anybody home?” He reached for more pistachios. “What are your conditions?”

  “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Well, you can’t make fun of me, for one,” she said, holding up a warning finger. “And you can’t write it for me, or tell me what to write. We can talk about the book, and you can…um, I don’t know, tutor me or whatever. But I’m still going to write the paper in my own words.”

  He narrowed his eyes, crunching a pistachio, then swallowing. He coughed and she slid her water bottle toward him. His eyebrows shot up. “What about my food boundary issues?” He coughed into his fist again.

  “I don’t want you to choke to death before my paper is done.” She grinned. “Plus, tomorrow is scavenger hunt prep, so you have to be alive to help with that, too.”

  “Who said I’m helping with that?”

  She fluttered her eyelashes. “My boyfriend is so awesome about helping with spirit committee.”

  He took a long drink of water. “Fine. Then I have conditions, too.”

  Mandy’s hands twisted anxiously under the table, but she tried to look nonchalant. “Oh yeah? What?”

  “You have to at least be open to the possibility that the book doesn’t suck.” He leaned forward, his dark eyes fastened on hers. “And you have to let me say more than ten words without interrupting or arguing.”

  They stared at each other, tension coiling around them like an invisible rope. Mandy swallowed, but she didn’t break eye contact. She licked her lips, wondering where she’d lost her lip gloss today; it was the third time in as many days. Caleb’s gaze shot to her lips as a muscle tightened in his jaw.

  “But after ten words I get to argue?” she whispered as her own gaze feasted on his mouth. God! What was wrong with her? It was Gus’s lips she wanted, not Caleb’s.

  “Make that fifteen words,” he said.

  A shiver slid through her at the sound of his voice.

  “You can’t just change the rules whenever you want, Caleb.”

  His lips eased into a slow, sexy grin. “Sure I can, Disco. Just watch me.”

  …

  As Mandy rummaged through her bag again, Caleb told himself to focus. So he’d thought about kissing her again, so what? People were freakishly attracted to people they couldn’t stand all the time. It was some weird physiological thing. Completely irrational but biologically programmed after eons of evolution. And his brain was obviously confused by this fake boyfriend thing.

  She tossed her copy of Catcher in the Rye on the library table, and he flinched. He hated when people didn’t take care of books. She probably dog-eared pages instead of using a bookmark.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He picked up the book. It was one of the school copies, a worn paperback full of dog-eared pages and faded yellow highlights. He sighed. Someday when he was a famous author he’d have an enormous library, the kind with those ladders attached to the shelves. And nobody would get near his books with a damn highlighter.

  “Nothing,” he muttered. She wouldn’t understand. Besides, he didn’t tell anyone about his writing dreams.

  She shrugged. “Okay, whatever. So where do we start?”

  He’d never tutored anyone before, so he didn’t have any idea how to start. “Do you have the rough draft?”

  She opened a messy binder, crammed full of crumpled papers, and pulled out two. She glanced between them, hesitating, then set one on the table and shoved the other back in her binder. She smoothed the paper, then slid it toward him, not meeting his eyes.

  “You have two drafts?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Ms. Chen already didn’t like the first one, so I tried again.”

  He noticed the slight blush on her cheeks, the way her hands fluttered nervously, picking things up and putting them down again. He remembered what she’d said about ADHD and Spriggs not buying it. He wondered how he could ask her about it without pissing her off.

  “It’s a very rough draft,” she said, darting him a nervous glance. “I know it needs work.”

  He nodded and began reading. A few minutes later, he wished he could rewind time and rescind his offer. Her ide
as shot all over the place, and she rambled. A lot. He ran a hand over his jaw, trying to figure out where to start.

  “It doesn’t completely suck,” he finally said, his gaze meeting hers.

  “Ah,” she said, sticking out her chin. “Partial suckage. I suppose that’s a compliment from you.” But hurt flashed in her eyes, and he felt a twinge of guilt.

  “Spriggs doesn’t usually give second chances,” he said. “How’d you talk him into it?”

  She touched her weird crab necklace, then tucked a lock of hair behind her ears. She never stopped moving; he’d always noticed that about her. Probably why she was on twenty different committees and queen of the pep rallies he never attended.

  “My counselor convinced him. Because I—” She took a breath, and something shifted in the way she looked at him. “Okay, I know we’re doing this fake relationship thing, Caleb, but…can I trust you with something real?”

  He swallowed, taken aback by the intensity in her gaze.

  “Yeah,” he said, meaning it.

  She held his gaze like she was deciding whether or not he meant it, then her shoulders stiffened, like she was putting on armor. “If I don’t get at least a C on this paper, I’ll go on academic probation from the dance squad. And I’d miss the pep rally for Spirit Week, which I know sounds dumb to you, but…”

  Heat flooded her cheeks, and he could feel the embarrassment cascading out of her in waves. He shifted in his chair as awareness hit him that she really did need help. His help. He nodded, weighing his next words carefully.

  “Okay,” he said. “But if you get a C or better, you’re good, right?” He’d never been on academic probation, managing to squeak out Cs in math and acing the rest of his classes even when he skipped out.

  She nodded. “But I…had some problems last year, too, so I can’t start off this year with another screwup.” He watched the fleeting look of panic shoot across her face and felt a twinge of sympathy for her. Writing was like breathing for him; he wondered what it was like to struggle with it.

  “My fake boyfriend would want me to stay on the dance squad,” she joked, but he heard the wobble in her voice. He decided to make it easy on her, to ignore the wobble and focus on the joke.