“I guess I am,” I say, stunned at how they’ve railroaded me.
“We should all go together,” Wendy says. “Tera and I were going to get ready at my house and have the guys pick us up there, but let’s make it a girls’ night. We’ll all get ready together then crash at my house after the dance. It’ll be fun!”
“Ahem.” Josh clears his throat. “Don’t forget me! We’re a foursome, remember?”
Wendy pats his hand. “Ah, is poor Joshy feeling left out?”
“You joke, but the struggle is real,” he says.
Wendy laughs. “Okay—you can get ready with us, but my mom would die if I said you were spending the night—gay or not. But we can still all go together.”
“Will your parents freak if I bring a date?” he asks.
“Seriously?” Wendy rolls her eyes. “My folks think you walk on water. You think they’d deny you anything?”
“Okay!” Josh does a fist pump. “It’s a date!”
“Good deal,” Tera says, then changes the subject. “Order of business number two: what did you tell Zach about the game tonight?”
“Oh, that.” I shrug. “I said I’d check with you guys to make sure you’re going and don’t mind if I tag along.”
“Are you kidding? Of course we’re going and you can tag along,” Josh says. “Meet us at the main gate at six forty-five?”
“Okay.” I smile and relief surges through my veins.
The bell rings and Mr. Zagan closes the door on two late students who try sneaking in. He grins vindictively at the faces on the other side of the skinny window. “My class has started. You’ll need a late slip from the office.”
“Asshole,” Wendy mumbles and I stifle a snort of laughter.
Zagan stalks to his desk and picks up a stack of handouts. “Take one and pass the rest back.”
Students grumble as they scan the handout—a pop quiz. I really don’t like this teacher.
ZACH’S WAITING FOR me when Josh and I walk to the cafeteria. Catching my surprised expression, he laughs. “Just wanted to make sure you don’t forget our lunch date.”
I roll my eyes.
“So hey! I hear we’re all going to Homecoming together?” Josh interjects.
I groan and shoot him a scathing look.
“We are?” Zach’s face lights up.
“Maybe,” I say. “Tera’s gonna loan me a dress so I don’t have to worry about finding one on such late notice.”
“That’s great!”
“Yeah,” I say. “And we were thinking the girls and Josh could get ready at Wendy’s house and we could all leave from there. That is, if you don’t mind?”
“Of course I don’t mind,” he says. “Does that mean you’ll go?”
“So long as my parents don’t have a problem with it, but I don’t know why they would.” I smile.
“Yes!” Zach jumps in the air and does a victory dance. Students pass us on their way into the cafeteria, their snorts of laughter making me flush.
“Thanks, Josh,” I whisper. “You have the biggest mouth of anyone I know!”
“Just doing my job, Ariel!” Josh wiggles his fingers in a wave and makes his way to the salad bar. “I’ll catch you later. Have fun.”
Zach grabs two trays and hands one to me. “C’mon. Let’s get lunch.”
I take the tray and we separate to get our entrees then meet back at the cashier line. Once we’ve paid, he leads me through the crowded lunchroom to a table nearly half full of students. Only four seats remain, so Zach pulls one out for me and takes another on my right.
“This must be Abby,” says a tall guy with wiry red hair and glasses. “I’m Scott. You’re in my chemistry class.”
I nod, remembering him vaguely.
Zach points to each person and makes introductions. “That’s Nikolai, B. Patrick, Ariyana, Reagan, and—”
“We know each other.” Trish sets her tray at one of the two remaining spots, leaving the last one open for Zoë.
“Trish,” Zach says anyway. “And Zoë.”
“Nice to meet all of you,” I say, promising myself I’ll be nice to Trish.
“So what’s this mean?” she asks. “You two an item now?”
“No,” I say.
“I’m working on it,” Zach says at the same time.
Trish rolls her eyes. Just when I think my nerves might snap, Zach’s hand reaches for mine under the table. He squeezes gently, and I look up into his smiling eyes.
“Relax,” he whispers.
I nod and somehow my anxiety melts.
“So, Zach,” Trish says. “Are you still planning to skip Homecoming this year?”
“Nope. I’ve changed my mind.”
“Oh yeah?” She smiles. “Do you have a date yet?”
“Yup. I asked Abby this morning.”
Trish’s mouth twists into an ugly sneer.
“Hey, man!” Scott says. “This’ll be fun! We can all go together.”
“Maybe, but last I heard you don’t have a date,” Zach says.
“I’m working on it.” Scott’s gaze turns to Trish. “Just trying to figure out how to ask the girl.”
“Well you’d better do it soon,” she says. “Some of us are getting tired of waiting around to be asked. Homecoming is only a week away.”
Geez! Obvious much? I bite my tongue to keep the words from spewing out.
Zach squeezes my hand again, and my heart thuds. Maybe this really can work. His friends don’t seem freaked out or surprised. In fact, except for Trish, they seem cool with it.
LUNCH WITH TRISH at the same table makes for the longest forty minutes. In fact, if not for Zach, it would be intolerable. Each time I tense up, he reaches for my hand and offers a smile that makes my heart pound so loudly I know he must hear it. But he doesn’t comment—he just holds my hand and includes me in conversation when he can.
It turns out Scott and Zach have been best friends since first grade. Like Zach, he’s on the football team, but he’s also a diver competing on the boys’ swim/dive team. I learn Trish and Zoë have been on the same club gymnastics team since they were toddlers, and they compete for our high school in the winter. I did gymnastics for a while, but even before everything happened with Mom, the sport outpriced us and I had to quit.
Zoë is decently nice, but I can’t figure out why she’s Trish’s sidekick and not the other way around. Physically, she’s polar opposite and much prettier. Her hair is the color of chestnuts and frames her face in gentle waves, and her eyes are such a pretty shade of brown it’s like looking into the eyes of a doe. She’s taller than Trish—about my height—but she’s slimmer than I am, probably from all the gymnastics.
Zach stands and relief rushes through me. Lunch is over. I’ve barely contributed ten words, but I’ve survived Trish. To her credit, she’s ignored me, so there wasn’t much to survive beyond the awkwardness. In any case, I’m relieved to leave this group behind.
“It was nice meeting you guys—and getting to know you better, Trish,” I say, still holding onto my promise to be nice.
Zoë offers me a tentative smile, but Trish still ignores me.
“I’ll see you in chemistry tomorrow,” Scott says.
I smile. “Sounds good.”
Zach weaves his fingers between mine and leads me out of the cafeteria. When we reach Door Six, I throw my books onto a high-top table and take a seat. “Lunch was fun.”
Zach lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t call me on my lie. “I’ll see you in Thompson’s class?”
“I’ll be there.”
“I’ll save you a seat.” Leaning over, he kisses my cheek then walks away without a backward glance.
Holy crap! He kissed me! My hand flies to my cheek and touches the spot where his lips have been. My concentration is now shot, and I can think of nothing but Zach. I don’t know why, but he likes me. Not Trish or anyone else—but me. Abby Lunde. Instead of working on homework, I spend the hour replaying that two-second kiss in my head.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I’M STILL GRINNING AS I ENTER MRS. MINER’S CLASSROOM. I TAKE MY ASSIGNED SEAT AND A BURST OF confidence surges through me. In the few days I’ve been here, I’ve never spoken to the four girls seated next to me. It’s time I step outside my comfort zone.
I square my shoulders and glance at the girl closest to me. She’s pretty with long, wavy, dishwater-blond hair and hazel eyes. She wears a letterman’s jacket with “Eckhoff” embroidered on the left breast, and a variety of soccer patches cover both arms. I smile. “Hi. I’m Abby.”
She returns my smile with a shy one of her own. “Emily.”
A light-skinned African-American girl named Kierra introduces herself next. Her voice is wispy, and I’m surprised—it’s nothing like the alto of her singing voice. Like Emily, she wears a letterman’s jacket, but hers sports patches from diving, cross-country and vocal music.
Next to Kierra is Jordan, whose white-blond hair escapes from a stubby ponytail in small tufts around her face like tiny feathers. Yesterday I heard someone call her “Q-tip,” and I realize it’s in reference to the color and texture of her hair. She nods. “Hi.”
“I’m Paige,” says the girl on the end. Her smile is friendly, but guarded, as though trying to figure me out. Fair enough—I’ve been doing the same to them all week.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
“Rumor says you’re going to Homecoming with Zach Andrews,” Kierra says. “Is it true?”
My eyes widen. “Yeah. How’d you know? He just asked this morning.”
“News travels fast. Half the school probably knew within seconds of him asking,” Emily says.
“Great,” I mutter.
Paige shrugs. “I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s not like you could’ve kept it a secret. Besides that, Zach’s a great guy—unlike that skank ex-girlfriend of his.”
“Trish?”
“You’ve met her?” Kierra asks.
I roll my eyes. “She was there when Zach announced we were going to Homecoming.”
“Shut up!” Emily grins. “I’m sorry I missed that. What’d she do?”
Before I can answer, the bell rings and Mrs. Miner steps to the podium. “Quiet down, class! We have a lot to accomplish today.”
I whisper to Emily. “She didn’t do anything, but she hates me.”
“Don’t worry about her,” she whispers back. “She won’t do anything to make herself look too bad in front of Zach.”
“I hope not.”
“Emily and Abby!” Mrs. Miner says. “Time to zip your lips! Eyes up here and focused on me!”
My face flushes and I give her my attention. When all eyes are on her, she holds up a clipboard and turns it face-out toward the class. “As I’m sure y’all remember, the Fall Concert is in November. I need two soloists, a male and a female. Auditions are next week, and I have a signup here with available times. I’ll pass the clipboard around and, if you’re interested, select a time and write your name on the schedule. If y’all have questions, see me after class.”
She hands the clipboard to a boy on her right then directs the class in a Do-Re-Me warm-up. When the clipboard comes to me, I pass it on without a glance. The period flies by as her class always does, and I’m almost to the hallway when she calls out to me. “Abby—could you stay behind for a minute, please?”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I wonder why she’s holding me behind and not Emily, too. Embarrassed tears threaten but I choke them back. When the last student leaves, Mrs. Miner glances over the audition form and approaches me. “I don’t see your name on this list, Abby. Are you not interested in auditioning?”
What?
“I—no,” I say. “I wasn’t planning to.”
Her eyebrows draw together. “Why not?”
I snort out a laugh. “Rotten fruit doesn’t look good on me.”
Mrs. Miner’s expression changes from confused to understanding. “You don’t like your voice?”
“It’s okay.” I shrug. “But next to everyone else in this class, it sounds…weird.”
“No, sweetheart.” She laughs. “Your voice isn’t weird, it’s unique—there’s a difference. It’s recognizable, like Prince or Ed Sheeran or even Elvis. It’s almost hard to believe you haven’t had any training.”
I blush. “Thank you.”
“I’d like you to audition for the soloist part. Do you have time in your schedule?”
“Maybe. What would I have to do?”
“Pick a song you like and be prepared to sing it a cappella. I’ll be listening for your ability to stay on pitch in the absence of music.”
“Does it matter what I sing?”
“Nope.” She shakes her head. “Pick something you like and know the words to. If you feel confident singing it, then you’ll do well.”
“What happens if I get the part?”
She hands me the clipboard. “Then I’ll assign you a few solos and a couple of duets for the program along with one personal choice of your own, then we’ll schedule time to practice together before the concert.”
I select a time during my open period then hand it back to her. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I mumble.
“Not only should you be doing this, you should also be investigating vocal music programs for college.”
“I can’t—I don’t have money for college.” The words slip out and my face flames. I look away, refusing to make eye contact, but she continues as though what I’ve said is inconsequential.
“Don’t dismiss it so easily,” she says. “Most students don’t have money for college. That’s what financial aid is for. My boys couldn’t have gone without grants and scholarships.”
I lift my eyes. “Don’t you have to pay up front?”
“Darlin’, if everybody needed money up front, nobody would go at all. You have to look for opportunities. In your case, I think you’re a good candidate for a vocal music scholarship, at the very least.”
Hope blossoms in my chest. “Really? What would I have to do?”
“I can help with that, and I’m sure Ms. Raven would help you identify other scholarship or grant options. Let’s get through this audition, then let’s talk in the next couple weeks. Sound good?”
“Yes—thank you!”
“You’re welcome.” She smiles. “Now scoot before you’re late for your next class.”
HAPPINESS OVERWHELMS ME until I think I might burst, and I nearly skip the entire way to Mr. Thompson’s class.
“What are you grinning about?” Zach is seated in his usual seat, so I slide into the seat beside him.
“Mrs. Miner. She wants me to audition for soloist in the Fall Concert.”
“That’s great!” He beams. “What are you going to sing?”
“I have no idea! I don’t even know where to start.”
“I’ll help,” he offers. “Let’s get together this weekend—I can come over with my guitar and we’ll work something up for you.”
I shake my head as my brain scrambles for an excuse. “That won’t work. We—we’re still unpacking and our house looks like a bad episode of Hoarders.”
“Then come to my house.” He shrugs. “My folks won’t mind.”
“Are you sure?
“Are you kidding? My mom’s ‘that mom’ who would rather I bring friends home than go out. She’ll love it.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll ask my parents, but I don’t think they’ll mind.”
“Good. Do that.” He grins. “Are you picking Amber up today?”
“Yeah. Every day.”
“I’ll give you a ride, then drop you off at the The Daily if you want.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to do that.”
“Okay,” I say with a laugh. “But if Amber embarrasses me again, it’ll have to be the last time.”
“Oh, I don’t know her well, but I’m sure she’ll embarrass you again. I’m looking forward to it. She’s funny.”
&nb
sp; “Yeah, well—you don’t have to live with her.”
Zach starts to offer another comment but he’s cut off as Mr. Thompson enters the room. “If you’re not in your seats, you need to get there quickly. We have a lot to get done today.”
Mr. Thompson waits until the room settles and every student is seated before continuing. He opens his mouth to make his next statement when two late students slip in and try sneaking into their seats unseen. He catches them and lifts an eyebrow. Unlike Zagan, though, he lets it go and turns his attention to the now quiet classroom.
“You should’ve all read through chapter fifteen, so let’s talk about the main theme of this book, which is when Atticus tells Jem it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird. Is everyone caught up through at least chapter ten?” he asks.
Most of the class nods, so he continues. “If you’ll remember, Scout says she can’t remember another time when Atticus considered something a sin. He tells Jem he can kill all the blue jays he can hit, but to never kill a mockingbird. Why do you think he says that?”
The room is a tomb of silence. Mr. Thompson lifts an eyebrow. “I’m grading on your participation. What did Atticus mean? What is it about killing a mockingbird that makes it a sin?”
A student shifts in her seat and Mr. Thompson’s expression takes on a momentary look of relief, but she turns her focus to her desk and refuses to meet his eyes.
“Anyone?” he asks.
A pencil drops to the floor and its owner retrieves it stealthily. A student in the back row clears her throat, but says nothing. Mr. Thompson waits as the clock ticks loudly from its home on the wall above his desk. Time stretches in the silence and he flushes red. Abruptly, he tosses his book onto his desk and unanchored papers scatter to the floor.
“C’mon, people! Wake up,” he shouts. “This isn’t hard. Does nobody have an answer to this question?”
I glance around, expecting someone to answer, but almost every head is dipped in obvious boredom. I hesitantly raise my hand.
“Abby!” He smiles relief. “You know the answer?”
I clear my throat and my heart beats against my ribs. “I think he means it’s wrong to hurt something completely innocent. A mockingbird doesn’t do anything but fly around singing and bringing people joy. They take nothing, but give back so much.”
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