St Mary's Academy Series Box Set 1

by Seven Steps

  It’s irritating. She’s irritating.

  “…I’m not a stalker or anything.” She looks at me wide-eyed and nervous. As if she’s trying to make a good impression. But why would she want to make a good impression with me? If she’s Eric’s new girlfriend, wouldn’t she want to keep as much distance from me as I want to keep from her?

  “…I’ve heard so much about you, and I saw your pictures on Eric’s phone. I must say, the photos don’t do you justice. You’re much lovelier in person.”

  Eric spoke about me to her? This pale girl has seen his phone? Why? Is she checking out the competition or something? Is that how she sees me? Am I her competition?

  “…I just thought I should come say hi.” She washes her hands and walks to where I’m standing by the paper towel holder. She pulls a paper towel out and sets to drying each of her slim, delicate fingers.

  An awkward silence fills the space between us.

  Finally, she bounces on her heels, extends her hands, and says, “Can I just say that I hope we can be friends?”

  My brows fall into a frown so deep it nearly touches the tip of my nose.

  “…I know, with everything that’s happened it may be hard, but I just think that when two people care about someone… uh, I mean, well, you and Eric are friends, right?”

  I might be shaking my head, but I can’t be sure.

  “…I just hoped we could be friends too.”

  Is this girl serious? She wants me to be friends with her? Sure, that will happen, when pigs fly.

  I throw my paper towel in the garbage. I want to tell her she can keep her friendship. That I can never be friends with a person like her. But my mother didn’t raise me that way. She’d want me to be nice to this girl, especially since she’s being nice to me. And what was that saying about keeping your enemies close?

  I shove my hands in my pockets and allow a fake, tight smile to settle onto my face.

  “Sure, we can be friends.”

  Joy explodes out of Purity’s eyes, and she throws her arms around me, encasing me in a tight hug. For such a short girl, she sure is strong. Her hug nearly crushes me.

  “Oh, that makes me so happy! You know, I wasn’t sure, but I’m glad I asked. We’re going to be best buddies, you and me. Just you wait.”

  Best buddies? What era does this girl live in, the twenties? And why is she so cheery? Doesn’t she realize that life sucks and the world is falling apart? Doesn’t she know that friendships between ex and current girlfriends are never a good idea?

  I snort.

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  And then the bell rings, saving me from having to make more conversation with little Miss Goody Two-shoes.

  “Oh, that’s the bell,” she says, as if I don’t hear it. She’s been smiling this whole time. I hope her face hurts.

  “I’ll catch you later. We can grab coffee or something.”

  I nod tightly.

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, bye.” She gives me a goodbye wave, then skips—yes, skips—out of the bathroom.

  Is this the type of girl Eric wants? A princess? If so, he can have her.

  I wait until I’m sure Purity Dubois is far enough away from the door before I pull it open and head out.

  Just breathe, I tell myself. Just breathe.

  ∞∞∞

  I don’t see Purity again. Thank God. Any more of her sweetness and I’m sure I’ll get a cavity.

  I do, however, see Bella French, my ex-best friend.

  We share a class, and every day she sneaks looks at me, as if I can’t see she’s doing it. I completely ignore her. If she thinks she’s ever going to get back into my life after what she’s done, she’s got another thing coming.

  When the bell rings, I rush off to swim practice, grateful to leave my sucky day far behind. I need to get into the water. I need to clear my head. I need to not think of Eric or Purity or anyone else who’s poked holes in my life over these last few months.

  I march into the locker room, more determined than ever to make swimming my life’s choice and not be my father’s puppet. He started this business school without my input. He can finish it that way.

  At the end of practice, Coach Fish excuses himself and steps into the hallway.

  “Great swim, captain.” Vanessa throws a towel over her shoulder and looks at me as if I were a homeless person who’s just asked her for change. “Maybe one day you’ll be as fast as me.”

  “I’ve already tied you once, Vanessa. Next time, I’ll beat you straight up.”

  “You can never beat me. And just for the record, the national team won’t take a nobody like you. Ever.”

  I take a step toward Vanessa, assessing her broad shoulders and long, muscular torso.

  “I’m not a nobody. And we’ll see who the national team takes.”

  She narrows her gaze on me but doesn’t retreat. She just stands there with a smug expression on her face.

  “What’s my name, girls?” she asks.

  The five girls who are always buzzing around her stand at attention.

  “Um-ma.”

  Vanessa’s father, George Uma, was called the greatest Quarterback to ever play on the New York Titan’s football team. Whenever he came onto the field, the crowd chanted his name.

  Um-ma.

  When his daughter became an Olympic swimmer, the Um-ma chants were passed down to her. The same chants the five butt kissers said now.

  Vanessa smiles.

  “Do you feel that? There’s power in my name. Everyone in the world knows it. Why don’t you say it? Come on. Say my name. Maybe it will speed you up.”

  I glare at her so hard I think my eyeballs might pop out. She smiles wider.

  “Come on. Say it. Um-ma.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “And you’re too slow.”

  I force myself to calm down.

  Suddenly, the door slams open, revealing Mr. Fish and another younger boy next to him. He looks to be our age, with brown, longish hair and an air of confidence. He’s as tall as Mr. Fish, slim, and dressed in all black like a living shadow.

  The boy looks over the crowd of girls, then his eyes settle on me.

  My heart does a little flip. He’s cute. Almost like a young Leonardo DiCaprio. He holds my gaze for a moment longer before looking away. His cheeks redden, and he doesn’t look at me again.

  Oh my God. Have I been staring? I didn’t mean to stare. He’s just so hot.

  My cheeks heat, giving me and mystery boy matching blushes.

  Who is he, and what’s he doing here with Mr. Fish?

  “Ladies, I’d like to introduce you to my son, Michael. He’s just enrolled here.”

  Michael gives the team a small wave. He glances at me, then looks back at his father with a serious expression. He has a cute face, but it looks like it’s missing something. Like glasses. Yes, Michael Fish would look very nice in glasses. Thick-rimmed ones like the smart kids wear. Is Michael a smart kid?

  “Michael will be the inaugural member of the new men’s swim team once his leg finishes healing up. Until then, he’ll be observing our practices.”

  Chattering breaks out behind me. The girls whisper words like hot, cute, and single.

  Michael’s eyes meet mine again, this time for longer. Goose bumps break out along my neck, and I offer him a little smile. He smiles back.

  That’s what his face needs. Not glasses, but that smile. It’s big and toothy and bright and lights up his whole face.

  I suck in a breath and try to calm my racing heart.

  “Now that introductions have been made, you girls can start heading out. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” I say, keeping my eyes on Michael. “Tomorrow.”

  8

  “He’s a hottie,” Sophia says, pulling a black T-shirt over her head.

  Last year, Sophia’s mom won the lottery. Four hundred fifty-seven million dollars. Now, the two of them live in an upscale apartment close to the
school. With no job, nearby family, or close friends, Sophia’s mom focuses on two things. Sophia and church.

  We stand in the locker room after practice, and I watch Sophia morph from my loves to make out with random guys friend back into the preacher’s daughter.

  During the school day, Sophia’s clothing of choice is a mix of too short, too tight, or too low. To and from her house, however, she wears jeans and sweaters.

  Her drastic change in clothing choice is mostly due to her mom. To say Sophia’s mom is strict is an understatement. Mrs. Johnson treats Sophia like a five-year-old. She can’t hang out after school, or wear clothes that aren’t church friendly, or have a boyfriend. The only reason she’s on the swim team is because she said she was doing community service for college credit, and she forges her mother’s signature on all of the permission slips.

  Sophia is a rebel. She gets drunk, makes out with guys, gets into fights, and lives life on her own terms, regardless of what anyone says. If her mom knew what Sophia did behind her back, she’d freak.

  I slide deodorant onto my armpits.

  “Yeah, he’s cute.”

  Michael is a hottie. There’s no doubt about that. It just feels so weird to say. I’ve been Team Eric for so long that being Team Anyone Else feels so foreign. So wrong.

  Sophia rolls her eyes at me.

  “Ugh, you’d say it like that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean that you’re oblivious.”

  “How am I oblivious? I said he was cute.”

  “Yeah, but you said it like he’s normal cute. He’s not normal cute. He’s more like photoshop cute. Like he always has the perfect filter.”

  I laugh out loud. “You’re crazy.”

  Sophia, now dressed in her mother approved outfit, dances over to me and takes my face between her hands. Her cheeks are pushed up into a teasing smile.

  “And, I think he likes you.”

  I roll my eyes and step back.

  “Not going to happen.”

  “And why not?” She does a little shimmy. Sophia has a habit of dancing when she’s excited. Mostly grinding, shimmying kinds of dances that belong more in a nightclub than in a girl’s locker room.

  “Uh, because he’s the coach’s son.”

  “Even better. You’re not supposed to be on the team anyway.”

  I shush her and look around to ensure no one else heard. But no one is paying attention to us.

  “Keep your voice down.”

  I grab my swim clothes from the floor and walk out of the locker room. Sophia follows close behind.

  My phone buzzes and I take it out of my pocket and look down at the lit screen.

  7181285781: Hey. Want to hang out later?

  The number is unfamiliar, and I immediately text back.

  Me: Who’s this?

  A moment later, I receive a reply.

  7181285781: Purity.

  Uh, thanks but no thanks. This girl is toeing the line between irritating and just plain creepy. I put the phone back in my pocket, ignoring the text. How did she get my phone number anyway?

  “Girl, you better loosen up,” Sophia says. “A hot guy likes you. What’s the problem?”

  “There’s no problem,” I throw over my shoulder, walking away from her. “I’ve never even spoken to him.”

  “And if you did?”

  My cheeks heat in embarrassment. Does Sophia have to talk super loud about this right now? If Vanessa or her friends catch wind of this, they’ll run right back to Coach and sing like songbirds.

  What would Coach do if he found out I liked his son? Wait, do I like his son? He’s cute, and I do like his smile, but that doesn’t mean I like him. I don’t even know him.

  “Are you ignoring me?”

  Sophia’s voice cuts through my swirling thoughts. She’s bumping her butt into me while her mouth makes beatboxing sounds. What is with her? Why is she so hyper right now?

  “Oh my God, please stop grinding on me.”

  She doesn’t stop. “Can’t. I’m practicing.”

  “For what?”

  “For Ronnie’s party tomorrow night.”

  I stop walking and turn to her.

  “What are you going to tell your mom this time?”

  “That I’m studying over at your house.”

  “My house? Why my house?”

  “For some reason, she likes you. Plus, you live close.”

  I sigh. More lies for me to cover.

  “What are we studying?”

  “Chemistry.”

  “And for how long?”

  “Until eleven.”

  This pertinent information would need to be passed onto my sisters. Sophia’s mom normally calls three times a night. Once to make sure that Sophia has arrived, once about two hours later to check and see how Sophia is doing, and a third time to ask when Sophia is coming home.

  It’s parenting overkill.

  “I’ll tell the twins,” I say.

  The deal is that Alana answers the phone whenever Sophia’s mom calls, and, for a small fee, she asks about the woman’s latest recipes, her gardening, and her family down South. Alana has a way with adults, and she’s good at keeping Ms. Jennifer Johnson calm, so we don’t mind paying her to take the calls.

  I shove my swim clothes into my bookbag, and we start walking again.

  “So, how do you think he hurt his leg?” Sophia asks. Her dancing has finally stopped, and now she’s bounce-walking next to me, heading out toward the parking lot. The day is chillier than yesterday, and I zip my gray coat all the way up.

  “Skiing over Thanksgiving.”

  The deep voice comes from behind us. We turn around.

  Michael Fish is standing there, all tall and lanky and hazel-eyed. He looks even more stunning in the sunshine. My mouth goes dry. My heart speeds up.

  “That sucks,” I say.

  Michael’s eyes slide to me. Those hazel eyes and long lashes are so pretty that my knees shake. I lean on my hip and glance at my friend. She’s chewing on her lower lip and staring at Michael as if he’s a yummy slice of cheesecake. My back tenses. Why does that make me feel so… jealous?

  “Does it hurt?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Kind of. I had to take a few months off swimming.”

  “Were you on a team before you got hurt?”

  He smiles, and two dimples form on either side of his mouth. The dimples are like his eyes. Perfect.

  “The California Rockets. My mom was the coach. But, after I got hurt, Dad freaked out and insisted that Mom and I move out here so he could keep an eye on us.”

  “Bad for them, good for us,” Sophia says.

  I bump her with my elbow.

  “Uh, are your parents divorced?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and jams his hands into his pockets. “No. They just enjoy spending lots of time apart.”

  I don’t know if he’s kidding or not, so I stifle my laugh.

  “So, what’s there to do here besides freeze to death?” One of his hands goes to the back of his neck, rubs it once, then goes back into his pocket. He isn’t wearing a jacket despite the weather.

  Oh, right. He’s from California. He must not be used to the winter weather.

  “Well, for starters, we wear coats,” I say. “And boots. And hats.”

  “Yeah, I haven’t really had a chance to go shopping yet. Maybe you can take me?”

  Sophia breathes in sharply next to me.

  Michael’s eyes are so confident. So sure of themselves.

  “What did you have in mind?” I ask.

  Michael’s smile widens, and his dimples deepen. Those dimples are just so wow.

  “A little shopping. A movie. Dinner.”

  Sophia makes an oooooh sound, and I elbow her again.

  I chew my lip and consider his offer. Michael is really cute, and he seems nice. Maybe I should give this a chance. After all, Eric has moved on. Isn’t it time I do the same?

  �
�That would be—”

  “Ready to go?”

  Eric steps next to me. He doesn’t look at me when he asks the question. He looks directly at Michael.

  My eyes go wide.

  What’s he doing here? He isn’t planning on escorting me home now that he has a girlfriend, is he? I know I said we were friends, but this is too much.

  Michael leans his weight on his back foot, his smile dropping into a guarded expression.

  “And you are?” he asks.

  Thick, heavy tension quickly fills the space between the four of us.

  “Eric Shipman.” Eric holds out his hand and takes a step forward. He’s now standing between Michael and me.

  I want to shove him out of the way, but I don’t. Where’s his new girlfriend anyway? Shouldn’t he be somewhere harassing her?

  “Michael Fish. Coach Fish’s son.”

  “You’re new here?”

  “Yup. Today is my first day. I’m just getting acquainted with everyone.”

  Eric’s back is straight, his chest puffed out, his eyes threatening.

  “This is Sophia. That’s Ariel. I’m Eric. Now we’re all acquainted.”

  Michael’s gaze narrows, and his tongue makes a ball on the inside of his cheek. He nods to me, then Sophia.

  “See you girls around,” he says. He gives one final look at Eric before turning and walking back into the school.

  The second he passes through the doors, Sophia turns to Eric.

  “Just to be clear, am I forbidden from dating Michael, or just Ariel?”

  “Neither.” I glare at Eric. “That was rude.”

  “That guy is a tool.”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “I know him just as well as you do.”

  “You’re not my boyfriend. You can’t just show up and scare guys off.”

  Eric lifts an eyebrow. “If a little handshake and some hard looks scared him off, then he wasn’t the one for you.”

  “Oh, and you are?”

  “You know I am.”

  I suck in a breath, hoping it hides the shivers coursing through me.

  “You can’t say things like that anymore, Eric. We are not together. Besides, you have Purity now, so why don’t you go bug her instead of hanging around here and ruining my life!” I walk to Sophia’s side. “Soph, take me home. I won’t be riding the train today.”