“Daddy?” Oops whispered.
Quickly I snuggled in by her. “I’m trading places with him. Is that okay?”
She nodded. I wrapped an arm around her. Instead of being filled with her usual bubbly positive source, she was a mixture of both positive and negative. I wrapped an arm around her, and as we drifted back to sleep, we spun and wove our source together.
Not quite sleeping peacefully.
9. Forced Arrangement
Over the weekend, Montrose had changed the setup of the classroom. Instead of desks, there were tables with enough space for two people. Scared to check the projection to see who I sat by, I kept near the front and counted the tables.
They were three tables to a row and four rows deep.
Montrose stood at the front wearing a too-satisfied smile.
Is this what he meant by having a lot to do this weekend?
As my classmates entered, they clustered in the doorway. I scooted over to give them more room.
“For the most part, you are all still near where you were before,” he said. “But look at the projection for confirmation.”
My name was written over the top left square, which put me across from Montrose’s desk. Asher’s was next to mine. A sick feeling along with negative source twisted my gut. Sure, I’d thought about Asher all weekend, hoping he hadn’t given up on me yet, but sharing a table was like sharing personal space. I wasn’t up for that yet.
What was Montrose thinking?
“For this next unit, you will be working on assignments with your table partner. As you find your place, begin the get-to-know you activity I’ve left on your tables. Write down your answers to turn in for participation points. There are about twenty questions, and you’ll have the first couple of minutes to answer them together each day this week.”
“Together?” I blurted. Montrose never did group work, which was part of the reason I loved his class. I never had to socialize with anyone.
“Yes, Tara. You’re a big girl. You can do it.”
I glared at him.
“Now find your seat. You’re blocking the way.”
Jack, Kenny, and Geoffrey all laughed as they made their way to their seating assignments.
“Behave, or I will move you up front,” Montrose said.
Their laughter died off.
I looked over my shoulder at them with a scowl and was shocked to find Kenny and Geoffrey sat at a table together in the back of the classroom. Montrose must have gone crazy putting those two together that far away from him.
Sitting diagonally from them in the middle of the class, Jack’s smile abruptly disappeared as Lydia daintily sat in the seat by him. She grabbed the assignment without looking at Jack.
I couldn’t believe Montrose had paired the two of them together, either.
In the back corner near the rear exit, Ferdinand slipped into a chair with Layla. They glared at each other.
At least I hadn’t been paired with either of them. If I had to have a partner, I preferred Asher like an infinity times more. Though, would Layla take word back to Sam about me working with Asher?
I really liked and hated this forced arrangement.
Montrose added, “I hope you will have fun over the next three weeks in this unit.”
Crossing the front of the classroom, I slid into my seat and set my binder down in front of me. I wished Monstrose had given me the window seat instead of Asher, so I’d have something to distract me. Now, I’d have to look at Asher if I wanted to look outside.
Luckily, Asher hadn’t arrived yet to see my obvious dislike at this whole partner situation. Do I really want to be alone? I raised my hand.
“Yes, Tara?” Montrose asked.
“Do I have a choice?”
As I asked, Asher entered the classroom. He came to a stop as his gaze took in the change. Our eyes met.
“No, you do not,” Montrose said.
“You’re by me still.” I pointed at the empty spot next to me. Try smiling. But I couldn’t.
Asher took the seat nearest the window. Every hair on my arm closest to him seemed to tune toward him, like a flower to the sun.
“Well, this is a lot better than those desks,” he said. “I actually have room for my legs.”
My heart pounded. His cologne, some woodsy, nature-loving scent, didn’t help. He smelled way too good. How could Montrose think this was a good idea?
“So, we’re partners?” he asked.
“Sorry. You’re stuck with me.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Maybe I should be the one apologizing because you’re stuck with me.” He pulled the piece of paper to the center of the table where we both could read it. Asher looked straight at me.
Whoa, the green-circling-aqua within his eyes was mesmerizing. “I can’t not stare at your eyes when you look at me like that,” I whispered, then realized I’d said that aloud.
Asher’s cheeks visibly flushed, reflecting the warmth of my own, and he quickly looked away. He gnawed on his lip, trying to hide a smile.
I shifted, feeling awkward and embarrassed. My palms kind of felt sweaty. “Do you want to be the scribe or should I?”
“I think we’ll get more done if you’re the scribe,” Asher teased. “That way you can focus on writing and not my eyes.”
I wanted to laugh so hard. But instead, I grabbed the paper. “So first question,” I said. “What’s your full name, age, and birthday?”
“That sounds simple enough,” he said.
Except it wasn’t. At least, not for me.
“My name is Asher Wade Scoville. Wade is my father’s first name. I don’t like nicknames, so don’t call me Ash or Sculley.” He paused for emphasis.
“Sculley?” I repeated. The nickname reminded me of a dark haired basketball player from a neighboring school who had harassed Holden during a game. He had been infamous for sparking fights, along with a couple of viral videos of how amazing he was. Obviously not Asher, but interesting they both played ball.
Unless it had been his older brother.
“I’m seventeen, and my birthday is May thirtieth.”
“May thirtieth?” I slowed my writing. “You’re already seventeen?”
“Yes.”
“Shouldn’t you be a senior?”
“Is that another way of asking me if I was held back a year?”
“No. I mean…” I pressed my lips together. “Sorry.”
“What about you?” He grabbed my pen and pulled the page to him.
“I thought I was the scribe.”
“You can’t write your own answers.”
“Why not?”
He glowered. “Your age?”
“I’m sixteen.” I said. “I don’t know my exact birthday. It’s either February eleventh, twelfth, or the thirteenth.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Well, what’s on your birth certificate?”
I bristled. This was supposed to be an easy, simple way to get to know each other. But it's not simple. Nothing about my life story was, and Montrose, having coached and mentored Holden through high school, knew that.
I shot Montrose a death glare he was perceptive enough to receive. Hopefully, he felt the daggers in it.
Montrose folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at me. He nodded once, like he was challenging me to keep going.
“Well?” Asher asked.
I looked back at him. “February fourteenth.”
“Valentine’s Day?” Asher lifted one brow. “That’s not any of the dates you gave me.”
I rested my chin on my hand. “That’s the day I arrived at the hospital. My mom had me at home. She didn’t want me and apparently hid me while she was trying to figure out what to do. I ended up in foster care for a year while my grandma tried to get custody. She’s the one who told me my birthday was one of those other days.”
“Wow, sounds pretty crazy rough.”
“It’s kind of been the story of my life.�
� My breath felt shaky. Why am I being so personal with him? Oh, that’s right, Montrose’s stupid assignment.
“What’s your last name, Tara?”
“Evedon.”
“I’ve never heard that before.” Asher looked up from writing. “Tara Evedon. That’s pretty.” He smiled a little and continued writing, enunciating as he did. “Tara Evedon, born on Valentine’s Day, sixteen years old.”
“But—”
“Shh.” Asher held up a finger to his mouth. “It sounds more romantic this way.”
The mirth I’d come to associate with him entered his green eyes.
I really wanted to let the ice castle I’d built around me melt.
“All right, class. Moving on. Please pass those forward to count toward your participation points.” Montrose came to stand at the center of the classroom. “Tomorrow, I’ll introduce our new unit. I’m still working on the assessment, as I’ve made a change from last year. So for now, to begin our unit on the short stories of Twain, Hawthorne, and Poe, we shall watch a biography of Mark Twain.”
“Why are we starting with Twain?” Lydia blurted without raising her hand. “He died in the twentieth century. The other two were almost dead by the time he was walking.”
Jack snorted.
“Their lives all overlapped,” Montrose said. “In light of Halloween, Poe and Hawthorne have creepier pieces I’d like to introduce you to closer to the holiday. Next time, please raise your hand.”
Geoffrey and Kenny snickered.
Lydia’s invasion served to remind me of something I’d brought to give to her. As Montrose brought up the biography on the screen, I unzipped my binder and pulled out the wrapped lotion. There was a note stuck on it for her. I’d lied and said her cherry scented lotion reminded me of my dad. Really, I was hoping she’d use this and avoid using the lotion that had triggered Asher.
Hopefully, this didn’t burn her the wrong way.
Turning, I handed it back to Jack. “For Lydia,” I whispered.
Leaning over his table, he took it with a curious expression on his face. He handed Lydia the gift.
Lydia read my note. Finished, she looked my way and nodded. There was sadness in her eyes. Seeing it there brought a flash of memory of her as a little girl running around with my dad and me, giggling and happy.
I’d forgotten how much she used to love playing with Dad. We first met in kindergarten, and I often got off the bus at her house. Her parents were divorced, and she had never known her own father well. When Dad would come to pick me up, he would linger for a few minutes, letting us both clamber all over him.
I felt guilty lying to her, but the sentiment was the same. And it was to save Asher from being exposed where he didn’t want to be.
Lydia opened the lavender scented lotion and put some on her hands.
Looking forward, I caught Asher watching me.
Then I panicked. “I didn’t write anything about you,” I whispered.
Montrose’s video on Twain started playing.
Asher smiled a little, then sat back in his chair and focused on the movie. “Thank you.” He glanced my way.
“Yeah, well.” Feeling embarrassed for some reason, I leaned forward against the table and leaned my head against my left hand, creating a wall between us. Nervously, I took notes on the life of Twain.
Halfway through, I felt Asher tug on my arm gently. Sitting up straight, I looked at him. “What is it?”
“You don’t have to hide from me,” he whispered.
Taking a deep breath, I eased back into my chair and exhaled slowly. Too caught up in how close we were to each other, I didn’t get much out of the rest of the film.
The bell rang as the movie came to a close, and Jack tugged on my sleeve. “You’re still covering my shift tonight, right?”
Rising, I turned toward him. “Yes, Daniel said he’d drop off and pick me up.”
Jack pressed his hands together and nodded his head. “Thank you.”
“Last time, though,” I said.
He chuckled a little. “You say that every time.”
A sick feeling turned in my gut. I really didn’t want to work tonight. Hopefully, Sam wouldn’t be there.
“Tara, I’m excited about being partners,” Asher said as he crossed in front of our table. “See you tomorrow.” He grinned before escaping out into the flow of students hurrying to their next class.
Was he at all vexed like I am sitting by each other?
“Group work wasn’t so bad, was it?” Montrose asked me.
Clutching my binder to me, I rolled my eyes at him and shot out of the room.
Out in the hall, Ferdinand bumped shoulders with me.
“Ouch.”
He glared at me in anger, and dark source filled my gut.
Was he jealous? I rubbed my shoulder, watching him disappear into the crowd. Last time I saw him, wasn’t there something he’d said?
Down the hall, I saw Layla and Sam meet up. Wanting to avoid attention, I quickly headed toward the entry way commons and past the office.
I couldn’t help looking at the spot in the office where Asher had sat last Friday.
How did I deal with the fear and excitement squiggling around inside me? Asher was my partner, and that meant trouble with Sam. No way it wouldn’t. But how could I not be secretly excited about working with him?
Maybe this project would help me decide if Asher was worth the trouble.
10. Muscle Memory
My heart pounded as I pulled up in front of Smart Way Family Grocery and looked over at Daniel. He gripped the door handle, jaw clenched.
Seconds ago, I was about to turn left into the parking lot after waiting through a green light. An oncoming vehicle had sped through the red, and I’d slammed on the breaks. This followed an already stressful driving session.
“I hate to offer this, but I should probably take you out driving more,” he said.
“Relax. I only almost got us in a crash once,” I said.
He looked at me wide-eyed.
“So, you’re going to let me drive home?” I asked.
“Not a chance. It’ll be dark.”
Secret relief settled in my stomach, but I rolled my eyes and opened the door. “This was your idea, not mine.” We both got out, and I handed the keys to him
“Let’s look at an inexpensive vehicle for you when you get home. Would rather not have you dent mine.”
“I want a Toyota Yaris.”
Daniel shook his head. “Maybe when you head off to college.”
“Mom’ll get me one if I ask.”
He glared but didn’t argue. “You’ll be done at ten?”
I headed toward the door. “Maybe sooner if Sam’s here!” I looked over my shoulder at him.
He’d paused before getting in. “Stick it out if she is,” he said. “It’ll be a good growing opportunity for you.”
“Seriously?”
“Commitment.” He got into the car.
Commitment? What exactly did he mean?
I crossed the sliding door threshold of the grocery store, which was dead of consumer life. There was not a single customer in the checkout lines. In fact, only one lane was open, and the bagger assisting the cashier was the last person on earth I wanted to work alongside.
Samantha Darcy.
She looked up from inspecting her nails. The smile she gave me in greeting was a disgusted one. “Please don’t tell me you’re here to work.” She spread out her fingers to look at the nails.
The artist in me imagined rabbit ears and a pig nose on her, which made me smile. “Hello, Darcy,” I spoke with an English accent. “All right?”
She scowled.
If I found out Jack knew Sam was working tonight when he asked me to take his shift, I was going to give him all wrong answers on his math homework for the rest of the week.
A customer arrived in the checkout line, and Sam turned to serve her. “Would you like paper or plastic?”
The wo
man was tall, with a slender build, and had a chubby baby sitting in the shopping cart’s seat. They didn’t match each other. “Paper would be great.”
Going into the employee room on the left, I swiped my I.D. badge on the reader and looked through the window into the customer service area where Jethro unwrapped a roll of quarters.
When he saw me, the tall man smiled big. His teeth were so white, it made his grin all the more charming. “How you doing, Tara?” he asked. “Jack said you were working for him tonight.”
“Fine,” I said. “Monica here?”
“She should be, but we’ve been so dead on Mondays, she’s always running late.”
“Oh, ’kay, thanks.”
“Deirdre is out in the aisles facing the shelves. If you find her, she might have something for you to do.”
When I came out, Beck, an old friend of Holden’s, had opened a second lane. He was one of the long-time cashiers because he was saving up for college. It seemed like ages had passed since he used to eat dinner at our house every other night.
Sam was nowhere to be seen, so I jumped on his lane to help with bagging.
Beck gave me his wide-eyed stare in greeting. I could tell he was excited about me being there—not excited about being there himself. He wasn’t wearing his usual black-goth eyeshadow, nor had he spiked his bleached hair.
“You look nice,” I whispered.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, then smiled.
Beck’s customer was Frank Bishoff, a middle-aged man with a combover. He was Daniel’s boss at the school district office. I had no idea what either of them did there. But more than once, I’d heard Daniel complain to Mom about how Frank was lazy and dumped all the work on Daniel. Holden had forced me along to a work Christmas party for Daniel one year, which was how I recognized him.
“Paper or plastic?” I asked.
Frank smiled at me briefly and didn’t say anything, continuing to unload his perishables, one by one, onto the belt, in a slow, precise manner.
He’d piled a mountain of food in his shopping cart, and if he continued at that rate, we were going to be here all night. Then again, why not? Might as well have something to do.
Beck’s shoulders tensed. He reached for the eggs and ran them over the scanner, as slow and precise as Frank, while giving me one of his crazed looks.
The Changeling's Source (Evedon Legacy Book 1) Page 10
