Don't Kiss Him Good-Bye (7 page)

“You’re late, Miss Smith.” My composition and literature teacher, Mrs. Beasley, took off her glasses and rubbed them clean as I took my seat in front of the entire class. I was still sucking wind after having run down the hallway.

“Detention after school today,” she said, frowning.

“I can’t come after school today.” The whole class eyeballed me.

“Why not?”

I sighed and told the truth. “I have detention with Mr. Thompson today.”

She gave me the
I’m extremely disappointed
look, one I hadn’t been used to getting from teachers . . . until lately. She rubbed her tongue over her teeth, sighed, and finally said, “Very well. Tomorrow, then.”

Chapter 13

Usually there was nothing like time with my family and at church to refresh my priorities. But the weekend had felt a little off for some reason. Both Louanne and Dad seemed to be coming down with something. Mom thought it was probably allergies because there were new plants blooming in England that neither of them had been exposed to before. Louanne seemed worse off than Dad, which was odd, because except for rabbits, cats, and horses, Dad typically had way more allergies than Louanne.

Sunday the pastor preached through “One and Two” Corinthians. I thought that was cute. At home we’d have called it “First and Second” Corinthians.

“Not riding horses in secret, are you?” I teased Louanne after she sniffled her way through church. “
National Velvet
, maybe?” Ever since we’d moved to London, she’d idolized that movie. But as soon as I said it, Louanne got angry and left the room.
Touchy, touchy
. I wondered if she was just having a rough week or if something else was going on. She wasn’t usually so moody. When I was ten, there’d been a mean girl who’d picked on me for a couple of weeks. Was Louanne being bullied at school?

On the way home, I turned on my phone and saw ten texts from Rhys asking where I was. I started texting him back when Louanne elbowed me.

“What?” I was irritated—I’d made two typos. I hated making typos.

“Dad just asked you a question.”

I kept reading Rhys’s text, and before I could respond, a new one was incoming.

“What do you want?” I asked. The car grew quiet. I felt the silence like ice in my bones.

“Were you talking to
m
e
?” Dad asked. “Turn off the phone.”

Great. I had a feeling I was going to pay for this later, with Rhys.

“Sorry,” I said, not really feeling sorry. After all, Dad had interrupted my conversation.

“Who were you texting?” Mom asked.

“Rhys,” I said. I saw a look go between her and my dad. But neither said a word.

Chapter 14

As I headed out the door on Monday morning, I noticed Mom’s geraniums were starting to pop to life in the flower boxes. The streets were slick with the remembrance of last night’s rain, and the world smelled cool and fresh and new. And I have to admit, I had another reason for hope. Last night I’d thought of a wonderful plan.

Before first period I stopped in the newspaper office. Natalie was hard at work at “her” desk, and Melissa and Jack were at theirs.

I stood behind Natalie and asked, “Did you get my e-mail about the May Day stuff?”

Natalie kept typing; she didn’t even pause when she responded. “I’m thinking about it, Savvy. I’m just not sure how I want my article to shape up yet. I’ll let you know. Send the history of May Day when you can, okay? As for Be@titude, I’m not interested in that religious stuff.”

I rolled my eyes. Helping low-income mothers was religious stuff?

I headed to first period, restored to Mr. Thompson’s good graces because I’d scored 100 percent on a quiz the day after my detention. He’d been good enough not to suggest that the extra studying at detention had been what pushed me over. We got to work in groups that morning, and I headed over to Hazelle.

“How’s the romance coming?” I asked.

She blushed deeply. I was shocked. I’d never seen her blush. She was a no-nonsense reporter. Her face was nearly the color of her lipstick, which I knew to be Ruby Desire. “Oh, I’d hardly call it a romance,” she said. “But I suppose the May Day Ball has inspired that kind of thought in nearly everyone.”

Just then Brian came up and joined our group. He sat thisclose to Hazelle and . . . I got it! I’d been asking Hazelle about the romance novel she was writing, and
she
thought I meant her relationship with Brian. Aha, now I understood why she was in maths early and not at the paper office. My Brian. Well, not really
my
Brian. But we were gum-chewing, cover-for-you-if-you-cover-for-me friends. And if we’d both understood that we were only friends, it might have been fun to go to the May Day Ball together.

After class I walked toward second period with Hazelle. “I had no idea you and Brian were, um, dating,” I said.

She grinned. “We’re not . . . not yet, anyway. But he asked me to the ball some time ago, and I said yes. Just as friends. I mean, we both knew we were just friends. But since then we’ve been talking and texting a lot more, and I’m not sure. He’s a really nice guy.”

Her voice was so sweet and sincere and happy and . . . soft—for the first time ever. I tried hard not to resent her or be jealous. “I’m very glad for you,” I said.

“Do you have a date?” she asked hesitantly.

I shook my head. “I’ll be helping Natalie with her article about the ball, taking snaps, you know.” I tried to force sunshine and butterflies into my voice.

“That’s nice,” she said. But my journalistic instincts were honed as sharp as acrylic fingernails. I knew she didn’t mean it. But she was trying, and her voice had no edge to it for once, so I let it go.

At lunch Penny tried her best to cheer me up with some new clothes ideas she’d been sketching, and we also planned to get together at her house the next week. Inevitably, though, the conversation at the table turned to the May Day Ball. Apparently all the Aristocats were going shopping for dresses together that weekend.

Penny reached over and gave me a one-armed hug. “I wish you were coming too.”

“Bosh, they probably wouldn’t want me to come,” I said under my breath.

“It’d be okay, really. I think they like you more than they let on.”

I zoned out of their conversation and pretended to jot down some important things in my journalism notebook. Actually, I was writing down all the names of boys I’d been at least somewhat interested in, crossing out the ones who turned out to like someone else.

Well, therse still was Rob. And Rhys. I’d see Rob at the newspaper office. And I’d be finishing Rhys’s paper with him at Fishcoteque after school tomorrow.

After lunch was fourth period. I hadn’t earned my way into Mrs. Beasley’s good graces since last week’s detention yet. I think I’d been kind of one of her favorites, and now she was disappointed in me for getting two detentions. Fair enough. I was disappointed in myself.