Trouble in Sudden Falls: A Sudden Falls Romance (7 page)

Rogan sighed the sort of long-suffering sigh that any Hollywood actor would not only envy, but expect an Academy Award out of.

“It won’t be that bad,” Eli assured him, feeling more doubtful than he let on and vowing to devote his complete attention to his son for the rest of the morning. He feared the goth-boy beside him would struggle to fit into conservative Sudden Falls High. While he cheered Rogan’s desire to be himself, he worried that Rogan was in for heartache. Not that he was going to recommend a trip to the mall again.

Fortunately, Rogan didn’t force Eli to drag him by the ear into the school, instead following a couple of plodding paces behind as if he were headed to the gallows. They stepped in the building and found the school office inside the front doors to the left.

He leaned against the counter and gave Marcy Bowden, the school secretary, a smile guaranteed to get him what he wanted. It had rarely failed him, and this was no exception.

“How can I help you, Eli?” she asked, flicking a lock of hair behind her shoulder and licking her lips.

She hadn’t been the most subtle woman he’d dated.

Sadly, she hadn’t been the least, either.

“I need to register Rogan here for school.”

Marcy’s eyes got as big as saucers. “Who is Rogan?”

“My son.”

“Ooooh.” Thirteen seconds after he left her presence, the branches of the Sudden Falls gossip tree would be alive with activity. However unintentional, this would be the best way in the world to get the news out. “Hold on one second. I’ll call Mrs. Scarpa.”

Rogan sat down on one of the plastic chairs lining the wall and picked up an old copy of Newsweek Magazine.

Marcy made her call then returned her attention on Eli. “So I hear Maddie O’Callaghan came back to town…”

“The gossip engine of this town chugs on.” She’d be getting her Maddie gossip elsewhere. Marcy clearly wasn’t happy at his lack of cooperation, if her pout was any indication. He suddenly remembered why he’d broken things off after a few dates.

Fortunately, it wasn’t long before Mrs. Scarpa toddled out. Eli remembered her being a fun, energetic woman during his high school career, but now she seemed old.

She recognized Eli at once, and made no indication of surprise or shock that he had a nearly full-grown son. “Come back to my office. I’ll have to get on the horn to your old school.”

She might have been old, but he found the same spark he remembered in the twinkle in her eye and the orneriness of her grin.

She sat down behind her desk, indicating that he and Rogan should take the two chairs in front of it, with a waggle of her finger. Rogan answered a few questions about his last few schools, and as Mrs. Scarpa’s eyebrows rose higher into her hairline, Eli’s stomach sank. Rogan had been in eight schools in the last two and a half years. It amazed Eli that his son hadn’t had to repeat a grade.

While Mrs. Scarpa used her sternest voice with Rogan’s previous school, Rogan perused a display of college brochures. He picked one up and studied it carefully while Eli wondered how he could soothe the guilt eating his stomach from the inside out.

Mrs. Scarpa turned in her chair to pull Rogan’s transcripts from the printer. Pulling a pencil out of a canister of newly sharpened number twos on her desk, she began scribbling on a form in front of her.

After a moment, she asked Rogan, “What computer class would you like to take? I’m afraid your last school had a much bigger computer department than we do. Our most advanced class is a second year C# programming—” She peered at the papers in front of her “—No. That won’t work, you’ve already taken it. Did well, too,” she commented. “What about introduction to Unix?”

Rogan scoffed. “I could probably teach it.”

Eli gave Rogan a sidelong look. While there was a little attitude in Rogan’s tone, he was mostly matter-of-fact. Perhaps Eli could give Rogan some computer equipment left over from his recent upgrade. He’d like to see what the boy could do.

“What about this?” Rogan placed the brochure he’d been perusing on the desk with a hesitant hand.

“The post-secondary enrollment plan?”

“What’s involved in that?” Eli noted his sudden hopeful expression. He would do anything in his capability to keep that look on Rogan’s face.

“A student in the program has the opportunity to take college courses which will give him or her high school and college credit at the same time. There are part-time and full-time programs.”

Mrs. Scarpa was still a sharp cookie. Eli watched as she evaluated Rogan with an eagle eye. “I don’t know. Your GPA is fairly ghastly. There’s a minimum limit.”

“You try changing schools every three months and see what your GPA looks like.” Rogan turned to Eli. The pleading in his eyes knocked something loose in Eli’s chest.

“The community college
would
have the sort of computer classes that would challenge you.” Mrs. Scarpa caught Eli’s eye. “You would need your dad’s permission.”

Eli nodded and she went on. “The Spring Quarter doesn’t start for about a month, so you’ll have to take classes here full-time until then. And you’d have to show a marked improvement in your grades.” She shrugged. “You’ve got some time to think about it.”

“Please?” Rogan asked quietly, as though it killed him to reveal how much he really wanted to make this happen.

“Whether you get in to the program’s on you. If you meet the requirements and you can attend.”

Rogan’s face lit up, as if he couldn’t believe Eli had said yes. “Thanks!”

Mrs. Scarpa continued to look at his transcripts, shaking her head. “How is it that you got an “A” in pre-calculus and a “D” in History?”

Rogan shrugged. “Personality differences? Plus, I’m good with math and bad with dates and regurgitating facts.”

The corner of Mrs. Scarpa’s twitched as she finished filling out Rogan’s class schedule on her computer. After a few moments, the printer behind her desk whirred, then spit out a sheet of paper. She grabbed a tri-folded pamphlet from her credenza and the class schedule from the printer. “Here’s your schedule. Your first class is English Literature with Mrs. Cannifarm. Here’s a map so you can find your way around—it’s not a big building, so I don’t expect you’ll have any troubles. Any questions?”

Rogan shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

Ma’am?
Where did this…
polite
kid come from? Eli refused to look a gift horse in the mouth. “I guess I’m no longer needed here. I’ll pick you up at 3:15?” Rogan didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen having someone pick him up. “Or you can take the bus. Or walk, if you’d rather. It’s about nine blocks.”

Rogan took a long moment to reply. “I’ll walk.”

“Okay. I’ll try to be home early.” Eli dug his keys from his pocket and pulled an extra house key off his key ring before handing it over. “If you need anything and I’m not there, Maddie should be next door.”

He hoped, especially after last night, that she wouldn’t mind Rogan stopping by. Eli had a feeling she’d be a lot more welcoming to Rogan than to him.

Rogan nodded without comment as he accepted the key and tucked it into his pocket.

Eli wanted to wish him good luck, but oddly, didn’t know how to go about it. This stranger was his
son
and he didn’t even know how to talk to him. Awkwardly, he stood, glancing back for a split second as he left the guidance counselor’s office.

Amy Goodman had sat in the second row of Mrs. Cannifarm’s English Lit class, right in front of her best friend, Darlene Simmons from 8:30 to 9:40 every weekday since the beginning of September. During that time, she’d quietly learned about the poetry and literature of the Johns—Donne, Milton and Keats—and had even made it through the selected works of Jane Austen and Charlotte Brontë. What she hadn’t had was a single interesting moment during the entire one hour and ten minutes per day, five days a week, for six months—minus holidays, one snow day and the occasional teacher’s in-service. That was, until today.

Mrs. Cannifarm introduced him as Rogan Lafayette. It was a fairly exotic name for an equally exotic-looking guy.

He had a small ring at the right side of his lip and another in his eyebrow. He wore black eyeliner and his hair was jet black with bright blue stripes in it. He wore a pair of beat up jeans and heavy, black boots and still had his jacket on instead of hanging it in his locker. It was a worn leather number that looked like it had probably seen better days, but would still see him through ‘til the end no matter how beat up it got.

His jacket came open and she caught sight of his T-shirt. It was black with white writing and read, “You’ll regret reading this shirt when the sketch artist asks you to describe my face.”

She stifled a giggle behind her hand while Darlene poked her in the back.

Her mother would poop purple penguins if she brought a guy like that home.

Not that she brought
any
guys home. Sheltered, quiet, little Amy did exactly what she was supposed to, exactly when she was supposed to. She didn’t stay out past curfew, she didn’t ride in cars with boys and she most certainly didn’t bring home boys who looked like juvenile delinquents.

Even if they were
cute
juvenile delinquents.

Without saying a word, he made his way to the only empty seat—at the side of the room and directly to her left—and sat down. She couldn’t help but watch him from the corner of her eye.

She texted a message back to Darlene when Cannifarm wasn’t looking.

What do you think his story is?

Darlene’s phone buzzed quietly. She heard her friend pick it up and then Amy’s phone vibrated. She looked down quickly.

His story has got 2B messed up! Who wears clothes like that? Forget it, Amy. Ur mother would kill u! My mother wouldn’t even let me!

Amy felt her shoulders drop. Darlene was right. Darlene’s mom was about as laid back as it got and practically let her get away with murder. But even she would draw the line at Rogan Lafayette.

She glanced over at him again. What was it that appealed to her so much? He was tall, which helped. And really,
really
cute, which didn’t hurt either. He had a lot of attitude.

Hrm. Maybe that was it. He made up for what she lacked. She hadn’t exhibited any attitude since the first grade. Right about the time she got sick. Since then, she’d been an angel.

Even if in her heart-of-hearts she really wanted to be a rebel.

Amy entirely missed Mrs. Cannifarm’s horrifically dry lecture on the poetry of Robert Burns as she drew little hearts in her notebook around the stylized letters, R-O-G-A-N.

“Die! Die!!!” Rogan hit a couple of keys on the keyboard, suspecting he was fighting a losing battle.

He was deep in game-playing mode when a knock on his bedroom door distracted him. As he turned toward the sound, the monster he’d been fighting to chewed him to smithereens.

“C’n I come in?” Eli asked.

Rogan shrugged. “Yeah. I just got killed anyway.” So much for getting this toon to level 30 before Sunday. Killing that mob would have gotten him so much closer. Rogan sighed so Eli knew that he held him personally responsible for his champion’s death.

The game chirped and he and he returned his undivided attention to the screen. A message from Tinkas.

What happened there? I thought you had him!

He returned her instant message.

\whisper Tinkas Parental Unit walked in. Gotta go for now. Catch you later?

Tinkas: Sure.

He turned around to Eli who had been watching his screen. “What’re you playing?”

“
League of Legends.
”

Eli nodded.

“You play?”

“Nope. I played
WoW
and
EverQuest
for a while, though.”

Huh. That was a surprise. Maybe Eli was a little cooler than he’d realized.

“Who you talking to?” Eli asked.

“Tinkas. She’s a friend from the game. Never met her in real life.” Which was kind of frustrating. She still refused to tell him where in Ohio she lived.

“Where does she live?”

What was with the third degree? He screwed up his face like he was thinking hard. “Dunno. Indiana somewhere?” Like it was any of Eli’s business.