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WHERE IS SHE? Peter stood outside speech class with his hands on his hips, staring down the hallway he figured Brice would soon come down, getting his courage up. He was gonna ask her over. Before he chickened out. He had nothing to lure her over this time. The Durango was clean inside and out and everything working properly, as far as he knew. Maybe she’d like to see it all cleaned up. Take it for a drive. Stay for dinner.
“Hey,” Roland said over Peter’s shoulder.
A shiver ran down Peter’s neck, making him shudder. He turned and punched Roland’s shoulder with the side of his fist. “Don’t sneak up on me.”
Roland’s eyebrows went in opposite directions, one lifting, the other dropping over puzzled gray eyes. “I’m not sneaking up on you. Just coming to class, like everyone else.” He gestured to indicate three other kids who strolled through the door. “What’re you doing? Looking for someone?” His slight grin showed he knew exactly what Peter was doing.
“Don’t worry about it,” Peter said. “Why don’t you go claim the desk behind Marshall before someone else takes it?”
Roland glanced at the ceiling and shook his head before stepping into the classroom. Four more kids cruised through the door behind him.
Peter checked his watch. Shoot. Ten seconds till the bell rang. And no sign of Brice. Nine, eight, seven . . .
Two stragglers rounded the corner and speed-walked to the classroom. And behind those two—Brice.
The bell rang as Peter glimpsed her. A wave of electricity came from her and shot through him, the earsplitting bell amplifying it. Dressed in a rustic brown vest over a long-sleeved t-shirt, she came within twelve inches of him but made no show of having seen him.
Something inside Peter sank. But with his next breath, and as he followed her into the room, he made a new resolution. He’d ask her in their woodworking class.
Peter took the seat behind Roland—who sat behind Marshall—and he casually turned toward Brice while he stretched.
She also sat in the back, three rows away, in the very corner of the room, gnawing on a fingernail.
“Okay, class.” Mrs. Kauffman clapped her hands together and began class in her ever-cheerful way. “I’ve been so pleased with your speeches so far. And we’re over halfway through everyone’s first speech. Can you believe it?” Then she bored the class with a general critique of the good and bad points from last week’s speeches. After a long pause, she looked up from her pocket computer. “Our first speaker today . . . Brice Maddox.”
Peter’s breath caught, his attention shifting to Brice.
Again, she didn’t look at him. She was still sitting slouched, chewing a fingernail. After spitting the nail to one side, she took a deep breath and straightened up.
As she stood, Peter clapped, everyone else soon joining him. He couldn’t wait to hear her speech. Maybe he’d find out more about her.
Looking at no one, she strode with confidence to the front of the room. Two steps from the maple podium, she pulled a folded paper from a back pocket and shook it open. Then she spread her paper on the podium, ran a hand through her shock of blond hair, and unbuttoned her vest, the fleece lining peeking out. Eyes down and the hint of a tremble in her right hand, she cleared her throat and leaned her forearms on the podium. Glancing up, she shot a glare at three or four kids, looking like she stood before her enemies.
Look at me, Peter tried to communicate telepathically. I’m not your enemy. I’m your friend. More than that, if you want. Anything you want—
“Whenever you’re ready, Brice,” the teacher said cheerfully.
Brice glanced at the teacher, the corner of her mouth twitching as if a snide remark sat on the tip of her tongue. Then she dropped her gaze to her paper, pressed her lips together, and . . . spoke.
“So I know we’re supposed to talk about ourselves in this first speech . . .” she said in a voice a bit higher and tighter than usual. Then she paused, fidgeted with her papers for a full two seconds, and finally glanced up. “. . . so we can learn something about each other.” She paused again. Fidgeting with her papers. “And over half of you have given speeches . . .” She sort of nodded her head, but it turned into a headshake.
“. . . but does anyone in this class know you any better than before? We know what you want people to know about you . . . from your talk, how many sisters and brothers you have, where you were born, what you think you’re good at, or what you say you like to do.” Then she looked up, licking her lips. “Do any of us really know anyone else?”
Slouching in his seat with his legs extended in the aisle, Gavin huffed, muttered something to himself, and shook his head.
A little spark of anger had Peter glaring at Gavin and clenching a fist. He’d better not think of mocking Brice while she gave her speech. If he even tried it—
“And I could tell you who I am, where I come from, where I want to go, what I like to do . . . but I think most of you have decided who I am already. And no matter what I told you, you’d never really know me. You’d know whatever I wanted you to know, and you’d believe whatever you wanted to believe. It could all be lies.”
Peter found himself nodding in agreement. And grinning. She’d taken an assignment that made shy kids dread school and everyone else sweaty, and she’d turned it around, making everyone equally uncomfortable. But she was right. Every kid in high school worked on personal image, from the clothes they wore to the friends they made and even the way they sat in class. Peter glared at Gavin’s leg stretched out in the aisle between desks. But a kid’s image didn’t tell a person anything, really.
“. . . so for the rest of my speech, I’ll tell you about a hobby of mine.”
Peter’s ears perked at the plot twist in her talk.
“I’m gonna talk about cars.”
Several girls groaned and slumped in their seats.
An uncontrollable grin stretched across Peter’s face. She was going to talk about the same subject he’d spoken on.
And then—Peter’s heart flipped and a tingling sensation washed over him—Brice lifted her gaze.
To him.
And her lips curled up in that crooked grin. Sharing an inside joke . . . just with him. Then she dove into everything everyone didn’t want to know about working on a car.
Everyone except for him.
~ ~ ~
PETER SAT ACROSS FROM Brice in Woodworking, the happy buzz and hum of machinery mostly drowning the chatter of their classmates, a satisfying smoky wood scent filling the air, and his hands sweating at as he worked himself up to asking her.
“You know we’re way ahead of everyone else,” Peter boasted as he watched her driving in a pocket hole screw with a drill.
An indifferent look on her face, Brice peered over her shoulder as Fred walked by with a new board. He must’ve messed up another cut. “Yeah, so?”
“I’m just sayin’.” Peter fidgeted with the bottom and one side of his unassembled gun rack, waiting for his turn with the drill but content to watch Brice work. “We work well together, don’t you think?”
Brice glanced without turning her head, looking at him sideways, one side of her lip curling up, and she let out a huff. “You don’t give up.”
“Give up what?” Heat crept up his neck. Not sure what she meant, he decided to change the subject. “So your speech today was totally cool.”
“Yeah?” She drove another screw into a pocket hole, her moves smooth and precise, then she glanced at him. “Thanks.”
Encouraged by the eye contact, he continued. “You had everyone squirming in their seats with that first part.”
“Yeah, and bored to tears with the rest.” She grinned, a devious glint in her hazel and green eyes.
Peter laughed. “Not me. I thought the whole thing was great.”
“You would.”
He stared for a moment, his hands sweating. “So . . .” He was going to do it. He was going to ask her. “What’d you do this weekend?” Okay, wrong question. His mind took him to this past Friday and how he’d stammered his invitation. Hey, so, like, if you’re not doing anything, you know . . . Saturday, uh, tomorrow . . .
He would not do that this time.
“Not much.” She set the drill on the table, midway to him, and grabbed the wood glue.
Peter picked up the drill and a screw and lined up two boards with his sweaty hands. He was gonna say it. Now. Right now. Despite the strange tingly feeling in his head, he forced the words out.
“You doing anything tonight?”
“Why?” Brice kept her eyes on her work.
He’d keep it simple. “Why don’t you come over?”
“Why?”
“I cleaned up the Durango, washed it inside and out. If you don’t count the scrapes and smells that don’t wash out, it’s good as new.”
She laughed. “I’m sure.”
“Come see. We’ll take her for a spin.”
After staring at him for two seconds, she shrugged a shoulder and turned her attention back to her project.
Not giving a guy an ounce of hope.
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