Текст книги "The Stillburrow Crush"

Автор книги: Linda Kage

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"So what do you think?" I asked. Luke said, "I think you read too many Nancy Drew mysteries."

I frowned. "It's not Abby then, huh?"

"Definitely not." Luke seemed more adamant about his secret not being romantic intentions toward Abby than he'd been adamant about it not being romantic intentions toward 60

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me. It was a small victory for me, but it made me feel smug nonetheless.

"OK," I said. "Then how about this?"

"I'm not sure if I want to hear anymore." But I could tell he did. It was amusing him. And I was having fun myself. I squeezed my eyes tight and thought desperately. What would Luke Carter want from me? I wasn't beautiful. I wasn't smart and I didn't have any special talents...Wait a second. What was my one talent?

I was so excited I jumped to my feet. "It's because I write."

Luke said nothing so I knew instantly I'd struck oil. I slapped a hand to my head. "That's it. It all makes sense now. In the park, you kept asking me about my writing."

"So?" He couldn't hide the little twitter of desperation he felt. I could hear it in the quiver of his vocal cords as he struggled to sound insolent. I don't know why he was trying to hide it. Maybe there was something else he still didn't want me to know.

"So," I echoed. "Why would you care about my writing, unless..." I snapped my fingers. "Unless it could be used as some kind of service to you."

"Look, Carrie. This is getting crazy. I'm going to hang up." I had to be really close now.

"You want me to write a paper for you." Yes, I had it all figured out. He was embarrassed to come right out and ask me. He didn't know if I was the type to outright refuse him and then go tell the teacher he wanted to cheat. He must've 61

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been testing me to see what sort of person I was. And he still wasn't sure if he could put his trust in me yet. It made me feel good to think he wanted to use my writing ability. Writing was one of the most important parts of my life. I liked the idea of having a talent desired by others.

"You want me to write a paper for you," I repeated with more confidence. "Don't you?"

"No." He said it with such force I almost believed him. And then there was a click.

My mouth fell open. "What the..." I stared at the dead phone for a second. Then I knotted my jaw and hit *69. He answered two rings later.

I knew he had caller ID because he spat out, "What?" I grinned and said, "Liar."

Then I hung up on him.

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Chapter Five

"Miss Paxton. Can I have a word with you?" I closed my eyes and slid further into my seat. The bell had just rung, dismissing class. I should've been free to go, free from dreaded trigonometry. My teacher, however, thought otherwise. I was tempted to tell Mr. Underhill—or Mr. Under-the-Hill as Marty'd always called him—that no, he could not have a word with me. But I knew that wouldn't go over so swell. So I gave a miserable nod and gathered my books. I'd just taken my history test the hour before. And Mr. Decker hadn't asked a single question about Appomattox Court House. I glared at Abby Eggrow for misguiding me when I passed her in the hall. But she was busy gossiping with Jill and Liz and didn't notice me at all. Big surprise, huh?

And then I'd gotten to trig only to realize we had an assignment due—an assignment I'd completely forgotten about. Of course.

I'd arrived early, sat in the back next to E.T., and waited for Luke to arrive. I had no idea what to expect from him. OK, I did have one idea. I expected him to completely ignore me. And I wasn't wrong.

He was chatting with Nathan Bates when he strolled in. His book bag was slung over his shoulder and he smiled, showing off that stunning dimple. I stared at him so hard I bore a hole through him. And I know he saw me too because he searched the room when he entered. He even made eye contact with me as he scanned but he didn't stop, just kept scanning until 63

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he caught sight of some football players across the room. He and Nathan went to sit with them. E.T. was rambling off something in my ear. He sounded eager about what he was saying.

"So...what do you think?" he finally paused to ask. I glanced at him. "I think you sound like an adult on a Peanuts show. All I heard was blah, blah, blah." Thank goodness E.T. was used to my being so blunt. He was a good buddy—the biggest geek I'd ever met—but a good buddy. E.T. Fitz, short for Elmer Theodore Fitz, was the prime target for ridicule at SEC. First of all, he was unlucky enough to be the middle son of Mr. and Mrs. Fitz who ran the funeral home in Stillburrow, which meant he grew up in a house where corpses were laid out in his basement on a regular basis. Plus, he was named Elmer. And since his last name started with an F, circumstances begged he be called Elmer Fudd. But the jokes didn't stop there.

Elmer was a genius. He was the president of the math club and if SEC had boasted a history or chess club, he would've been president of them too. He was proud of his wits, though. He once told me when I was sitting by him in the lunchroom, that at times he felt so smart he thought his head would explode from all the knowledge it contained. I told him to grow up. Then I took his chocolate milk and drank it. Elmer endured the ridicule very well. Usually, he didn't understand he was the brunt of the laughter. Either that or he ignored it with style. After seeing the movie E.T.: The Extra- Terrestrial for the first time, he decided he wanted to be referred to as E.T. from then on. He declared it was his 64

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favorite movie and it had remained his favorite ever since. He was so excited he already had the initials for it, he went around telling everyone to call him that.

His classmates heartily agreed, because he kind of looked like the alien with his short legs and overly big head. E.T. never caught on that he was actually being made fun of whenever someone used his nickname, and I didn't have the heart to tell him. So the name stuck. And he liked it. Therefore, I couldn't complain.

Despite his braininess, E.T. sometimes seemed like the senile family pet—partly deaf and limping around on three legs. Everyone complained about him but no one had the heart to put him out of his misery. I had to love him, though. He was my best friend.

"About journalism class," E.T. was saying, snapping me back to attention. "I think we should move the survey I took about who believes in ghosts to page one." I made a face of horror. It took me hours to figure out where to place each article in The Central Record. And I became a tad testy when anyone questioned the end results of my layouts.

"I've already set Miss Bowman's retirement announcement to page one," I told him with a voice that demanded he not disagree.

He put on his thinking face, where he scrunched up his mouth and wrinkled his nose. I prepared to shoot down any idea he had, so when all he said was a thoughtful, "Oh," I had to pause a second before I realized he wasn't going to argue with me.

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But as soon as I let out a sigh of relief, he said, "Can we switch it with the sports section, then?" I snorted. "Yeah, right. That'd go over real well."

"But we're between seasons. Football and volleyball are over for the year and basketball hasn't even had a game yet."

"I don't care," I said. "We're not moving sports to the back page."

Actually, I agreed with E.T. on this score. The only things we had for the sports section in our next issue were a few pictures of the first day of basketball practice and a couple of quotes from the coach about how he thought the year would turn out. But I wasn't stupid. Sports were a big—no, a huge—

deal to the citizens of Stillburrow. Putting the sports section on the very back page, where obituaries were usually kept, would be like digging my own grave. Every parent and child who went to any sports game (and that was about ninety percent of the town) would throw a fit if the sports section was moved from its usual spot on page two. I'd probably lose my editing post.

But I never got around to explaining this to E.T. because Under-the-hill started class and asked everyone to pass their assignments forward. Quickly I whispered to E.T., asking which assignment that was. But Under-the-hill caught me talking and said, "Miss Paxton, where's your assignment?" So then the entire class grew quiet and stared at me, which made me search for the nearest place to hide. I could tell I even had Luke's attention because I knew what his stare felt like.

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Mumbling, I admitted I'd forgotten about the assignment and Under-the-hill went into a ten-minute lecture on forgetfulness. All the while, I sunk deeper and deeper into my chair.

That should've been the end of my horror. I certainly thought it served as an overly just punishment. But no. Under-the-hill had to call me up to his desk to stay after class as well.

People glanced at me as they shuffled out. I waited till my row was clear before I approached his desk, but not everyone was gone. Luke was still across the room, gathering his supplies. I swore he was dawdling on purpose to hear me get ripped into. But I just wanted the speech to get underway and over with, so I ignored Carter's presence. Under-the-hill sighed wearily when he looked up at me. He slid off his glasses and rubbed his nose. "Miss Paxton, need I remind you what your grade is in this class?" I shuffled the pile of books in my arms because they suddenly felt heavy. "No."

"This class is primarily for seniors. I've let a few juniors join only because I thought they were ready. Now I had my doubts about you but you're usually a hard worker..." I gritted my teeth and silently cursed E.T. for pressuring me into taking this stupid course with him. He'd been all gung-ho for trigonometry and he'd begged me to take it too. I saw Luke across the room, finally rising from his chair and I glared, but he managed to keep his gaze from mine. The coward.

"...I seriously recommend you seek a tutor." 67

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My head swiveled back to Under-the-hill. "What?" A tutor? The man was calling me stupid? In front of Luke?

I felt my face heat.

"No, that's OK," I said. "I can do better. I don't need a tutor. Really."

Under-the-hill eyed me critically. "I don't think you understand what I'm saying, Miss Paxton." He stared me down. I stared back. And then he dropped the bomb. "Get a tutor, or I drop you from the class." My lips fell apart as I gaped at him. He couldn't do that. Dropped from a class? What would I do? I needed a math credit, and I'd be too far behind to enter another class. I'd have to take two math courses next year.

No way.

"But, Mr. Under-the...I mean, Underhill—" At my slip, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. "My decision is final, Miss Paxton."

My mouth worked but no words came out. I wanted to scream. Why would he do this to me? It was beyond torture. I didn't go to other people for help. I always did my own work. Then I thought of E.T. and calmed immediately. E.T. didn't know how to tutor. He always sped ahead and never could slow down to explain why he was doing what he did. That was why I never studied with him. But I could spend an hour with him and tell Under-the-hill I was being tutored. Then I'd just work harder and improve my grades on my own. I was about to nod and say, "OK, I'll find someone to help me," when an all-too-familiar voice behind me broke in.

"I'll give her a hand."

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I whipped around so fast it made Luke jump back a step. The rest of the class had cleared out. Only the three of us—

Under-the-hill, Luke, and I—remained in the room.

"Ah, Mr. Carter." Under-the-hill sat forward, slipped his glasses back on and flipped through his grade book. After checking Luke's scores, he nodded. "Yes. I think that would work out quite well. Miss Paxton?" He glanced at me. I had the refusal on the tip of my tongue but the awful teacher didn't even give me a chance to refuse. He simply said, "Settle on a time to meet with Mr. Carter, would you?" I stared at him. Then I looked up at Luke. This was a joke, right?

"I could come to your house right after school today," Luke offered.

My eyes bugged. Right after school? Today?

No!

"That sounds great," Under-the-hill answered for me as he rose. He patted me on the back as if sending me on my way. I glared at Luke. He smiled, flaunting his arrogant dimple, then turned and strolled out of the room, whistling. I was left there, sputtering and going into the shock of a lifetime. But neither Luke nor Under-the-hill seemed to notice or care. I was stuck. Luke Carter was going to be my trigonometry tutor. And I didn't have any say-so about it.

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Chapter Six

"You're mad, aren't you?"

I slammed the door behind me and glared up at Luke as I flung my book bag to the floor next to his. "Let's just get this over with."

He stood in the middle of my living room, and as thrilling as it felt to see him there, I was still furious with him. I had no idea what had possessed him into volunteering to be my tutor. Maybe he thought he could use it as some kind of leverage to get me to write a paper for him. I didn't know for sure. All I knew was that at that moment I wasn't willing to write a single word for him.

Still, he looked good. His dark hair stood out noticeably against the light tones in my mother's ivory living room. I watched him turn and stare at my home. What he saw was a pristine room. The couch was a bit faded, but every cushion, pillow, and ruffle sat in its proper place. There were no papers or magazines in sight—only a dusted coffee table with a single candle in the center. On a bookcase by the television, novels and videocassettes lined the shelves in order from largest to smallest. There were no smudges on any glass surface and there were dark and light lines on the carpet from a recent vacuuming.

Mom had wanted to redecorate the year before, but Dad said it was a waste of good money. Mom ran to my Great Aunt Kay to complain. So Aunt Kay decided to buy herself new furniture, and she said she would let us have her old 70

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cream-colored set. It was a step up for us, but Mom still wasn't satisfied. Dad budged a little though and let her paint the walls.

"Whoa," Luke said. He ran his hand over a corner table and then examined his fingers. They came away clean and free of dust.

"I know." I stood next to him, temporarily forgetting my irritation. "I told my mom she would make millions if she ever started her own cleaning service."

"She would," he agreed. "I know my mom would hire her instantly. She's not very happy with the cleaning lady we have now."

Leave it to him to mention his family could afford a cleaning service.

"Thanks a lot."

Luke turned to stare at me. He seemed surprised to hear my tone of voice. "What?"

I looked away and started for the kitchen. "Nothing." He followed me. I could feel him right behind me. "No. That was definitely something. What'd I say?" I spun around so quickly he had to pull up short to keep from plowing into me. The distance between us was close enough I had to move back a step to stay mad. Otherwise, I would've melted right there at his feet.

"I already realize your family is so much better off than mine. And I already know you could afford a cleaning lady while my family probably should be cleaning houses to put more money toward our debts. I'm also well aware of the fact I'm poor and you're rich, OK. So you don't have to rub it in." 71

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"What?!" Luke grabbed my arm. "I didn't mean that." I pulled away to ground my fisted hands onto my hips and glare up at him. "But didn't you?"

"Absolutely not," he insisted. I watched him squint his eyes and grit his teeth. "I wasn't thinking of money at all when I said it. And I wasn't trying to rub anything in." He pointed a finger at my nose and stepped closer, towering over me until I had to crane my head back to see the fury in his eyes. "I'm sick of you always attacking me. Who cares about who has more money? It doesn't make a bit of difference about anything."

"Oh yeah," I said. "I bet you know exactly how much my daddy owes your daddy."

Luke took a step away, breathing heavily. He ran his hand through his hair, letting the black locks fall wildly. When he eyed me again, he seemed a bit calmer. "He doesn't owe my dad anything. If he has a debt, then it's with the bank."

"But you know what his debt is, don't you?" When Luke's face flushed, I shot back. "You do!"

"Oh, who cares what I know," Luke said, his voice growing louder. "It doesn't mean anything."

"It does," I said. "It's important." Luke stopped his argument then. He stared at me for a second, taking in my red face, my rising and falling chest, and my fisted hands. His shoulders dropped and he said, "You know, Carrie, it's only important because you're making it important."

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I looked away, a little guilty, and I crossed my arms selfconsciously. "I'm not the only one. Everybody in this whole town puts value on who owns what and who makes what."

"And since when do you care what everybody else thinks?" I looked at him, bewildered. I wanted to say, "Since I learned I was a nobody and not good enough for you," but he started in again.

"From way back in grade school, I remember you as the one who rolled your eyes at what everyone else did and then went off to do your own thing. When Jill Anderson called E.T. Fitz 'Elmer Fudd' you were the one that gave her a black eye and became his personal defender. You were the one who showed up in a bright green dress on 'All Red' spirit day." I grinned. "That was good, wasn't it?" Luke smiled too. "I'll never forget the look on Principal Eggrow's face when he saw you strolling down the hall dressed like an undecorated Christmas tree." I beamed up at him. We were standing so close, I had this powerful urge to wrap my arms around his neck and hug him for making me feel better. And I was about to do just that. I could feel myself drawing closer when I realized what I was doing. I jumped back, coughed into my hand and started for the refrigerator

"OK, you're right." I looked up and caught the gleam of triumph in his eyes. "This time, anyway," I added before dropping my gaze. "And I'm sorry I overreacted about the money issue."

"Are you going to stop making me feel like I owe you something because of it?" I nodded and he said, "Because I 73

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can't help who my parents are, anymore than you can control who yours are."

"I know," I said, and bent my head even more. "I'm sorry." Sheesh, he had this terrific ability to make me feel like a jerk.

"All right, then. I'm glad we got that straight." But I couldn't raise my head. Everything I'd said to him was suddenly replaying in my head.

"Hey," he said softly, and bumped my arm with his shoulder. I looked up. "Don't worry about it anymore, all right?"

I nodded but I couldn't speak. I still couldn't believe how rude I'd been. Sure, I was honest but that didn't mean I had to intentionally say something to hurt another person. Well, unless it was Marty. And this guy was by no means my brother.

"What've you got to eat in here, anyway?" he said. I'd moved to the fridge but hadn't gotten around to opening it. So he seized the initiative for me. It took me a second to realize he was trying to smooth us out of an awkward moment. But when I did, I fell for him even harder. And I completely forgot about why I'd been so angry with him in the first place.

Luke rested his arm on the top of the opened refrigerator door and leaned down to peer inside. I caught myself staring at him, noticing how nice he looked when he leaned over. I turned away, blushing, glad he couldn't read my thoughts. 74

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And that's when I saw the note lying on the counter next to a bowl of fruit. It was from my mother, telling me she'd gone to Paulbrook to buy a birthday present for Aunt Kay. That meant I was alone in the house with Luke. Suddenly jittery in the stomach, I reached for the fruit bowl on the counter, knowing I needed to keep my nervous fingers busy or they'd shake right off my hands. I pulled out a banana, peeled it, and took a bite just as Luke stood up empty-handed. When he saw my food of choice, he gave me an odd look.

"No wonder you're so skinny."

I shrugged and looked at my banana. "What?"

"Carrie, Carrie, Carrie," he said on a disapproving sigh.

"This is the prime time of the day for a person to splurge on junk food." He spoke seriously, as if it was a sacred belief, and I had to giggle. But he didn't catch the humor.

"Think about it," he said. "Adults stuff that nutritious garbage down us three times a day. Right after the bell rings and we've gained our freedom, we need a little brain food to recoup." He stopped lecturing then and just shook his head like I was hopeless. I took another bite and he grabbed the banana from me.

"Hey. I'm not done with that."

"Yes, you are." He found a trashcan and threw my snack away.

When he returned, I set my hands on my hips. "What do you think you're doing?"

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"Here." He grabbed my shoulders and ushered me to a chair, pushing me into it. "Sit. I see you need a lesson. So I'm going to demonstrate how to make a true after-school snack." I was stunned. Before my very eyes, Luke Carter turned into some kind of Betty Crocker, opening cabinets and pulling down boxes and jars.

"Make yourself at home," I said dryly. But then I became too fascinated with watching him to comment further. I had no idea what he was making but the ingredients were vanilla wafers, creamy peanut butter, and chocolate syrup. When he pulled open the freezer door and hauled out a tub of vanilla ice cream, I wrinkled my nose. What was he doing? Luke found a bowl in one of the cabinets and started to create his masterpiece. First, he piled on three huge scoops of ice cream and then he spread the peanut butter over it like frosting. He lined the top with vanilla wafers and then he artistically applied the syrup. When he was done he stepped back, grinning.

"Now this is an after-school snack." I gaped at the formation he'd built. "You're not actually going to eat that, are you?"

He flashed his dimples. "Nope. You are. I'm going to make my own."

I surged to my feet. "No way." I couldn't eat that much in a whole day.

Luke's back faced me as he searched a row of drawers. Either he didn't hear what I said or he simply ignored me because he said, "Where's your silverware drawer?" 76

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He pulled open one drawer and found it full of wine bottles. He slipped one out and cradled it in his hands while he read the label. Then he glanced over toward me and wiggled his eyebrows. When I shook my head, he called me a party pooper and put it back, only to pull open the next drawer.

"Don't you people use silverware around here?"

"Not at all," I answered, rolling my eyes and sweeping open a drawer near me. "We eat with our bare hands like the uncouth savages we Paxtons are." Luke spun around to glare at me but when he saw I'd opened the drawer he was looking for, he marched over and yanked out a spoon. He held it two inches in front of my face and nodded toward the bowl. "Eat." I stuck my tongue out at him. It was immature but it had his face going purple and his jaw clenching. Then his shoulders dropped. He sighed. "Come on, Carrie. I made it just for you. You could at least try it." I glanced at the melting mass of ice cream and other assorted goods. Food heaped in a mound three inches higher than the rim. I winced. "Make me a smaller version and I might."

His face instantly brightened. "One smaller version coming up."

He hummed while he whipped up another bowl, one that was significantly smaller but still looked like too much. When he set it in front of me, I made a face.

He growled. "You said you'd try it." 77

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I glared up at him. "I said I might," I reminded him. But then I saw the hint of a wounded expression and melted. "I want to see you take a bite of yours first." His injured look flashed back into a smile. "Oh ye of little faith," he said, and to prove his snack worthy, he picked up his bowl. I watched him shovel in a large bite and almost gagged. But the abundant volume he consumed didn't seem to bother Luke. He moaned and made sounds of pleasure.

"Told you it was good."

I snickered. "You know you look totally stupid doing that, don't you?" I lied. He really looked adorable, but I wasn't about to let him know that.

He stopped with the sounds and gave me a dirty look. When I didn't even attempt to try my share, he dished out a spoonful for me. My stomach did a little flip-flop when he held it up to my mouth, but there was no way I could refuse that bite. I opened up and squeezed my eyes shut. He muttered the word coward as he gave me a taste. I took my first mouthful. Cold ice cream and warm peanut butter mixed with the crunchy wafers. It was a different sensation than I expected but it grew on me. My teeth clinked on stainless steel as Luke pulled the spoon free. I heard him scoop up a second bite. OK, so it wasn't bad.

I opened my eyes and caught Luke watching me intently. When I shrugged, he chuckled. "I bet you wouldn't admit it if this was the best thing you ever tasted." I swallowed and dabbed at the corner of my mouth for crumbs. "It was fine," I said in my prim-and-proper voice.

"You loved it," he retorted.

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"I said it was good. What more do you want?" Luke continued to stare at me as if he expected an attack. I lifted my chin, meeting his challenging gaze. He really did have pretty eyes. The blue in them was so pure. But as I stared at them longer, I began to find little golden specks in the blue. And the black iris part had these lighter lines that angled in toward the center. I'd never examined someone's eyes so closely. Then I noticed he was staring at me just as intently.

I turned away slightly, dropping my gaze, and heard Luke clear his throat.

From the corner of my eyes, I saw him rub the back of his neck. "I thought we were supposed to be studying trigonometry," he said.

I nodded, still unable to meet his gaze. "I'll go get our bags."

I pressed my hand over my heart as I raced back into the living room. "Calm down, Carrie. Just...breathe." But I felt exhilarated. I wanted to dance. Luke Carter was in my house. He made me food, he spoon-fed me, and stood close enough to kiss me. There was no way I could calm down. I fanned my hot face, but it was useless. I was definitely smitten with the guy. Smitten? An old fashioned word, yes, but it suited the situation perfectly.

"Where's your room?" I heard him call from the kitchen. I grabbed our packs and stood quickly, my eyes growing wide. "Why?" I yelled back, hoping desperately he wasn't searching for it, that he hadn't already found the pigsty which I called my lair.

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"Isn't that where we're going to study?" I raced to the kitchen and slumped against the doorframe when I saw him still there, leaning against the counter and gobbling down his ice cream creation. "What's wrong with the kitchen table," I said, winded from my run. He glanced up, set his bowl down on the table, and strolled over to slide his book bag off my shoulder. "What's wrong with your room?" he countered.

"I'm not going to let you see my room. Are you crazy?" His eyebrows shot up and he took a startled step back. "I guess so."

I plopped my heavy bag on the kitchen table with a thud and took a seat. Luke shrugged and sat next to me. I tried to ignore how close he was, but when his knee brushed mine under the table, my stomach took notice and started to churn.

"So how far are you behind?"

I winced while I pulled out my trig notebook and flipped it open. "I'm not sure. I started to get lost after the first week of class."

Luke blew out a breath. "Great," he said with a healthy lack of enthusiasm. He sighed and reached for my notebook.

"OK, let's check out the damage." As he scanned my homework pages, I grabbed my ice cream and jammed a spoonful into my mouth nervously. It was one thing to have your crush in your home. It was another to let him see how awful you were doing in a class. And I could tell I was doing pretty badly by the way he kept wincing.

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"First of all," he said, "you should really do this in pencil. It's easier and a lot cleaner to erase, instead of having all these mark-out lines confusing you."

"OK," I said.

He looked at me expectantly. "OK," he repeated. "Where's your pencil?"

"Oh...right." I jumped from my chair. "Ah, let me go get one."

When I finally found one, I could tell he was laughing at me.

"What?"

"I can't believe you're a writer and you don't have a pencil," he said.

I shrugged. "I use pens."

After that, we got down to business. Luke polished off his sundae thing and when I was full he finished mine too. I was surprised to discover how good a tutor he was. He went through each step with me and if I didn't understand something, he explained it until I did. I was actually beginning to comprehend trigonometry by the time the back door opened.

Luke and I lifted our heads at the same time to watch Dad step inside. He was wearing his shop coveralls and looking dog-tired. I popped to my feet and grabbed the two empty bowls off the table as if they were some kind of incriminating evidence. I'd completely lost track of time and I think Luke had too because I saw him rub his eyes and check the clock on the wall.

"Hi, Dad," I said.

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