Page 28 of The Rebel
I clicked the remote to unlock my truck and said, “Go ahead, I won’t be a sec,” and I jogged across to my friends.
“What’s up?” One eye was on Valencia, relieved to see her hopping up into the front seat. A strange little shiver ran through me as I could see everyone watching, likeproudthat she was getting into my truck. Weird.
“What’s with that?” Jordy asked with a wry smile.
For a moment, I considered explaining about her discipline slip, but realized a simpler explanation was sufficient.
“Paris is playing over in Europe, so Mom offered to have Valencia stay with us for a few weeks,“ I said, which covered everything anyone needed to know.
“When are we having our Brit night?” Lucy asked, falling into an English accent. “Fish and chips and Bridgerton and cups of tea and speaking like this?”
The others laughed, and I rolled my eyes. “Whenever. But no Bridgerton. You sort it, Lulu.”
“Downton Abbey then?” Lucy teased.
“NO!” I said, an unmistakable definitive negative.
Lucy laughed. “This weekend we’re going snow tubing. Maybe afterward?”
“Yep, I’ll check with Mom, but sounds good,” I said and fist bumped a few of the kids before skipping back to my truck like a kid excited to go for ice cream.
“Sorry about that,” I said as I jumped in and clicked my seat belt. I noticed Valencia had loosened her tie.
Turning to me with a frown, she seemed a little anxious. “Do you think Mrs. Hayman told your Mom about my discipline slip?”
“Uh huh,” I nodded. “She did. Mom called me.”
“Dang.” She pouted, which was also kind of cute.
“Yep.”
“You think she’ll tell my parents?”
I shrugged. “I dunno. Are you worried about it?”
“It just wasn’t a big deal,” she said, shaking her head. “Geez, it’s like drama for the sake of drama. Mrs. Fox probably wanted less kids in her class so she could sit at the front and crochet.”
I spluttered a laugh. “Crochet?”
“Yes, crochet,” she said, pulling down the sun visor and looking at herself in the mirror.
I checked for traffic around me and pulled out of the parking space.
“Do you think this makeup is natural looking?” she asked.
I came to a stop at the school gate and turned to see her face held still and expressionless as if she wanted me to inspect it. Well, I’d already been mesmerized by it the day of the nosebleed, and I had no problem studying her dark brown eyes framed by long eyelashes, or the splatter of freckles across her cute nose, or her sweet heart-shaped lips, rosy and smooth. “What makeup?”
“Exactly!” she exclaimed, brightening instantly, and again she went on a rave. “Mrs. Hayman told me off for wearing toomuch makeup. It’s like a tiny bit of mascara and eyeliner.” She demonstrated a small gap between her thumb and first finger to show me just how little makeup she did wear. “I mean I don’t even have any foundation or highlighter or lipstick on, like all the seniors do.” She pouted again. “Seniors get away with so much.”
The urgent toot of a horn and a rev of an engine sounded and in the rearview mirror I saw Lucy’s car right up behind me. I laughed, purposely not moving when she laid on the horn, and as a joke, I retaliated with a few sharp toots myself.
“You better hope Mrs. Fox isn’t around,” Valencia mumbled dryly. “She’ll probably give you a discipline slip. Excessive use of the horn or something.”
“Mrs. Fox isn’t your favorite person, is she?”
Valencia sighed heavily and clenched her fists tightly, like she was ready to punch somebody. I needed to lighten the mood, her mood.
“So, where’s Paris’s first tournament?”
