Dare You to Date the Point Guard (Rock Valley High Book 2) Page 3

  “That, I can’t tell you, young lady,” he said, peering over his thick glasses at me. “But the class is all on the in-ter-web, so I expect you two to need very little supervision.”

  Ignoring the fact that Mr. Arnold obviously knew nothing about the internet or how online classes worked, two little words in his speech made me stand up straight.

  “You two?” I squinted at the sheet in front of Mr. Arnold, although the scrawled writing was too messy to make out. “Who else is in the class?”

  “Why, Mr. Finnick over there.” He pointed a gnarled finger to his left. “He’s just begun. You may join him at his table. The extra textbook has been filed in the reference section.”

  My gaze sped across the room and landed on Mason Finnick sitting at one of the beat up old oak tables in the corner of the library. He had a laptop sitting open in front of him, a short stack of books to his right, and his dark eyes trained squarely on me. The look on his face was sour, as if I’d just spat in his Honey Nut Cheerios. I managed a wimpy smile in his direction, but inside my stomach was churning.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumbled. One minute I was searching for him all over school and the next he was in the independent study class that I had to get out of as soon as possible.

  The universe truly had the most mean-girl sense of humor ever.

  “Okay, I can do this.” I shouldered my backpack and set my chin.

  If there was one thing I was going to do today, it was get this mess straightened out. Mason and our impending friendship would just have to wait for another day. He wouldn’t know the difference.

  Marching toward Mason, I stopped short of the chair sitting across from him. He stared at me the whole time, his hard expression never changing. Plopping my backpack on the table, I took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose, squinting against the headache that was coming on swiftly.

  “Listen, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’d love to be in this class with you, but I have to warn you that I’m not going to be here long.”

  “Okay...?” He leaned back and draped his arm over the top of the neighboring chair, his eyes never leaving my face. “Why?”

  “Because, there’s been a mistake. This isn’t my class.” I felt a rumble of emotion rise up inside my belly. It was a strange sensation, like indignation or annoyance. It wasn’t a feeling I was used to having, but Mason seemed to bring it out in me. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

  “I guess we have that in common,” he said, crossing his arms and looking across the room with a funny expression on his face.

  “Wait...what?” I wrinkled my nose. Had the school messed up two schedules? Maybe that was a good sign. Maybe it really was a mistake. “Are you supposed to be in a different class, too?”

  “No...forget I said anything.” He smirked and lifted his chin as the remaining hope inside me died. “Just tell me, where are you supposed to be?”

  “In Advanced Art, creating the masterpiece of a lifetime.” Hot tears of desperation gathered in the corners of my eyes. Blinking them back, I snatched my phone out of my backpack and held it up. “Don’t worry. I’m going to straighten this all out. I need to make a call. I’ll be right back.”

  I didn’t wait for an answer. The phone was already dialing and up to my ear. Walking back between the dozens of stacks of books that lined the back of the library, I waited for someone to answer. Mom was probably in surgery at this hour. She’d mentioned something about a laparotomy scheduled for after lunch. It would’ve been a miracle if she picked up her cell. So Dad was my only hope.

  As the phone rang, I tried to clear the lump from my throat. Dad didn’t respond well to misplaced emotion. He liked logic and facts, numbers and proofs. If I was going to convince him to let me go back to art class, I needed to think of a reason that would make sense to him. A reason backed by evidence and research.

  But my chance never came. The phone rang and rang, until voicemail picked up and I was left holding a silent phone in the reference section of the library. My ears rang with deafening disappointment, that itch in my fingers growing worse. It looked like there really would be no art class today. I sighed and slipped the phone into the back pocket of my jeans, determined not to let the cloud of worry lingering over my head get the best of me.

  There still had to be an explanation for this. I wasn’t giving up.

  “Uh oh, it looks like you’re still here.” Mason appeared at the end of the row of books. He’d worn a navy and teal flannel shirt with a black tee underneath it today. If I’d been in a better mood, I would’ve told him that it brought out the blue in his eyes, but I just couldn’t seem to find the energy to be any form of perky at the moment. “Guess you really are stuck.”

  “Yeah, I guess I am.” I leaned against the books and closed my eyes. Right then would’ve been a great time to learn to meditate. Let the stress melt away. “No one’s rescuing this damsel from distress. I’m a sleeping princess and Research Methods 101 is the fire-breathing dragon.”

  “You waiting for a white knight to appear?”

  His voice sounded right in front of me. I opened my eyes in surprise to see him standing only a foot away, an intense frown on his full lips. “Yeah...I guess I am.”

  I thought about his rescue operation in the hallway just twenty minutes ago. The way he’d intervened in that fight. Was he a white knight in blue flannel garb? They always said not to judge a book by its cover. Mason certainly had the knightly good looks, even if he lacked the charm of a prince in disguise.

  Still, I’d bet that somewhere beneath that stiff exterior was a man who could right the wrongs of this world. Fight for justice. I’d gotten just a sneak peek of it. It made me wonder what else Mason Finnick was hiding.

  A line appeared between Mason’s eyebrows as he considered my words. Leaning in slightly, he pinned me with his blue gaze. “You know, I didn’t think a girl like you needed some useless guy in tights to rescue her. You could probably slay the dragon yourself.”

  A bit of stress melted away from my shoulders and a soft giggle left my lips. Mason’s mouth quirked in response, as if he were tempted just the tiniest bit to smile. Still, a second later the quirk was gone and he’d gone back to frowning with as much intensity as ever.

  “Trina...?”

  He stepped closer and I flattened my spine against the bookcase. My gaze flicked back and forth between his eyes in sheer panic. The closeness of his body to mine had my pulse racing, my palms sweaty, and it seemed to have shut down my brain. I swallowed hard and bit my bottom lip.

  Charley would’ve squealed to see me in this situation, with Mason Finnick standing only inches away and his gaze intently on my face. It was no wonder she was obsessed with him. He smelled amazing, like a fresh mountain spring. Or laundry that had just been pulled out of the dryer. Either way, I wanted to bury my nose in his shirt.

  “Yes?” At least my voice was still working, although it seemed it had gone up several decibels.

  Dang it, he was cute. And standing so close I’d nearly forgotten my own name.

  “I think...” He tilted his head to one side. “I think you’re standing in front of the Research Methods textbooks. If you’re really stuck in this class, you’re going to need a copy.”

  Nervous energy seemed to leak out of all of my pores as I let out a pathetic laugh and stepped aside. Mason pulled a book from the shelf and plopped it in my hands.

  Right. A book. Of course he needed a book. What else did a guy need in a library? Not me, that was for sure. Me and my crazy thoughts.

  “First assignment is to read Chapter One and the notes in the appendix,” he said, turning on his heels. It wasn’t until he reached the end of the row did he pause and turn his head slightly toward me. “That is...unless you manage to trap your very own white knight before our next class.”

  With that, he exited the row, completely oblivious to my near mental breakdown. I gripped my book tightly in my hands and collapsed against the bookcase. N
ever could I remember a first day back from winter break with so much drama.

  The universe was definitely determined to go all mean-girl on me. The only thing I could do was find a way to fix this mess.

  No white knight required.

  Chapter Four

  Candlelight and a hot meal were probably not the first weapons of choice for a typical teenager, but they’d never failed me yet. As I popped my head in the oven to check on the cooking lasagna, I took a deep breath of the tomatoey and spicy goodness and allowed the scent to calm my nerves.

  Mom and Dad were due back home any minute. The table was already set, the candles lit. A pan of double fudge brownies cooled on the counter, with vanilla ice cream waiting in the freezer.

  I’d used this same tactic back in freshman year to convince my parents to let me sign up for the class trip to Worlds of Fun over the summer. Dad wasn’t a big fan of theme parks. Something about the rate of failure of the machines and high probability for loss of limb. But I’d won that argument, so I was very much prepared to win this one.

  If my parents were to blame for my schedule fiasco, then that meant they could also fix it. I just needed to get them on my side. Mason would have to survive Research Methods 101 on his own — and I’d have to find a different way to get through to him.

  “Dude, that’s so desperate.” My little sister, Beth, came trouncing down the stairs and into the kitchen, her blonde curls mostly hidden beneath a black beanie hat.

  She’d probably been up there since school let out, playing who-knows-what on her computer. When it came to opposites, Beth and I were about as different as two sisters could be. She was two years younger than me and a self-proclaimed gamer. Snarky and too smart for her own good — that was how her Freshman Lit teacher had described her. The only thing we had in common was our matching green eyes. Where I was tall, she was petite. Where I was stick thin, she was cute and curvy.

  “What’s desperate?” My eyes scanned over the massive white and gray kitchen my parents had just remodeled last year, even though neither of them cooked unless it came pre-prepped or frozen ready. Everything looked in place.

  “You, making dinner.” Beth snatched a corner brownie and juggled the hot square between her hands. She puffed out her cheeks and blew on it for a second before stuffing the entire thing in her mouth.

  I placed my hands on my hips, giving her a disapproving glance. “That’s not desperate. We need to eat. And it’s not like I made this lasagna from scratch. It was in the freezer.”

  “Whatever you say...” She adjusted the Bose gaming headset that still hung around her neck. “But I could smell the stink of desperation all the way up in my room, if that counts for anything.”

  Beth wasn’t helping the situation. In fact, my palms had actually begun to sweat. And the sound of the front door opening was all it took to send my pulse skyrocketing.

  “Trina? Beth?” Mom’s voice called. “We’re home!”

  “Mom! Dad!” I ran to them, throwing my arms around their shoulders. Mom still had on her bright blue surgical scrubs. Dad had left his white lab coat back at work and wore dressy khakis and a button up shirt. My sister followed, offering fist bumps all around in typical Beth fashion.

  “Hmm, do I smell supper?” Dad ruffled my curls and hung his coat up in the closet. “And chocolate? Did you girls order in?”

  “I made dinner,” I said, stuffing my hands into my pockets and rocking on my heels. A massive grin stretched across my face. Beth wasn’t going to rain on my parade. I had this in the bag. “Lasagna and then brownies for dessert. I figured you guys could use a little break from kitchen duty tonight.”

  My parents exchanged glances, a knowing look entering their eyes. Mom set her purse on the entryway table and walked ahead of me toward the dining room. She was the one who’d passed on her almond-shaped green eyes to Beth and me. I also had her dark curly hair. She was a general surgeon at Woodrow Memorial Hospital and on track to becoming chief of her division. Pretty much the perfect example of a powerful working mother.

  “So, I guess the question remains, are you making the presentation now or later?” she asked, looking at me over her shoulder.

  I shot her a confused look and went to grab the lasagna from the oven. “What presentation? Did I miss something?”

  I wouldn’t put it above my parents to assign me something to do outside of school. A project or paper that would increase my chances of getting into the right med school. Never mind the fact that I’d already gotten into Northwestern for the fall semester. They were constantly thinking ahead.

  “Honey, we’re not completely inept,” Dad said as he sat himself down at the lavish dark wood dining table that I’d set with our best plates. “Your mom and I know what’s going on.”

  While I resembled Mom in a lot of ways, Dad had given me my long legs and slender build. His face was currently half-hidden behind a neatly trimmed beard and he had wavy, dark hair that fell across his forehead. He definitely didn’t seem like the kind of guy who spent all day in the lab. If anything, he looked more like a retired athlete or a really fit lawyer. And when I gave him another clueless look, he sighed.

  “You’ve used this trick on us before, Katrina,” he said, spreading his hands on the table top. “You only make dinner when you have something important to ask. So, what your mother wants to know is: do we wait until dessert or should we get down to brass tacks?”

  Totally busted! I stared opened-mouth at him as my brain seemed to slow to a glacial pace. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Beth snicker into her hand. She’d been right about the desperation.

  “I guess I think we should eat first,” I said slowly.

  Okay, so they could both see right through me. But maybe that was a good thing. Tonight was going to be about my senior year. We had a lot to talk about.

  I’d been trying all winter break to think of ways to tell them about my big art project and now was the perfect time. Honestly, I wasn’t sure why I’d waited so long.

  I guess a part of me was worried they’d think it was a distraction from school. Or that they wouldn’t be as excited as I was. Maybe, when I finally showed them the plans I’d drawn up with Mrs. Drew, and the sculpture that was forever going to grace the lawn of Rock Valley High with my name etched at the bottom, they’d be on cloud nine.

  Trina Frye’s name cemented in history.

  A tiny piece of immortality.

  They’d love that. Maybe as much as they loved the idea of future me curing cancer or some other disease. With a little bit of food in their bellies, they’d be even more likely to be excited at my news. And with that done, we could finally get onto fixing my class schedule.

  Easy as pie. Not that I’d ever made a pie before...but how hard could it be?

  “Perfect, I’m starving.” Dad rubbed his hands together vigorously. “Bring on the food bribery.”

  My cheeks burned as I cut the lasagna and placed it on the table. They already knew this was a setup, but I dished the squares out with as big of a smile as I could muster. It was all about the display.

  When we were finally seated, including my baby sister with the told-you-so eyes, silence fell over the room. I watched as they dove into the food and made pleasant humming noises in response. My hand remained hovering over my fork, the nervous grumblings in my stomach making it impossible to even think about food in that moment.

  Instead, I thought about that statue. About my classes. And even Mason Finnick, with his ridiculously permanent scowl. There was no room for anything else inside my head. Bite after bite they shoveled into their mouth as the anticipation in my belly grew. And when I could take it no longer, I pushed my plate back from the edge of the table and cleared my throat.

  “I’m sorry, but this can’t wait.”

  Three sets of eyes blinked at me. Mom finished chewing what was in her mouth and then very daintily dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her linen napkin.

  “Yes, Trina?”

 
I swallowed hard, wishing my stomach would stop trying to jump up into my throat. This was going to be a nonemotional discussion. I just had to stick to the facts.

  “Today there was a mix-up with my schedule at school. They told me my Advanced Art class had been changed to Research Methods 101. Do you guys know anything about that?”

  Mom’s gaze locked onto my dad’s and she frowned. “Did you forget to tell her?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He plowed his hand through his hair and grimaced. “Sorry about that, bug. That was our fault. We asked them to change it, but then I got carried away with a project and forgot to send you a text.”

  I stared down at the lasagna, the tiny hope bubble I’d carried in my chest suddenly bursting. So it hadn’t been a mistake. They really had changed my schedule without telling me.

  Mom cleared her throat. “Trina, I know you’re disappointed, but we have to look toward the future—”

  “But my art class—”

  “Just listen to me.” She held up her hand. She didn’t like to be interrupted, not when she had something important to say. “Your dad and I’ve been talking to your teachers and we reached a conclusion yesterday.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. She was talking like a doctor, not like a parent. Sometimes, I doubted she knew the difference.

  “Yeah?” I asked, looking up at my dad.

  “Honey, we were looking at your schedule and we realized there’s room for improvement,” he said matter-of-factly. I didn’t mistake the look of expectation in his eyes. It was the same look he got whenever they were talking about my future. “You know, it’s never too early to be thinking about your med school applications. And if you take a college level course like Research Methods this semester, that’ll set you ahead.”

  I frowned at him and then looked at my mom. So much for my art project. If they had their way, I’d never sleep, let alone get time to work on the sculpture. “But I can’t. My class schedule is full.”