Dare (24 page)

“
Hola, se
ñ
oras
.” Mr. Hanson was the school's sole Spanish teacher, but at barely thirty years old, he looked more like a student than a faculty member. He edged his way between Sawyer and Chloe and grinned, while a hallway full of girls drooled. “
Perd
ó
n, perd
ó
n
. Ah, Sawyer!
Has
estudiado
para
la
prueba?
” he said, looking expectantly at her.

Sawyer felt the redness bloom in her cheeks and shifted her weight. “Um,
si, se
ñ
or.
”

“
Bueno!
” A wide smile spread across Mr. Hanson's face, his eyes crinkling with the effort.

“Ohmigod, what did he just say to you?”

Sawyer shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea. My stock answers are
si, no
, or the often used ‘how do you say menstrual cramps in Spanish'?”

Chloe wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

“They never ask you to translate that sombrero thing if they think you've got cramps.”

Chloe watched the back of Mr. Hanson's head as he disappeared into Principal Chappie's office. “Screw French. I'm transferring into Spanish.”

“You were bound to waste it on some French Canadian anyway.”

“Don't you love him?”

Sawyer glanced over her shoulder, caught the last of Mr. Hanson's dark hair as he disappeared into the office. “Don't you think he's a little overeager?”

“Please. Half my teachers don't even know my first name. Hanson's like, fresh out of teacher school, or whatever, and still hopeful. He still believes in us.” Chloe batted her eyelashes sweetly.

“Whatever.”

“Besides, I heard he gave Libby a ride home the other day.”

Sawyer unzipped her backpack. “And I'm sure she thanked him appropriately.”

Chloe crossed her arms in front of her chest, bored now. “Are we still on for tomorrow night?”

“You mean our convocation?”

“Ooh, convocation. SAT word?”

Sawyer laughed. “My ticket out of suburban hell. Let me call you about tomorrow, though. Dad and wife number two are finding out the sex-slash-species of The Spawn. I'm sure they'll want to do something educational and emotionally satisfying out of their
Blended
Families/Blended Lives
book.”

“Ah, another evening rubbing placenta on each other and worshipping the moon?”

Sawyer sighed. “Are you sure you don't want me to come over and watch your parents' passive aggression as they avoid each other while showing their extreme disappointment in your choices?”

Chloe folded a stick of gum into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Hell no. Wednesday is fried chicken and mac-and-cheese-as-vegetable night at the double wide. That dysfunction is all mine. And they're not my parents—Lois and Dean are my guardians.”

Sawyer cocked her head, her arms crossed in front of her chest. “Not mom and stepdud anymore?”

“Hopefully not. Haven't seen Dean in over a week. And I'm using the guardian thing so hopefully Lois will finally cave in and admit that I'm adopted.”

Sawyer grinned. “Except that you are the spitting image of your mother.”

“Sawyer Dodd, that is a horrible thing to say.”

“Of course. A thousand apologies. I take it back.”

“Better.” Chloe blew Sawyer an air kiss. “I'll be waiting by the phone with greasy fingers for your call.”

“I'll have the ambulance on standby,” Sawyer called over her shoulder.

She grinned, watching her best friend skip down the hall. For the first time in what seemed like forever, things felt normal and light again.

“Excuse me.” Logan Haas smiled shyly at Sawyer and she stepped aside, letting him get into the locker under hers. Logan bore the unlucky high school triumvirate of being slight, short, and nearsighted, but Sawyer liked him.

“Hey, sorry,” she said.

Logan stacked his books, slammed his locker shut, gave Sawyer an awkward salute, and headed down the hall, eyes glued to his shoes. Sawyer spun her combination lock and yanked the door open, her lips forming a little
o
of surprise when she did so. Amongst her neatly stacked binders and books was a short, fat envelope in a pale mint green. Her name was printed on it in a handwriting font. She took the envelope and looked over both shoulders; no one milled about, red-faced or smiling, indicating that they had slipped the note in her locker.

She tore the envelope open and pulled out a matching mint green folded card, a tiny plain oak leaf embossed on the bottom. When she opened it, a clipped newspaper article slipped out. Sawyer didn't have to read the headline to know what it said: “Local High School Student Killed In Car Wreck.” She swallowed down a cry and read the note on the card.

It said, simply,

You're welcome.

Hannah Jayne is the author of nine books, including the national bestseller
Truly, Madly, Deadly
. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area where she slays demons from her couch, chases serial killers in her pajamas, and bows to the whim of two very spoiled felines.

You can track Hannah down at
www.Hannah-Jayne.com
, Hannah Jayne Author on
Wattpad
, or
@Hannah_Jayne1
.