Don't Kiss Him Good-Bye (2 page)

He saved his document and logged off. Then he stood up and swept his arm with a flourish toward the empty chair. “By all means, you must turn in your paper on time.”

I wasn’t sure if he was mocking me or appreciating my dilemma, but I took the computer. “Thank you,” I said.

“Rhys,” he said, “My name’s Rhys.” His blond hair was pulled back in a neat, short ponytail, but it didn’t look weak or feminine at all. Neither did the tiny diamond chip earring he wore in direct defiance of the dress code. His eyes were clear blue. Sled dog blue. Normally I didn’t go for blue-eyed blonds. Normally.

Chapter 3

After school I headed over to the Wexburg Academy
Times
office. Officially, I was the school paper delivery girl. Unofficially, undisclosed, I was the author of the school’s newly popular advice column. Only Jack, the paper’s senior editor, was in on the secret. Oh, and Julia, Hazelle’s older sister, who was studying journalism at Oxford. Hazelle both idolized and resented her older sister. If Hazelle ever found out that I, the unstudied American, was the voice behind the Asking for Trouble column, our fragile friendship would be asking for trouble indeed.

“Hullo, Savvy,” Jack said. “We’ll be running a few extra papers this week since circulation is up. It might take you a bit longer to have them all delivered by half seven on Thursday. You might want to consider starting a bit earlier?”

“Righto.” I adopted the old-fashioned British phrase, intending it to be a bit tongue in cheek. Of course, since everyone else in the room was British, no one got the joke.

Jack slid up next to me, close. At one time that would have sent a thrill through me. But now that I knew he was going out with my mentor, Melissa, I made sure the enthusiastic fans in my head stayed in their seats. Truthfully, my crush on him had already been pretty much crushed out.

“We’re getting quite a few questions for Asking for Trouble,” he whispered in my direction. “I’m having a hard time sorting through them and keeping up with my own work. Is it all right if I simply forward all the questions directly to your e-mail?”

“Of course,” I said, keeping my voice and excitement low so as not to draw attention. Inside, I was rejoicing. Each week Jack seemed to recognize my worth more. Soon enough I’d be writing articles with my own name on them—
a byline!
I wouldn’t be limited to the secret column anymore. I just knew it.

“I e-mailed the new column to you last night,” I said. Now that I knew about the May Day Ball and what a big deal it was, I understood the motivation behind the writer’s question a little better. In light of my own situation, I was glad I’d given her reassurance.

I hoped.

“I got it,” he said. “Good work!” Then he headed back into his own office and closed the door before getting on the phone.

I walked over to Melissa. “You okay?” I asked. Her face looked a little ashy, and her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail—not her normal, put-together style.

“Feeling a bit dodgy,” she admitted. “I woke up not feeling well, and then when I showed up to finish up my article today, I had to help Natalie, too.”

“Natalie?” I asked.

“Yes,” Melissa said. “She used to live here; worked on the newspaper staff last year. When she moved to the North last summer, it opened up a spot on the newspaper staff.”

Ah, yes. The one I took, even though I wasn’t officially writing yet.

“She just moved back,” Melissa said. She’d never gossip, but I could tell by her tone and the look in her eyes that she would have preferred if Natalie had remained in the North. “She’s pushed Jack for an assignment, and I suppose her seniority means she deserves one. She’ll be working on the May Day Ball story.”

Before that minute it hadn’t crossed my mind to ask for the assignment. Now chances were I wouldn’t be going . . . or writing about it. I sighed. Loudly, I guess, because Melissa looked up.

“Not going to the ball?” she asked.

I shook my head. “You?”

She nodded.

“Jack?”

She nodded again and smiled, her face brightening for the first time that day. “I’m going to make sure you get to participate in the May Day Ball reporting,” she said, a firm look settling like hardening concrete on her face. “If you want it, that is.”

I quickly considered my options. I’d get to work on the article, take another step forward on the paper, and have an excuse to go to the ball without feeling like an outcast for not having a date. All positives. I’d also have to work with an unknown, potentially nasty reporter that even Melissa didn’t like. One negative.

“Well, Savvy?” Melissa pressed.

“I’ll do it,” I said.

“Good! And even if you do get a date, you can still gather information beforehand and report and take some snaps on site.” But the look on her face betrayed her true beliefs. She didn’t think I’d get a date to the ball. It was too late.

That just left me and the unmet Natalie. Both solo.

Chapter 4

The next day I got a text midway through third period. It was from Melissa.

Home sick today. I’ve sent you an e-mail with my article in it. I need you to hand-deliver it to Jack because I’ve texted him and he’s not answering. Okay?

I texted her back.

Okay, will do.

Brilliant. Back to bed for me, then.

After third period I headed to the library. All the computers were taken again. Right away I saw Rhys; it would be hard to miss the neat ponytail now that I knew whom it belonged to. I purposely ducked into the library shelves for a few minutes to wait him out and then stood kind of close to another computer, this one occupied by a girl who looked like she was finishing up.

Rhys turned and grinned at me. “Back again, eh?”

I smiled in spite of myself. “Have to print out an article for a friend on the newspaper staff.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “A journalist. I like journalists. And I just knew you were one of those bright girls. It’s not every girl who can be both a brainbox
and
pretty.”

It was a totally playerish thing to say. But he called me a
journalist.
And he said it so sweetly, and I basked in the compliment because, you know, they were as few as my officially published word count in the WA
Times
. In other words, nonexistent. I was “bright” enough not to say anything in response, and he turned back to his work. The girl whose computer I’d been waiting for got up, and I took her seat. I checked to make sure no one was looking over my shoulder and logged into my e-mail. I got Melissa’s article and sent it to the printer. By the time I logged off and turned around, Rhys was right behind me.

“I don’t think I got your name,” he said softly.

“Savannah.” I didn’t know why I gave him my full name instead of saying, “Savvy.” I guess I wanted to impress him, to come across as smart as he believed me to be. I caught his eye, and—sorry for the cliché, but it’s true—my heart did skip a beat.

“An American, I’d guess, by the accent,” he said.

I stood and gathered my gear into the new bag Penny had scored for me at the recent Peter Chen fashion show.

“I’m a foreigner too, sort of,” he said.

“You are?” I turned back toward him.

He nodded, and for the first time I noticed that the look on his face was kind of vulnerable. “I’m Welsh,” he said. “Moved here last year.”

Instantly I felt a kind of bond with him. I let myself relax a little. He must have noticed because he smiled more warmly. “With all the papers you’re printing out, it seems like you’re pretty good at that kind of work.”

I shrugged a little, hoping to seem appropriately modest. “I guess so.”

“Would you be willing to look over one of my papers before I turn it in? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I don’t know a lot of people here yet—certainly no other journalists. I’m trying to catch up on my work. Wexburg Academy is a lot further ahead than my old school was.”

I thought for a minute. I mean, what would it cost me, really? a lunch period or something, right? It’s not like it was a long-term commitment. And I did like to help people.

“Sure,” I said.

“Thank you!” Rhys smiled at me again. “Thursday in the library during lunch?”