I Think I Love You

I Think I Love You

by

Stephanie Bond

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Please Note

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Copyright 2002, 2011 by Stephanie Bond, Inc.

Originally published 2002 in the U.S. by St. Martin's Press

Cover by Andy Brown at clicktwicedesign.com

ebook design by eBook Prep
www.ebookprep.com

Thank You
.

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to the people in my circle of friends who provide plausible answers to my questions, no matter how outlandish or obscure. For this book, that group consists of my editor, Jennifer Enderlin; my father, Willis Bond; plus friends Bill Parker and Tim Logsdon. Also, thanks to friends whose support seems to multiply exponentially as deadlines approach: my agent, Kimberly Whalen; writing critique partners, Rita Herron and Carmen Green; and meals-on-wheels gal pal, Jacki Jaynes.

Prologue

Regina Metcalf's older sister wagged her finger so close to Regina's nose, she thought she might go crosseyed—not a good look for someone who already had to contend with the nickname Four Eyes.

"If either of you two brats tell Mom and Dad what I'm about to show you, I'll put bats in your beds, got that?"

Fourteen-year-old Regina nodded, because Justine had a mean redhead streak that she didn't mind unleashing on her younger sisters at her discretion. Next to Regina, twelve-year-old Mica nodded mutely, then waited until Justine turned away before giving her the bird.

Regina slapped at Mica's hand, although she doubted if her sister knew what the gesture meant. Mica made a face, then followed Justine toward a thicket, twisting her bikini-clad hips in a preteen priss that made Regina roll her eyes. Her dark-haired baby sister was already a head taller, with a lithe figure and knockout looks. Regina pushed her own wet blond bangs out of her eyes, used her finger to wipe the lenses of her wire-rimmed glasses, then squinted to get her bearings.

As near as she could tell, the hill they'd climbed rose above Armadillo Creek where they'd just taken an afternoon dip in the Dilly swimming hole to escape the sauna that was Monroeville, North Carolina, in mid-July. They'd been walking home, swatting at sweat bees and maneuvering gravel roads on bare feet, when Justine had announced in that haughty seventeen-year-old tone she'd mastered that she had a seeeee-cret, although she wasn't about to tell
them.
Predictably, Mica had launched into a whine session that escalated into a full tantrum until Justine had magnanimously agreed to show them—peasants—the secret place she'd stumbled onto.

Regina sighed and watched her sisters disappear into the bushes where they'd tossed their dry clothes on the ground. They wore her out with their constant bickering. Now she wasn't in the mood to do anything except get home to see if Mr. Calvin had delivered his weekly box of books scavenged from flea markets and garage sales. She still needed numbers ten, twenty-one, and forty-four of the Nancy Drew mystery series to complete her set, and sometimes Mr. Calvin's box held treasures. She simply had to sort through the box before her parents unwittingly shelved something important in the recesses of their antiques store and the volume was lost forever or—heaven forbid—sold.

Justine's head appeared through the brambles, and she beckoned, her face screwed up in annoyance. Regina stifled a groan. Knowing Justine, her "secret" was probably a rock covered with dirty-word graffiti or something equally dull. But ever the pleaser, Regina jogged to the opening in the bushes, dropped her dry clothes in the hot grass, and joined her sisters in the underbrush where they lay on their stomachs in what looked like snake paradise. She crawled forward on her elbows, staving off the heebie-jeebies by telling herself that Nancy Drew wouldn't let a little snakebite stand in the way of a mysterious mission. Their intrusion into the knee-high weeds stirred up a swarm of gnats and loosened the scent of moist dirt. She knuckled her nose to ward off a sneeze. "So what's the big secret?"

"Shhh!" Justine elbowed her so hard, her glasses were thrown askew. "Look, you dolt."

Regina righted her glasses, then stared down. Immediately her stomach vaulted—next to snakes, heights were a runner-up phobia not shared by her sisters, who seemed undaunted by the fact that they were lying on a rocky outcropping about thirty feet off the ground. Below them in a sparsely wooded area carpeted with flattened grass sat a yellow Volkswagen Rabbit with the windows rolled down.

"It's Pete Shadowen's car," Justine whispered. "And I'll bet that's Tobi Evans in there with him, the tramp."

Pete Shadowen was a baseball star at their high school—Regina calculated that he would be a junior this fall, one year behind Justine. Tobi Evans, with that name, had no choice but to be a cheerleader. Tobi would be a junior, too, and Justine hated her for no good reason.

"What are they doing way out here?" Regina whispered.

Justine looked at her as if she were a tree. "What do you
think
they're doing way out here?"