Kiss Me If You Dare (6 page)

“So how come you’re at DGC? You look fine to me,” Portia commented.

I turned. “Same reason you are. Get my degree and get out.”

The line cleared. I stepped up to the machine and put in my change. A bar lifted, dumping my selection into the access hole. I pulled out the citrus-flavored water and turned to go.

“Hold up,” Portia said. “I’ll walk back with you.”

I actually waited.

Portia fed her change piece by piece into the slot. With a squint, I watched, stunned. The hand holding the quarters wasn’t really a hand. A few tiny nubs, like baby fingers, seemed to grow from a stunted palm. I swallowed, feeling guilty for my earlier behavior. She obviously had enough challenges without catching flack from me.

Soda in hand, she started down the hall, me scurrying to keep up.

She tilted her head my way. “If you end up on my team, don’t think for a minute you can slack off just because your uncle is the instructor.”

So much for treating her with kid gloves. This girl could dish it out.

“Just try to keep up with me,” I said in my best attempt at a good comeback. At least my arm was back in action. She wouldn’t have that luxury.

“No problem there, sister.” She sashayed into the classroom and took her seat.

I slid into mine, trying not to let Portia’s superiority complex eat away at my confidence.

Denton strode in and started writing on the whiteboard. Two lists of names went up beneath the headings “Team A” and “Team B.”

My name landed just under Portia Romero’s on Team B.

I held back a groan. Around me, others were grumbling as well, apparently dissatisfied with their assignments. To one side, a man in his midtwenties raised his hand. A backward ball cap and megajewelry screamed “gangster.” Denton turned toward the class and wagged a finger. “Uh, uh, uh. Much thought has gone into these teams. Absolutely no changes will be made.”

Groans.

Professor Braddock wrote on the board again, printing a list of four addresses under each team.

“As this is a seniors-only curriculum, you’ll have to complete the project prior to graduation in order to participate in the ceremony. That gives you approximately eleven months to renovate four houses per team. That’s approximately one per quarter.”

I stared slack-jawed at the board. It took me at least one year to do a home. Even with four people working together, the task of finishing four homes in less than a year was simply impossible. I only hoped I wouldn’t be around to see the team’s complete failure.

I crossed my arms and poked out my lower lip.

“Gwen Hart is leader for Team A. Alisha Braddock for Team B.”

I stammered some kind of objection. I’d never been a leader of anything. I only worked alone.

Denton’s palm shot out. “No changes.” He stacked papers together on the desk and inserted them into a carrying case. “The winning team will be in the running for the college’s Covenant Award.” He looked my way. “If you’re not familiar with the award, it’s the highest honor that can be received at Del Gloria College. The top students from six departments are eligible. Former recipients have gone on to head missions in the U.S. and around the world. They’ve become leaders of charitable foundations. And they’ve changed their communities for the better.” He paused and smiled. “Not to mention that fifty thousand dollars in seed money comes with it.”

The professor dropped a packet on the desk of a mousy blond—Gwen Hart, I presumed—tossed one on mine, and headed toward the door.

“You know my office hours,” he shot over his shoulder. Then he was gone.

7

The class sat speechless at the professor’s hefty assignment and hasty departure. The thought of fifty grand apparently wasn’t enough to generate enthusiasm for the year of grinding labor ahead. I couldn’t even fathom what to do with that kind of money. I supposed Brad and I could finish the renovations on my rambling lodge back in Michigan and fill the bedrooms with foster kids or something. But I sure didn’t know the first step toward saving the world.

I rubbed the stitches on my arm as the room came to life with a purposeful rustling. Binders slammed closed. Zippers zipped. Students rose from their seats, as if about to leave.

“Hold it.” Portia’s voice ricocheted off the walls. “Nobody’s leaving yet. Class is only half over. Get in your teams. Talk about how to tackle your project. Come on. Don’t waste time.”

Almost reluctantly, the class split into the assigned teams. I stayed in my seat, waiting for my groupies to gather around me.

On the other side of the room, Gwen, the blond from Team A, stared at the packet in front of her as if it contained the Twelve Labors of Hercules. The gangster guy scooted a desk up to hers and slouched into the seat, wiggling one leg impatiently. They were joined by a man in his thirties with a deep purple birthmark covering half of his face. The last to join them was a fidgety young brunette, playing with her pencil like it was a baton.

When nobody from Team B turned up at my desk, I glanced over and saw my teammates hunched around Portia. I could already tell things were getting off to a bad start. With a resigned sigh, I brought my “leader” packet to the huddle.

Not willing to meet Portia’s eyes, I smiled instead at the redheaded assistant from Dean Lester’s office.

“I thought I recognized you,” I said to the woman in the wheelchair, glad to have a friendly face in such hostile surrounds. She introduced herself as Celia Long. I looked to the fourth member of Team B, a twenty-something youth with a cane.

“Koby Rider,” he said with a nod.

“Great.” Portia snagged the instruction packet from me and dug into it. “Now that we all know each other, let’s get this show on the road.” Quiet for a moment, she scanned the pages.

My fingers gave an irate tap on the desk. Denton had assigned me to be team leader. Portia had usurped my authority in the first thirty seconds. I had a feeling this whole project thing was going to be one long, uphill battle.

“Okay,” Portia said, straightening the stack, “let’s get over to the homesite and see what we’ve got ahead of us.”

The other team was still bickering as we got up, gathered our totes and backpacks, and headed out.

At the curb, we stood in silence, watching for the next bus. At some point I’d have to grab the reins from Portia. She seemed like she knew what she was doing organization-wise, but when it came to bricks and mortar, I’d have to reclaim my authority and get the job done right.

The bus belched a diesel cloud as it drove up to the curb. Celia boarded via a wheelchair lift. Inside, the rest of us sat on adjacent benches. I dropped my black canvas tote on the floor, studying Koby from the corner of my eye. Light brown hair, a pensive aura, and a cane with a snake’s head on the handle.

I cleared my throat. “So, what’s the meaning of the cane?”

He tapped it once on the floor of the bus as if annoyed. “I don’t have any legs.” He looked down at his slacks. “These are prosthetics.”

“Oh.” There really wasn’t a good response to a statement like that. “I guess what I meant was how come you have a snake’s head on your cane? Is there some significance?”

He shifted his gaze out the window. “From the Bible. Moses put a snake on the pole and when people looked at it, they were saved.”

“Oh.” At least he wasn’t a member of some violent gang called the Fangs or the Serpents or something.

“How about you?” he said after a beat. “What’s your problem?”

Blood rushed to my face. “I don’t have a problem. I was just striking up conversation.”

“Yeah?” Portia said from her place across from me. “Everybody at Del Gloria has a problem. Just ’cause we can’t see yours doesn’t mean it’s not there.” She leaned back against her seat. “We’ll figure it out. It’s just a matter of time.”

I looked down. The last thing I wanted was my muddled past to follow me to Del Gloria. At least here, I’d hoped to have a shot at a fresh start. But fibbing about my name, my hometown, and my relationship to the professor wouldn’t earn me any brownie points if people caught on. I’d better try to act more natural before Portia connected the dots and blabbed to the world that I wasn’t really Alisha Braddock.

The bus rolled to a stop and we got off at an oldendays train depot. A modern-day Amtrak was just pulling from the station.

Portia glanced at the paperwork as we waited for the train to pass. “Just down a few blocks,” she said over the din of clanking metal.

As the sound died, our group of misfits crossed over the rails to Del Gloria’s historic district. Rows of tiny bungalows lined the streets. Portia guided us down a block to Rios Buena Suerta.

“Good Luck Street,” she translated.

We paused at the crossroads, gazing at the line of dilapidated homes we had only eleven months to complete.

I shook my head in dismay. “We’re going to need more than good luck. This will take a miracle.”

“No way,” Portia said. “It’ll just take hard work.”

I rolled my eyes. “Look at us. No offense, but half of us don’t have the use of their legs. The other half barely have arms.” I held up my bandaged bicep while nodding toward Portia’s fingerless hand. “How much can we actually get done before the deadline?”

“Watch it,” Portia spat in my direction. “I’ve already overcome my handicap. You’re the one with all the hang-ups.” “It’s okay, Alisha.” Celia edged her chair close to me. “We’ll get done in time.”

Koby lifted his cane in the air. “Announcing the winners of the Covenant Award . . . Team B!” he said in a dramatic voice.

I shot a glance at the guy I had pegged an introvert, then looked at the row of homes. One had a dislocated front porch. Another had a roof caving in. Down the way, a foundation crumbled.

I put a hand on my hip and mumbled under my breath. “I’m holding out for a miracle.”

Celia led the way down the sidewalk to the first house. Portia and I team-lifted her in the wheelchair up a step onto the sagging porch.

Celia drove toward the threshold and stopped. “Great. I wondered about this.” The width of the wheelchair exceeded the measurement of the doorway by a couple inches. “I’ll just wait out here.” Her voice sounded glum. “Not a chance,” Portia said. “Koby, collapse that chair and push it through while I pick up Celia.”

I rushed to intervene. “Here, I better do it.” I grabbed at the back handles the same time Koby did. Portia hefted the tiny Celia into her arms and walked through the door.

“I’ve got it,” Koby said, reaching in to take over my hold.

“I’ll get it. You could fall.” I nudged him with my hip to back him off.

“Somebody get that chair in here,” Portia ordered. “I’m not made of muscles, you know.”

Koby practically body-slammed me out of his way. “And I’m not made of glass.” He pushed the chair over the threshold and opened it on the other side.

Portia lowered Celia into her seat.

Koby threw me a look of triumph as I rubbed at my hip.

“Truce.” I put my arms up in surrender.

He nodded. “Just don’t do it again.”

With our first disagreement behind us, the hodgepodge members of Team B surveyed the project ahead, giving each house a once-over. Celia kept a list of major issues and ideas as we brainstormed a plan of attack.

The last home was in the best condition. Nineteen thirties or forties with an updated feel. Ahead of me, my teammates moved with determination, performing their routine to get Celia in the door. I hung back, wondering if I’d be up for the work ahead. From the looks of my ragtag team, I’d have to bear the brunt of it. And my motivation seemed to be missing. Financial strain had always been enough to hustle me from the end of one project to the start of the next. But here in Del Gloria, thousands of miles from everything that mattered, my heart felt like a lump of coal pressed against my lungs, robbing me of breath, stifling my inspiration.

Inside came Portia’s voice, followed by laughter from Celia and Koby.

“Face it, Tish. You’ve landed in Oz,” I whispered to myself. But like Dorothy, it was only temporary. Soon I’d get the phone call that would whisk me back home. And all would be well.

I gave a sigh and followed the group into the dim interior. Nodding in robotic agreement to all of Portia’s suggestions, I kept a mental log of all the ones I’d have to do right when the rookies weren’t looking.

The lunch hour had come and gone as we wrapped up our tour. Our gang had just stepped off the porch when a voice called to us from across the street.

“Hey, you guys.” The brunette from Team A waved to us from the coarse lawn of a cockeyed bungalow. Behind her, Gangster Guy and the rest of the crew exited the building.

“Hey! You finally getting to work over there?” Portia’s toxic tongue went to work.

The girl on the lawn crossed her arms.

Gangster Guy stepped to the curb. “Yo. Eat our dust.” Portia inhaled a deep breath, ready to fire back a response. I grabbed her arm. “Why do you provoke them? Can’t you just be nice?”

She shook off my grip. “Back off, Miss Priss. Maybe you’ve got Uncle Denton to take care of you. But me,” she thumped her chest with a fist, “I’m on my own. I’m getting a piece of that Covenant Award. Whatever it takes.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m the team leader. And I’m telling you we’re not going to harass our competition.” I hoped I came off as having more gumption than I actually felt. Portia snickered. “Leader? Yeah, whatever.” She started walking back toward the bus station. “Come on, team. Follow me.”

I brought up the rear, hoping Brad would hurry up with his plan to save me.

8

The bus pulled away, leaving me alone on the driveway. I’d ridden home in silence, putting an impermeable wall between me and my teammates. Celia had made an attempt at conversation, but gave up when all I offered was a cold shoulder. I hated to push her away, but the day’s overwhelming events had caught up to me.

Across the road, the Pacific glared white in the sunshine. Gulls circled a rocky promontory down the way, beckoning for company. Cars zipped past on the twolane in front of me. I waited for a break in traffic, then crossed over, climbing the metal guardrail onto a flat shelf of rock.