So Over My Head (20 page)

T
oday the weatherman predicted a nice breezy eighty-three degrees with zero chance of precip. As I watch Luke Sullivan walking my way, I think that guy clearly miscalled it. Because I see one-hundred-percent chance of storm.

“What is this?” He slams down a piece of paper next to my mouse.

“Is that my exposé on nerd editors?”
And good morning to you
too
. “I should have known it would hurt your feelings.” He and I haven’t really talked since we, you know,
talked
. I’ve kind of been avoiding him. It’s all so awkward.

“Meet me in Mr. Holman’s office. Now.”

I definitely should’ve started this day with coffee. I look back to my computer and type a few more sentences. He can wait. Bossing me around like that. Who does he think he is?

“I would not push me this morning, if I were you,” Luke calls out in front of the entire class. Every head in the room pivots from Luke . . . to me. Even our advisor, Mr. Holman, raises a bushy brow as he helps Ashley.

I stand up, smoothing out my funky Betsey Johnson skirt, and with a smile perfectly balanced on my face, I join Luke in the office.

He shuts the door behind us and motions me to a seat.

“I’ll just stand, thanks.”

“Sit.”

Employing Haughty Look Number Four, I lower myself onto the edge of a chair.

He sits in the other one and pulls out the same piece of paper. “Back to our original question, what is this?”

I read the first line and sigh. “It’s my column for next week.”

“It’s about birthday cakes, measles shots, and used books that smell.”

“I write from the heart.”

He takes off his tortoiseshell glasses and hangs them in the V of his shirt. I’m forced to look directly into his ocean blue eyes.

“This is rambling, lacks voice, and is full of grammatical errors.”

“Maybe Ashley can fix it.” Omigosh. Did I really just say that? “Or someone else on staff—if you think there’s a problem or too.”

But it’s too late. I see the storm clouds roll out and that familiar arrogance take its place. “You know what I think?”

“You hope sweater vests come back in style?”

Luke wheels his chair closer to mine. “I think your mind’s on overload. Between your schedule at the carnival, your family problems, and confusion about us, you can’t even concentrate enough to write three cohesive paragraphs.”

If I had gotten that morning coffee, I would’ve just spewed it. “Are you delusional? First of all, I don’t work any more than you do.” Though I do have the extra burden of clown feet and hair the color of Kool-Aid. “And I hate to burst your gargantuan ego, but I don’t sit around all day thinking about you.” Well, maybe just a few hours here and there.

“Your column’s been weak the last three issues. As of right now, you’re taking a break.” He places a book in my hands.

“
Reviving the Passion of Nonfiction
?” Sounds thrilling. “Wow, I hate to borrow this from you. I know how you like to read it aloud to all of your dates.” I better not have just seen his mouth quirk.

“Take the next week to read and review some work from published pros.” His voice softens. “Relax your mind.”

The book feels heavy in my hand, and I have to blink to block out the fantasy of braining him with it. “You can’t just stop my column. Mr. Holman will never go for that.”

Luke stands up, rubbing the back of his neck above his Abercrombie collar. “He will if I’m subbing a new column in its place.”

My stomach plummets like the Zipper at the carnival. “Who?”

“Ashley.”

Now I’m standing. “I cannot believe you. Let me guess, if I’d go out with you, you’d reconsider? Is this punishment until I come around?”

His look could freeze the Pacific Ocean. “If you think that then you don’t know me at all.”

“Oh, I know you all right. You’re a control freak, and this is just more proof of it. I’m probably the first girl who’s ever rejected you.”

“The paper is too important. Your column runs on the front page, and lately it’s not even worthy to be in it. I expect more from you, and until I see that progress, you’re done.”

“And you just
randomly
picked her?” I jerk my finger toward the classroom in Ashley’s direction.

Luke takes a deep breath, doing that thing he does when he’s considering his words and trying to be all uppity editorlike. “Everyone else is already writing all they can and worked to the maximum. But Ashley has yet to completely be integrated into the paper. Not that I have to explain myself to you, but she came to me with a great idea for a feature, and now would be the perfect time to use it, since there will be a big gaping hole where
your
work should go.”

I chuckle once and shake my head. “You are so full of it. You know that, Luke Sullivan?”

He leans on the door, his arms crossed. “I’m sorry, Bella. I didn’t handle this well. I lost my temper, and I apologize for my tone. But I’m being sincerely honest when I tell you that removing you from the paper for a week or so isn’t personal. If anything, it’s for your own good. I did it for Trinity Dermott out there last year, and now I’m benching you.”

“Was Trinity also an ex-girlfriend?”

His tanned hand clutches the doorknob, yanking it with a twist. “You have your new assignment. Get to it.”

“I think—”

“Leave, Bella.” He holds the door wide open. “Before you say something else we’re both going to regret.”

By lunchtime I’ve printed out all of this month’s articles with my name on it, read them a hundred times each, and worked up a seriously hideous headache. Luke is right. My writing has stunk lately. But still . . . to put Ashley Timmons in my place? He had to know that was a low blow. Even if her article last week on test prep anxiety was kind of clever. And funny. And well written. Still!

“Kirkwood, you gonna eat those fries? Can you believe when I got to the front of the line they were all out of meat loaf?” Ruthie steals a handful from my plate. “So I think my unicycle ballet needs a few more figure eights. A little more ribbon waving. Tonight I’m going to get crazy and do purple ribbon instead of pink. It will match my hair.”

I stop picking the label off my water bottle long enough to notice Ruthie has once again colored her hair. It looks like Barney held her at gunpoint and took her hair as a hostage. “Very nice.”

“Dang right it is.” Budge pats Ruthie’s teased-out ponytail. “My lady is hot stuff.”

“So then he caught the pass and ran right into the goalpost. Knocked him out for five minutes.”

Across from me, Lindy laughs at Matt’s football practice story. “When is Corey Davis going to suck it up and get his eyes checked?”

“Last week he showed up in his golf shoes. Seriously, the boy needs contacts before coach benches him forever.” Matt takes a drink of Gatorade. “Hey, I was going to go sign up to help with the athletic banquet. Want to go talk to coach and see what they still need?”

“Sure.” Lindy stands up and grabs her food tray.

“Hey, there you are!” Bo Blades jogs toward her and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I have a surprise for you in my car. Come on.” He takes the tray from Lindy’s hands and passes it to Matt. “Take care of this, will you?” Bo pulls Lindy out the cafeteria door, holding her hand like it’s a state championship medal.

“Matt?” I watch him just stand there. Motionless. “You okay?”

He sets the tray down on the table. Takes a seat. “Have you ever wanted something, but didn’t know for sure you wanted this some-thing . . . until it was too late?”

“I assume you’re not talking about the meat loaf.”

He props his chin on his hand. “She was my best friend. I didn’t want to mess that up. I was afraid if we didn’t work out then I would have lost a girlfriend
and
a friend. But now I wonder . . . in playing it safe did I just blow it anyway? I mean, I could’ve had my chance.”

“So you knew she liked you?”

He nods his freckled face. “Yeah. I knew.”

“Wow. She did everything to get your attention this year.”

“I know. Lindy was the brave one. What’s wrong with me that I can’t take risks? I can on the field and on the court, but in my personal life—I always play it safe.” He glances toward the door. “And look where it’s gotten me.”

Ruthie steals another fry off my untouched plate. “You could tell her how you feel. I’m a firm believer in honesty.”

Budge does a double take. “You told me you had a rare mouth disease for the first two weeks we dated so I wouldn’t kiss you.”

“I wasn’t lying. I was adding to my mystique.”

“I had to call my doctor to make sure all my shots were updated.”

“Awww . . .” Ruthie throws her arms around Budge. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Matt, maybe you should just tell her how you feel.”

He grabs a napkin and folds it over and over. “It’s not that easy. I like Lindy a lot—but I don’t know. It’s kind of scary to think about committing to her in that way.” He tosses the napkin down on the table. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand. All that stuff just comes easy to you.”

My eyes slide across the room to where Luke sits with his soccer buddies. And Ashley Timmons. “Right. I’m just a natural.”

I park by Ruthie’s motorcycle on the carnival grounds. I do an automatic scan of the lot just to make sure no escaped killer is skulking about. They seriously need to find Alfredo because I’m sick of having a twenty-four-hour-a-day case of the creeps.

“Hey.”

“Oh!” I jump and spin around. “You—you scared me.”

The new magician stares at me like he’s memorizing my face. “Sorry. I guess you didn’t see me behind you.”

I look over the parking lot again. Just a second ago there was no one around. Where did he come from?

I nervously lick my lips. “I’m Bella.”
And I’d give you my last
name, but you look like the type who would Google me, find my house,
and come over to show me your knife collection
.

“I’m, uh, Jensen. Artie Jensen.” He angles his close-cropped head to the ground and speed walks right past me. “Have a good night.”

“You too.” Weirdo.

A few hours later I look out from the back curtain. The crowds are getting smaller and smaller every night. Soon the Fritz Family Carnival will be leaving, and if I don’t break this case, I’ll have nothing to show for it but a deep, abiding hate for honking clown noses and polka-dotted jumpsuits.

The performers meet in the center of the ring and take their final bows. The audience stands up and applauds as Red wishes them a happy evening and safe travel.

As I take off my wig and hang it on the hook, Luke steps into the changing area. “Bella, we need to talk.”

I glare him down in the mirror. “I think we’ve said enough.”

Ruthie sits down to pull off her giant clown shoes, not even hiding the fact that she’s listening to every word.

“You know we need to discuss this.”

“What are we discussing?” Ruthie asks. “I like discussions.”

“Go away, Luke.” I pull off my bow tie and place it in a plastic crate. “There’s nothing more to say. You said my writing sucks, and you put Ashley in my place.”

“Oh, no, you didn’t!” Ruthie slaps her thigh and laughs. “That is some serious drama, boy.”

Luke shoots her a silencing glare. “I don’t want to fight with you, Bella.”

I pick up my purse and sling it around my shoulder. “Then I guess one of us should leave.” I sail past him and head out into the arena.
God, why are boys so difficult? One minute I want to kiss him
and tell him exactly how I feel, and the next I want to shove my rainbow
wig up his nose and pull it out his ears
.

I walk by Cherry, who stands below the trapeze, gazing upward.

“Hey, Bella.”

“You did great tonight. You’re just amazing up there . . . and the crowd loves you.”

Her eyes dim. “My family doesn’t.”

“Well . . .” I don’t know what to say. “Dolly’s crazy about you. You know she loves you.”

The smile returns. “And Mickey.”

“Is he spending a lot of time out at the house?”

Cherry unwraps her ponytail and shakes out her glossy hair. “He’s there for dinner every night now. They’re still a little nervous around each other, but it’s kind of fun to watch.”

God, I do not want to be in my fifties and still not have this love
business figured out
.

“Still keeping the dog under wraps?”

She nods. “It’s our secret.”

“Cherry, um . . .” I check over my shoulder for anyone nearby. “Stewart and Red have been going out late after almost every show and digging.” I check for any signs of recognition. All I see staring back at me is cluelessness.

“Digging for what?”

“I was hoping you’d know the answer to that.”

“No idea.”

“Did Betty ever mention them having to find anything? Maybe they buried something the last time they were here?”

She scans her memory bank. “No. But how do you know they’ve been searching for something?”

“We’ve been following them.” I catch sight of Luke across the way, sitting in the bleachers as if he’s waiting for me. I struggle to rein my thoughts back to this conversation. “And this week I found the map they’ve been using to search.”