“Hey. Goody Two Shoes.”
Lola stumbled and glanced over her shoulder, unnerved to find the boy from detention not far behind. She hadn’t even heard him.
“What did you call me?” Lola was immediately annoyed at the label and it showed in her voice. She was so sick of being ridiculed when she didn’t deserve it.
One side of the boy’s full mouth lifted and his eyes darkened, like he was having naughty thoughts. Lola’s pulse tripped and she turned away. Ignoring him would probably be the best option.
Only he strode along beside her, looking completely at ease and in no hurry to go his own way. Lola glanced at him, surprised by how tall he was; even taller than Sebastian. He wasn’t as muscular as Sebastian; his was a more lean build. He smelled faintly of cologne; expensive, good-smelling cologne.
Why am I even thinking of this? Lola asked herself and pushed the door open, blinking in the blinding light of the sun. It was a nice day out, in the sixties with a light breeze. The wind caught her hair and played with it.
“I called you Goody Two Shoes. What were you in for? Did you forget to say please when you asked to go to the bathroom? Show up one minute late for class? Wear white on a red only day?”
Face on fire, Lola glared at him. He waited, an innocent look on his sharply angled face. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“You have no idea,” was his response.
“Well, I’m not. So…goodbye.” Lola turned in the direction of her house, her steps leaden with dread.
“Lola.” Softly spoken, like a caress.
She stopped and slowly turned to face the nameless boy, breath uneven. “Who are you?”
The sunlight hit him just right and he seemed to glow; become otherworldly, angelic even. Lola shook her head and he was just a troubled boy once more.
His lips twisted. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Something nagged at her subconscious, but she pushed it away, feeling sick. “No. I don’t know you.”
I don’t want to know you.
Where had that come from?
An emotion flickered within the pale green depths of his eyes and was gone; his perpetual brood back in place. “The name’s Jack, Goody Two Shoes. Jack Forrester.”
“Don’t call me Goody Two Shoes. It’s not nice!”
He laughed. “It’s not nice? Really? You can’t even have a comeback that doesn’t sound preppy.”
Everyone was always ganging up on her, belittling her, criticizing her, making her feel less than. A burst of anger erupted in Lola and she reacted without thought. She slammed her palms against Jack’s hard chest and shoved. It felt amazing.
He propelled back, arms waving, and landed on his rear end in the grass with a grunt. His look of incomprehension was comical.
Lola put her hands over her mouth, eyes wide, and stared at him in horror. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I just did that.”
When Jack just sat there looking at her like he couldn’t believe it either, laughter bubbled up. She was stunned by the sound of it, and her expression must have shown it, because Jack intently watched her, like he knew some secret about her even she didn’t know. Lola’s laughter abruptly cut off.
“Stop staring at me.”
“I’ve never seen anyone look so surprised to be happy,” he said quietly.
Her eyes burned and she swallowed. Lola grabbed her backpack she’d dropped at some point and raced home. She forced herself not to look back, not once.
Why had he acted like she was supposed to know him, to remember him? Like they’d had some kind of interaction or shared some experience together. They never had. She would remember if they had.
He was probably on drugs as well as being an academic failure and troublemaker. They all usually went hand and hand. Lola pushed the guilt she felt with that thought away and inwardly put a layer of armor on. She was home.
3
She crept past the partially opened bedroom door on the way to her own bedroom, hoping against hope they were asleep and wouldn’t know she was home two hours late from school. Supper would be late as well. Lola’s stomach churned at the thought of repercussions.
The floor creaked and gave her away.
“Lola, is that you?”
Lola closed her eyes. “Yes. I’m sorry for being noisy.”
“Open the door.”
She didn’t want to open the door, she didn’t want to see her mother and Bob in bed and think of the things they did there. It made her nauseous. How could her mother stand the look of him, the smell of him, his touch?
“I have to get ready for work, Mom.” A lie. She didn’t have to work tonight. Lola didn’t want to be home either.
“Please come here.” The weakness of her voice, the acute sorrow in it, pulled at Lola. She slowly pushed the door open. It smelled musty and unclean in the room. It smelled like Bob.