CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE ~ OPERATION: COOKIE CUTTER ~ by B.A. Linhares

No sign of Josh. Damn! The Food Court is packed. I lower my head and skirt over to the cold drink machines and get in line. At least nobody seems to care about Mom being back in the news. Not very many high school age kids check out the headlines. Or so I thought. Char and Billy are sitting at a table next to the Mexicali kiosk. Char is dabbing at her eyes with a wad of napkins. She looks traumatized. I shoot her a questioning look. Billy grabs both of her hands. He looks like he’s trying to make up. Char just shakes her head. Then she jump up suddenly and runs away looking like she’s going to be sick. Billy gets up and joins the table full of football players. I doubt he even is aware of my presence—fine by me. The girl behind me clears her throat indicating it’s my turn at the beverage machine.

“Obviously, Char and Billy are having issues.” Sorry, I have my own problems to deal with. I pop open my Pepsi and take a long gulp. I spot Brook and Zak heading to the outside patio. Hum, Brook surely read and or saw the latest news. I decide to join them even though it is high noon and sweltering. Besides, I need to discuss parking etiquette with my man Zak. Plus, I could use some friendly companionship. Anyway.

Brook has her nose in a book, what else is news? She gives me a brief nod and murmur of acknowledgement. Zak is sitting across the round table, his back to us. He’s entertaining himself by picking mystery meat out of a pita sandwich and tossing it to a flock of gigantic black birds, dive-bombing the grassy knoll.

“Hi.” Before sitting, I check the cement bench for fresh bird deposits, why no one likes sitting outside. Today is no exception––thanks to Zak.

“Sup?” Zak says, smiling happily over his shoulder, and goes back to feeding the vermin.

I sit silently sipping my deliciously refreshing Pepsi, enjoying the moment of peace in the sun. I’m still a little ticked at Zak because he apparently doesn’t possess enough brain cells to park a car correctly. I eye the surfer on Zak’s Hawaiian shirt and dream about learning how to surf. Oh well, I’ll let him slide this time. I scan the area watching people come and go. Odd, I haven’t seen Sean since seeing him at Kelly house.

Zak yells, “Look out, incoming!”

Brook quickly raises her book over her head just as a bird flies overhead and lets loose with bird pudding. Brook grimaces down at the glob of purple and while slime on the bench, mere inches from her hip.

I scream. “Gross!”

Zak jumps up. “Dude, do you see that!” He see the puddle. “Whoa...like, that was way too close for comfort!”

Jumping up, Brook spots the mess and yells, “Gross!” Twisting sideways, she checks the seat of her white Capri pants. She come over to me. “Do you see anything Cookie?”

She turns in a circle and I examine her backside.

“Nope. Looks like you lucked out.”

Brook shoves a wad of paper napkins at her boyfriend. “Wipe it up Zak and stop feeding the birds!”

“Ewe, gnarly,” Zak mumbles as he wipes off the bench. He travels over to the side of the building and tosses the rest of his lunch and the paper napkins in a trashcan. The birds leave to check out the trash can, thank god. He comes back looking guilty and sits down facing Brook and me.

“Sorry. So, Cookmyster how’s the Seanmyster?”

This question catches me off guard. “It’s weird,” I say without thinking, “how one minute someone is in your life and the next minuet, POOF their gone.”

 Brook gives me her best compassionate-friend look and says “Cookie, just know that me and Zak are here for you.”

Zak comes over and puts an arm around my shoulder. He give me a sweet smile. “Like fur sure, dudette.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Thanks guys.”

Zak goes back and sits down. His smile is replaced by a blank look. “Er, what are we talking about?”

Brook leans toward Zak and says, “Hell-o. Zak, Cookie and Sean broke up. We’re you paying attention this morning?”

Zak looks perplexed.

I hold up my hands. “It’s cool you guys, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” Brook shakes her head at Zak and goes back to her book.

After a minute or two of silence, Zak smacks his forehead and mutters the word, “Zipper.”

“Zipper?” I ask, wondering if he needs to be tested for SASD.

“Yeah...yeah...my Terrier.” He nods his head earnestly. “I named him Zipper because he like, zip off after a Frisbee, his little dog legs pumping to beat the band. It was amazing he’d fly through the air like Super Dog!” Zak rockets his hand past my face and I pull back to avoid impact. “Zipper could catch a Frisbee in his teeth every single solitary time!” Zak smiles happily and runs his hands over his long blonde dreadlocks.

“Do you still have him?”

Zak’s face clouds over and his blue eyes fill with tears and turn red.

“What’s wrong?”

Zak wipes tears on the sleeves of his shirt.

Brook says, “Zipper ran away.”

Brook passes him a tissue from a packet she had in her purse.

Zak blows his nose. “One day this strong-ass-wind caught the Frisbee. It took off like a spaceship and sailed into the forest next to the park. Old Zip took off after it...you know. I waited and waited and called and called, but like, the little rascal never came back.”

“Zak slept in those woods for a solid week.”

“Yeah, hoping the little dude would catch my scent. It was like Zipper did a Houdini.” Zak shakes his head, tears streaming openly down his face. “So, like I feel your pain Cookie about losing someone you loved.” He gets up suddenly and says, “I’m like going for chocolate. I need some comfort food.”

I watch Zak slog across the lawn and go inside the Food Court building, his shoulder slumped. I turn toward Brook. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yes.” Brook closes her book and rolls her eyes. “I’ve heard the Zipper story like a zillion times, he cries every time he tells it.”

“Ah.”

Brook sighs. “Alas, my Zak is the most tenderhearted fellow you’d ever hope to meet.” She frowns at me. “Seriously Cookie, how’re you doing? You look a little tired.” Brook stares at me with her know big brown eyes.

I shrug. “Considering I only got about three hours of sleep last night, I’m doing surprisingly well. Seriously, don’t worry about me.” I so want to tell her all about Josh O'Dell and our adventures.

Brook simply nods her head, reading between the line. She instinctively knows that I do need to talk about this.

After a minute or two she says cautiously, “I saw––you know the President’s speech. Plus my dad showed me the paper this morning. The media can be so callous!” When I don’t say anything she adds, “I heard about Sean through the grapevine queen Char. Has Sean really hooked up with Kelly Albright already?”

I shrug again. “I don’t know.”

I let out a long sigh and look up at the clear blue sky trying to express my jumbled thoughts in a Reader’s Digest version. A jet stream trail gives me an idea. “Okay, here’s what’s going on with Char and Sean––at least in my mind.” I look at Brook. “Char and Sean are like loose strings that need to be repaired or cut off permanently. Problem is I’m just not sure which. Or if I’m up to the task.” I get up and lob my can into the nearby recycle receptacle, wishing I had another. I sit back down. “Brook, Sean has moved on. I saw him with her.”

Brook studies my face for a few minuets. “Char approached me this morning inquiring about you” —she waves her hand–– “of course I refused to tell her anything— anyway, I noticed that she looked puffier than usual and a little green around the gills.”

I blink at Brook. “Yeah, I saw her run out of the lunchroom like she was going to spew.” I think she’s always trying to lose weight and boarder line bulimic.

“Maybe she’s got the flu,” Brook offers.

“Yeah.”

“So, when I refused to answer her questions, Char said she needed to tell you something that is—and I quote— ‘bee-yond importanti’.”

I turn down my mouth. “Hum, I wonder what it could be.”

“So, you what to explain the deal in the newspaper?”

“It’s complicated. FBI stuff.”

Brook just stares at me. I can’t tell her about Operation: Cookie Cutter or anything that’s going on in my life at the moment, but I can talk about Josh.

“Well, you know Josh O’Dell, right?”

“Sure, he’s like, in most of my advanced classes. He’s looking fine this year with his new bod. Why?” Brook looks shocked. “Wait...did I just say “like”?” She grabs her throat. “Kill me now!”

I look over Brook’s shoulder. Zak strolls back to the table looking cheerier than when he left. At his side is a petite black girl wearing a red tee shirt tucked into her jeans. The front says: ID RATHER BE HATED FOR WHO I AM THAN LOVED FOR WHO I AM NOT.

“Sweets for the sweets,” he says, dumping five candy bars on the table.

“Thanks.” I snatch up a Snicker bar.

Zak rips open a Three Musketeer and takes a huge bite. He turns to the girl—cheeks bulging—and says, “Oh yeah...this Karwen, she’s from sum gobernment fuwnded tolerwance goop.”

“Hi, I’m Karren Longfellow with Campus Connections,” she says infectiously, flashes a white toothy smile.

Brook and I—embarrassed for Zak—smile up at her automatically. She extends her hand and we feel obligated to shack it and tell her our names. Her big brown eyes linger over me in a ‘don’t I know you from somewhere’ way and I immediately feel uneasy and suspicious. My inner self says trust no one. Campus Connections? Whatever. On the other hand, Karren could be my new body guard working with Ivan. Or one of Valentine’s KGB moles.

“May I?” Karren asks, pointing to the empty bench space next to me.

“Sure, take a load off,” Zak says, polishing off the candy bar, sliding another one in the breast pocket of his baggy Hawaiian shirt. Just as Karren sits down, the bell rings announcing the end of Second Lunch. Like trained soldiers, Zak, Brook and I stand up with our things.

 “Nice meeting you.” Brook and Zak wave good bye and leave me alone with Karren.

“Sorry, I have to go to my next class,” I explain, taking a step backwards.

“Um, mind if I walk with you?”

I shrug. “I guess so.”

We hop up on the covered sidewalk and Karren opens the door for me and smiles. “Cookie, you have the prettiest hair. Are you Irish?”

Okay here it comes. Karren wants to get chummy. “Half Irish-half Russian,” I say, entering the hallway and stop in my tracks. “Wait a minute. Are you with the press?” Karren shakes her head and looks at me like I’m crazy. Okay maybe I am a little paranoid. Still, I’m not signing anything.

Luckily, the halls are too noisy and crowed to talk or even walk next to each other. Amazing. Nobody bugs me. Much like the news, school rumors die on the grapevine replaced by newer juicer gossip.

Karren Longfellow follows me the whole way and enters my Creative Writing classroom. She actually comes in and makes a beeline over to the teacher Ms. Fergus, and they hug. I wonder if this is a ploy. Reporters are notoriously sneaky. I pretend to sharpen my pencil and tune into their little chitchat. Turns out Ms. Fergus was expecting her. Hum. I take my seat is in the front row right across from Ms. Fergus’ desk thanks to the evil alphabetical demons. As the students file in, Karren moves to the center of the floor flashing her white toothy smile, counting heads, as she looks us over. She is very pretty, and perky as all get out.

The final bell rings, Karren, and Fergus move to the front and stand side by side. Once everybody settles down, Ms. Fergus drapes an arm around Karren’s shoulders and says loudly, “Class, this is Karren Longfellow from Campus Connections.” She drops her arm and motion for Karren to take the floor. “Karren, thank you for coming,” Ms. Fergus says earnestly as she backs away and perches on the edge of her desk. “Why don’t you fill the students in?”

Karren Longfellow smiles at us and waits for the muttering to stop. I have to admit I’m curious however skeptical as to why she is in my room as apposed to another. All eyes are on her. Especially the two new people to my right, grinning like goons and checking her out big time. I won’t repeat what they’re saying behind their hands.

Karren waves her hands. “Hi. It is very nice to meet all of you.” She tosses a look over her shoulder. “Thank you again Ms. Fergus, for letting me borrow your class.”

She spends the next five minuets or so explaining in a cheerleader voice ‘what the deal is’ and how Campus Connections volunteers go to schools across the ‘fruited land’ helping displaced Katrina students acclimate, yada-yada. Basically, what she told me earlier. She’s a really good speaker. She didn’t say “um” once.

Karren pauses. “Any questions so far?”

She rises up on her toes, I guess waiting for hands to go up. I glance around. Nobody asks anything although she’s clearly captivated everyone’s attention. I’ve never seen such an attentive bunch.

“Allrightythen.” She takes a deep breath and continues, “So, last week, the entire GHS staff conducted workshops with the staff of volunteers from Campus Connections. We did a lot of brain-stormin’ and came up with activities to make the new students feel welcome.” The groaning and moaning that emits from a few of the ‘new students’ doesn’t seem to damper Karren Longfellow’s optimism. She doesn’t miss a beat. “The awesome teachers at Georgetown High, your principal Mr. Bishop, the administrative staff, and a hand full of students put their head together and came up with some dynamite ways to help the transition.” Karren walks off to the side and gestures toward Ms. Fergus, still sitting on the edge of her desk. Karren says, “Ms. Fergus worked tirelessly to coordinate and compile all of our ideas. What do you say? Let’s give her a big round of applause!”

Karren Longfellow crosses the floor and takes center stage again, clapping her hands like a cheerleader. The new students look unimpressed with the idea of playing dumb psychobabble games so we can all ‘just get along’ and not kill each other.  

“Class,” Ms. Fergus says, trying helping out Karren’s cause. “Once you hear Karren out, I think you will all have a lot of fun.” Ms. Fergus is a cool teacher and well liked by those who have her for a teacher. That said most of the class claps ardently. Even a few ‘new students’ give it up and slow-clap although reluctantly.

 “Thank you. Thank you! You guys ROCK!” Karren shouts waving her fist in the air. “So what do you say we get started by getting to know each other,” she says, slightly out of breath as she paces around the classroom, her white tennis shoes squeaking on the floor. Her strait black shoulder-length hair and big silver hoop earrings bounce with each step. I half expect her to do a cartwheel down the center isle. “I’ll start by telling you that I currently attend Tulane University in New Orleans. I’m majoring in Liberal Art. My dream is to become a journalist for the Washington Post.”

She stops next to a boy I’ve never seen before, and gives him a sad look. He looks away, slumping further down in his seat.

“But that dream was temporality put on hold when my family home in Biloxi was destroyed by hurricane Katrina. My family needed me to come help them relocate, and I soon found out about the thousands of other people needed me too. So, I put my education on the back burner for a year and joined Campus Connections. Or as we like to call it, CC.”

She touches the boy lightly on his shoulder, “What is your name?”

He looks up, and then scoots up in his seat looking smug. “Jerome Van Johnson.”

Karren taps her chin. “Isn’t your father Senator Van Johnson?”

The corners of his mouth curl up, he looks slightly embarrassed. “No, that’s my grandfather.”

Jerome tells us that he wants to be a war photographer or a work for CNN as a photo journalist.

Karren smile and looks around the classroom. “You can be anything you put your minds and hearts to. Nothing can stop you from becoming a photographer or a professional writer…except you!”

This gets me thinking, could I be a professional writer? I pick up my pencil and write a few lines about what happened in Austria the night before Mom disappeared. New stuff that just came to me.

“Cookie, my new friend, tell us about your career ambitions.”

I jump. Hearing my name pulls me out of my muse. Everyone is waiting for me to speak. Karren is standing beside me. I feel my face heat up. I sit up straighter and clear my throat. I refuse to stumble and look like a dork. “Well, um, I started writing regularly in a personal journal and discovered that I enjoyed putting my thoughts and feelings down on paper. I guess you could say that it’s freeing and I realized that I enjoyed telling stories. So, I eventually shared this revelation with my Career Counselor Mrs. Everett, last year while working on my senior class schedule. She’s the one who encouraged me to take Creative Writing this year.”

Karren smiles. “What genre do you prefer?”

“Don’t know. This and that. I write about whatever pop into my head.” I hesitate telling the class what I write it’s too personal.

Karren Longfellow asks, “Are you a good writer?”

I crinkle my nose. “How would I know if I’m any good?”

Karren crosses her arms and looks at me. “You know what Cookie? I’m willing to bet that if you like what you write others will too.”

I smile at that.

“Any other career aspirations?”

I think a minuet. “I’m also considering a career in law enforcement.” This announcement brings on a few chuckles from the class. The boy on my right hold up his hands as if he thinks I’m going to arrest him.

Ms. Fergus looks at him. “Who says you can’t be successful at more than one vocation.” He just shrugs and looks down at the top of the desk.

Karren strolls around the room, asking a few more students about their life aspirations. I have to admit that I like her. She has the gift of gab and makes the kids feel at ease until she says, “Now we are going to do what we call QW stands for Quick-Write.” She motions for us to get up. “Ya’ll need to shuffle your desks around into five groups. Every fifth row, you may have more folks in a group, but that’s okay. Help me split the classroom up into five groups.”

Nobody moves.

Karren claps her hands and shouts, “Come on! Get off your butts!”

For the next few minuets, the classroom is in total chaos while Karren and Ms. Fergus help us drag desks around. Karren Longfellow sees a few sitting at their desk. “Wait! Don’t sit down just yet!”

Everybody stands around next to their desk, waiting for the next command.

“Perfect,” Karren says looking around with satisfaction. She checks her notes and hold up a hand fingers splayed. “Okay, I understand there are five new students in this class. Don’t be shy. Raise your hands if you’re new.” It takes a few minuets, but eventually five hands go up. Karren stands on her tip toes and points silently counting each person with their hand up. “Super, you’re all present, that makes my job way simpler.” The five, a chubby girl with braids and braces, and four tall boys, keep their gaze on the floor. Karren puts her hands on her tiny hips. “Now, each of you go and sit with a different group and introduce your selves to each other.”

Karren backs up and perches on the desk next to Ms. Fergus while the five ‘new people’ finally are settled; the other students welcome them with fancy handshakes and hi-fives.

Karren says, “Now for the next few minuets, talk as a group about how you felt when something in your lives changed drastically. If you’re too shy to say it out loud, write it down and pass it around to the people in your group. Once everyone in your group adds, a thought or a sentence chose one spokes person to stand up and sum up what was written or said. Also solutions.”

A few hands go up and Karren Longfellow and Ms. Fergus answer their questions about grading etc. “There is no grade,” Karren says, grinning wide. “This is just for fun ya’ll!”

“Spelling and punctuation don’t count…this time,” Ms. Fergus adds humorously.

One of the new boys says, “Good, cuz I’m not playing this stupid game. Know what I’m sayin’?”

Karren hears this and shakes her head in the positive. “Hey, ya know what. It doesn’t matter that it happened to you because whatever IT is, it probably happened before. Know what I’m sayin’?”

He stares at Karren defiantly until the other people in his group reach out to him. Somebody behind me says, “Come on. I tell you mine if you tell me your.” After that, a low hum of conversation fills the classroom.

I write down “Going to my mom’s funeral sucked!” fold the paper in a small square and hold it in my fist. In my mind, I practice my speech incase called on again. I’m out of touch with the whole bonding thingy. I’ve been a loner since Mom died, other than my few close friends on swim team and Sean. I keep to myself. I don’t mean to be insensitive; it’s just that I have so much on my mind right now. I smile at my group and let them do the talking. I listen and play along though…like I have a choice. Some stories are very sad, but most were pretty hilarious. Proving perceptions change when looking back on situations that seemed so hard at the time. I guess hindsight is the key to the Universe. I’m glad they never got around to asking me what I wrote down. I also wrote a solution and Karren Longfellow read it aloud. The class applauded. Hey, at least I contributed something.

She says, “Everyone seems to like your suggestion to have a RAK (Random Acts of Kindness) Senior Kindness Day. Maybe we can try it for a month or so and see if it catches on.”

We put the desk back just as the first dismissal bell rings. Karren picks up a shoulder bag (big enough for her to get into) and slings it over her shoulder as if it weighs nothing. She corners me on the way out. “Well, Cookie, please tell me that the Quick-Write helped break the ice and bring the class closer together.” She sounds as if her life depends on a few kids fitting in.

I shrug. “Sure, it seemed to help a lot.”

“Thanks, input is crucial to keep the project effective.” Karren touches her heart. “I was touched to the core after hearing their stories.” At the door, she holds out her hand. “After you.”

We step out in the hall and I snake around the crowd in the hall and race out the doors. Karren is on my heels. “Where’s the fire?”

I yell over my shoulder, “I don’t want to be late for 5th Period trig. Mr. Walker is the meanest teacher ever. If you arrive one second after the bell he sends you to the office for a hall pass.”

Karren has to gallop to keep up with me. “Thanks for the heads up,” she tells me panting. “I’m on my way to Room 103, um…”

Karren keeps talking and I am too busy scoping the area for Sean and or Josh. I also am on the lookout for suspicious adults aka bodyguards.

“Jezi in the office gave me this.” Still on the move, she unzips the side of her bag and pulls out a GHS Packet, fumbles for the map. “It’s close by according to this school map...” She bumps into a pole and drops the packet, papers spill on the ground.

I drop down and help her. “I’ll take you there…my trig class is in room one-o-three.”

A kid I don’t even know runs by us going in the opposite direction, yells, “Saw you in the paper Cookie Blakely, nice shot!”

Karren narrows her eyes a little and smiles. “That’s right…my brother told me that her daughter was put in his Crime class.”

Her daughter? Then it dawns on me that Karren Longfellow is the sister he told us about. “Wait, Mr. Jackson is your brother?”

Karren nods earnestly. “Half-brother, we have different dads. Yep,” She says smiling, flashing a row of straight white teeth. “I’m in town doing the CC project for the next month so I’m staying with Dolph. By the way Cookie, I read what you wrote today. I don’t know how you coped. Not knowing who your grandparent were and then finding out that they were murdered by a KGB—that’s remarkable!”

I gasp. Karren Longfellow’s words swirls around my head.

She keeps talking, “I must say, that as a future journalist I was compelled to follow the Agent Sheahan-Blakely case closely. I found it appalling that the FBI would allow the death of a fellow agent to be killed. I hope they don’t stop investigating until they learn who dropped the ball on that one! My lands, Cookie, what on earth do you think hap—”

I hold up my hand to shut her up. “Uh, sorry to interrupt, but I’m not supposed to talk to anyone about the case.”

I turn and push past a clump of people blocking the exit door. Just outside my next class, I hear someone call my name. So I cut her off. I don’t mean to be rude, but it makes me angry thinking she wants to pester me about Mom. Not now, not ever!

“Please wait Cookie.” It’s Karren sounding contrite.

UH! Now I know how Michael Jackson feels. Well...maybe not Michael Jackson. I reach for the doorknob and feel a hand on my arm. Trapped. I turn to her and count to ten.

“What? What do you want?”

Karren adjusts her heavy load. “To apologies. Look. I-I’m so sorry; it’s just that I have this over enthusiastic mouth that gets me into trouble. Dolph says to be a good reporter a big mouth is requisite. I fit the part to a tee.” She blinks at me and asks, “Still friends?”

Friends? “Sure.”

Karren opens the door for me. She taps me on the shoulder still babbling about God knows what. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I was about to say that Dolph told me why you were switched to his class.  Because Basic Science classes were full.”

I glance inside the is nearly empty classroom. Confused, I pause and glance down at my watch. It stopped on 12:13. Way to go Sean!

We step through the door and Karren follows me to my desk.

“It’s just that, well...when we saw the president last night...” Her voice trails off when she sees my strained look. “Sorry, I’m doing it again aren’t I?”

I drop my backpack on the floor. “No, hey, it’s just that I didn’t want to be late…” I have to be nice to her if I want to pass Mr. J’s class. I force a smile wondering if I missed an announcement about a class cancelation. Then without a hello or even a look in our direction, Mr. Walker bustles into the class with a few students that are always at his side trying to suck up to him in toe.

Karren slides her eyes to the front of the room and whispers, “Right, Mr. Walker is the meanest teacher ever.”

Okay. I take my seat and smile up at her wishing she’d leave so I could finish last night’s homework. I unzip my backpack, tugging out my worksheet and a pencil.

Karren crosses her arms and takes out a thick packet from the large backpack. Great. I wonder if she’s planning to do the Campus Connections gig in Mr. Walker’s class as well. It would be more fun than drawing tangents and right triangles.

I ask, “So, um, are you doing your CC thing in here too?”

Karren shakes her head and uses the packet as a fan. “Not today. I’m just dropping off this packet and hopefully set up a future date.” She whispers, “Mr. Walkers not thrilled with giving up his class time.”

“Ah.” So go and stop trolling moi! I take out my look down at the Inverse Trig Functions I’ve been struggling with. “Actually, I would welcome your gig apposed to this.

Karren picks up my paper. “I love this stuff!” She drops her bag on the next desk and helps me as the rest of the class pours through the door. Karren moves out of the way of the boy that sits in front of me and checks her wristwatch. “Oh sugar! I forgot that I have to meet with the Drama department in a few minuets to boot.” She struggles with the heavy bag and tells me, “They’re working on comical skits that act out what it’s like starting at a new school. But after that I’m gonna stop by Dolph’s class.”

Mr. Walker is staring at us.

Karren backs away and talks fast, “The RAK idea (Random Acts of Kindness) Senior Kindness Day is a great idea Cookie. Very insightful. I would love to help you get it started. I thought it might be cool to talk about some idea there. Dolph won’t mind.”

“Yeah, that would be cool.” I wave goodbye as she slips through the door, and then look down at my completed trig homework page. I’m starting to think Mr. Jackson’s sister is pretty cool.

 

Turns out, we have a student intern who insists we call her by her first name, Claudette. She walks in and old man Walker announces he has to leave for a doctor appointment. The guys are digging her because she’s beautiful and dressed like a sleaze. It’s great, she didn’t do anything the whole time except sit on the top of Mr. Walker’s desk filing her nails, popping her chew gum then thumbing through fashion magazines. She tells us ‘as long as we keep it down we could use the time to do whatever we wanted.

Works for me.

I pull out my legal pad and start writing down even more things I remember about our trip last Christmas. A lot is probably dumb, but oh well––Ivan seems to think any and all info could help with the probe. During this, I also come up with a great title for the crime investigation Josh and I are working on. Operation: STOP-A-STALKER—or not. I also jot down some RAK ideas on a separate sheet. Karren’s comments started me thinking about how I’ve been too wrapped up in my little life. I’ve literally allowed the rest of the world slip away—it’s time I stop being so self-centered and do something for others. I write and write until my hand starts cramping. When I look up from my notebook, the clock say 2:26 this class is over. I quickly shove everything into my backpack and zip it up just as the bell rings. Time FLEW by. It’s like my brain is on fire.

I dash out into the hall, syked about Mr. Jackson’s class. I slow down and catch my breath. Truth. I can’t wait to see Josh. I speed up and fast walk past the Auditorium. Karren Longfellow is standing just inside the doors. I take a giant step skirt around a clump of people. Hoo-ly crap! I murmur silently and slam on the breaks. Sean is ahead of me. He stops to talk to the twins who were in the aforementioned clump.

Someone slams into my back. “Hey, what the...,”

I side step, press my shoulder into a book locker to avoid being seen, never taking my eyes off the back of Sean’s blonde head. They start to disabuse, but I stay put, praying Sean doesn’t look back.

“Excuse me...you’re leaning on my locker.”

“S-Sorry,” I say and move one step forward almost tripping on my own feet. The twins point in my direction and Sean turns around. I quickly squat and pretend to be messing with the strap of my Mary-Jane’s. Please dear God make him not see me.

“Hey, down there,” a familiar male voice says.

It feels like I stuck my face into a 400 degrees oven. What to do? If I punch him I’ll get expelled, too many witnesses. I quickly decide to go for a casual friendly attitude. I look up at Sean and smile.

“Oh...hey. Hold up,” I mumble, pretending to finish with my shoe. What am I going to say to him? Is there any possibility the rumors Char is spreading were wrong? No, he was in the car with Kelly. Over at her house

I stand up slowly letting my eyes travel from Sean’s knees to his face. He looks totally hot in his faded jeans...and the sky blue button shirt...the exact color of his eyes. Sean’s arms are crossed over his muscular chest, his sleeves rolled up as far as the muscles on his forearms will allow.

“Um...hi Sean, er—” I swallow, to open my dry throat and to stop stammering like a dork.

 “Look Cookie,” Sean says in a controlled voice. “We need to talk, but not here or right now.”

His eyes dart around then stop. I follow his gaze and see Kelly at her locker at the end of the hall. Lovely. My brain starts conjuring up images them doing the things everyone is gossiping about. The images make me see red.

“NO Sean!” I say, a little too loudly. “You LOOK!”

People give us sideways glances as they walk by, whispering behind cupped hands to their friends. I lower my head and my voice.

“I really don’t think we have anything to discuss!” I turn to go and Sean grabs my arm and whips me around.

“Come on,” he whispers, nuzzling my ear.

I smell his cologne and my knees feel weak. I stare at our feet wondering if Kelly is watching all this.

He forces my chin up with his finger. “Don’t be that way. Just give me a few minuets after school. Today is Tuesday...that means no swim practice. I’ll meet you at your car after school.” Sean leans closer and whispers, “I miss you.”

Somebody yells, “PDA ALERT!” (Public Display of Affection).

I take a step back and want to scream LIAR! But when I open my mouth, no sound comes out. Sean puts his finger under my chin again and locks eyes with me. I flinch and my spine tightens.

“Don’t...leave...without...talking...to...me.” Sean says between clenched teeth.

I sputter, “Fine!”

I know. I’m weak. Sean smiles briefly then leaves me standing there with my mouth hanging open. Why did I tell Sean I would meet him? UGH! I hate conflict! I am a conflict avoider. The bell above my head rings and I jump. I look down at my dead watch—nice CHEAP birthday present Sean! Grrr!

I shake off my anger and get my feet moving. I’m out of breath as I push through the doors to the garden of the new science wing. Sean’s words ring in my ears. “Don’t...leave...without...talking...to...me.” A shiver runs down my spine. I grit my teeth. Something about his tone gives me the heebie-jeebies. After the way he acted. No way am I ever going to let him inside my Mustang. Or my life. So much for letting the world in again.