Starlee's Turn (The Wayward Sons 2)

Through my absolute embarrassment, I reply, “Night,” and close the window with a tight click.

I’m in bed before Leelee gets home, not willing to risk a talk with her if Sierra happened to see her on her way home. I doubt it, though. I think Sierra is just doing her job and I know it’s not fair for me or the guys to push her.

It’s not fair, I think, turning off my light and snuggling under my covers, but it’s hard enough resisting one of the Wayward Sons. Four? I’m doomed for trouble over and over again.

22

Starlee

“Are you really joining the service club with my brother?” George asks. He’s working on his portfolio and I’m gluing pieces of magazine to my cardstock using thick, goopy glue and a paint brush. I’m not exceptionally good at this, alternatingly applying either too much glue or too little, driving George crazy. More than once he’s grabbed the brush and muttered, “Are you trying to kill me?” under his breath before smoothing out my collage with expertise.

He’s adorable.

“Yes, our first meeting is this afternoon. When is your portfolio due?” I ask, scraping the last bit of glue out of my little cup. I feel a little more comfortable talking in class now, especially when Ms. Peterman plays music. This week she’s been on a Bob Marley kick.

“It needs to be done by the first of November. Submissions are due on the 30th.”

“Are you going to be ready?”

“I think so.” His knee bounces under the table, shaking the whole thing. I give him a look and he smiles apologetically. “Sorry.”

“I have a question.”

“What’s that?”

“If you’ve got ADHD so bad, how come you can focus on these projects so easily? I mean, your attention span seems better than Jake’s.”

He shrugs. “I like art and I just get into it. I think the difference is that Jake really struggles with the reading, so he does anything he can to avoid it.”

“Do you think the football is helping you?”

He laughs, a bit too loud, and Ms. Peterman shushes him. In a lower voice he says, “It definitely wears me out.”

“Mr. Evans and Ms. Jones, if you’re going to chatter all class and not do any work, you may as well run an errand for me.”

I start to protest, immediately feeling my cheeks warm in humiliation. I hate being called out in class, it’s like some kind of trigger or something from my middle school days, and George seems to be a lightning rod for teacher admonishment. I duck my head but he stands, walking over to her desk.

“You coming?” he calls.

I take a breath and walk over. “I’m sorry for being disruptive. It won’t happen again.”

“Starlee, it’s fine. I was just messing with you—well, mostly your table mate. I actually need you to take that tool cart down to the supply closet and I don’t trust any of these freshmen to do it.” She glares at George. “I don’t really trust him to get there in one piece, so I’m sending you along as his chaperone.”

“What? I’m completely reliable,” George says with a scoff.

“Remember the last errand you went on?” He stands innocently but says nothing. She looks at me. “I asked him to take a note to the guidance counselor’s office. Somehow he ended up on the athletic fields, tangled up in the soccer nets.”

“They had to cut me out. I still don’t know how that happened.”

I laugh, covering my mouth.

“Make sure he gets back in one piece and before the end of the period, please.”

“I will. Promise.”

George salutes her and moves to push the cart out the door. I follow him into the hall. One of the wheels squeaks as he pushes the cart. It’s filled with a variety of tools. George reaches for a hammer, but I say, “Don’t even think about it,” and he stops.

“Where is this supply room?” I ask as we cruise through the hallway. I still get a little confused, but basically it’s two stories in the shape of an H, with the cafeteria on one side and the gym on the other.