Glitter and Sparkle Read online

  I eventually find her standing in a small group, and Grant is with her. A couple of sophomores step aside to make the circle larger as I join them.

  “Did you drive, Lauren?” Grant asks.

  “No, I rode with Riley.”

  Grant tosses his keys in his hand. “I can drive you home.”

  A stunned and very obvious silence descends over the circle.

  “Oh,” I say, just as bewildered as the rest of the group. “I mean, Riley—”

  “It’s fine,” Riley interrupts and gives me a very pointed look. “I’m going to be a few more minutes anyway. You guys should go.”

  My stomach tightens, and my nerves threaten to turn me into a babbling mess.

  “Okay,” I squeak.

  Grant tosses his keys again. “You have all your stuff?”

  I nod quickly before I realize I look like a bobblehead doll and abruptly stop. The underclassmen around us look on me with awe.

  Grant, the beloved, handsome star of everything is driving me home.

  We walk out of the auditorium side by side, and just before we’re through the doorway, I look over my shoulder at Riley. She meets my eyes and does a twirly, happy cheer right there in the main left-hand aisle.

  I attempt to smile in a way that doesn’t make me look seasick and follow Grant to his car. Clouds have stretched over the sky, and the school lights seem to reflect off of them. Sporadic snowflakes drift to the ground, and it’s very cold.

  When we get to Grant’s car, he has to shove assorted sports gear over so I’ll have a place to sit. It might be my imagination, but he seems a little nervous.

  I know why I’m nervous around him, but why would he be nervous around me?

  After my seat is clear, I crawl in, and he shuts the door for me. The leather upholstery is freezing, and I shiver.

  “It will warm up in a minute,” Grant assures me as he starts the engine and fiddles with the thermostat.

  There are various tacky decals in the back window, and assignments spill out of the backpack at my feet. Even though the car isn’t brand new, it’s not too old either.

  “I live in the Pine Grove subdivision,” I tell him.

  “I know.”

  When I give Grant a funny look, he rubs the back of his neck. “Jordan Cooper lives over there, and I’ve seen you around.”

  A pleasant warmth spreads in my chest. He’s noticed me?

  I adjust my scarf, straightening the already perfect knot. “I’m only a few houses down from him.”

  After we’ve driven for a few minutes, the air loses its chill. Grant cranks up the fan, and I stretch my boot-encased toes toward the warmth.

  “Why did you take theater theory?” I ask, trying to chase away the awkward silence.

  Grant looks over and gives me a wry smile. “I wanted an easy A.”

  I bite my lip, trying not to smile. Theater theory is an easy A.

  “So what happened?” I ask.

  He grimaces and turns onto the highway. “Oedipus Rex happened.”

  I groan. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”

  “And then we read through The Importance of Being Earnest.”

  “Oh, no.” I shake my head vigorously and laugh. “That one is wonderful! It was my favorite in the class.”

  Grant laughs with me. “Well, I failed both tests.”

  How do you fail one of Mrs. Camberly’s tests? Half of the questions are multiple choice and the rest are true or false. Sometimes she’ll put in an optional essay question at the end, but those are just for extra credit.

  “So how did you get roped into tech duty?” I ask.

  “Mrs. Camberly said she was short a few hands, so, knowing I was failing, Coach Smith generously volunteered me.”

  “Is it awful?”

  He glances at me and gives me a smile that I’ve seen directed at the school’s elite before. “It has its perks.”

  My stomach flip-flops, and I’m glad it’s dark because my cheeks are hot.

  “My house is the one with the porch lights on,” I say as Grant takes the last turn.

  A lot of the houses in our area are newer, built in subdivisions that have sprouted up in the last fifteen years. But our neighborhood is old and has character. The houses are large and have picture windows and landscaped yards. The lots are big, and because of it, many have small guest houses or even pools in the back.

  I’ve lived here my entire life, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Of course, I’ll have to get over that. I can’t stay with my parents forever.

  As a little girl, I imagined I’d have a Prince Charming at this point in my life—a nice boyfriend who would take me to movies and all the school dances. A few years later, after college, we would get married, adopt two springer spaniel puppies, and move into a house just like the one Grant’s pulling into right now.

  My younger self would be very disappointed in me.

  I unbuckle my seat belt as soon as the car stops. Grant seems unsure whether he should turn the engine off or keep it running.

  I make the decision for him by jumping out and giving him a quick wave. “Thanks again for the ride.”

  Grant smiles and nods. “Anytime.”

  After an awkward moment, I jog up the garden-light-lined steps to the front door. Movement in the window catches my eye, and as soon as I reach for my keys, the door opens.

  “That’s not Riley’s car.” Dad narrows his eyes at Grant’s taillights. “Who drove you home?”

  Oh, bad words. I didn’t even think to call them and ask.

  “Grant,” I supply, still standing on the freezing front step.

  Dad ushers me inside. “Who’s Grant?”

  “He’s a guy from school.”

  Obviously, right?

  “Is he in theater?” Mom asks, joining Dad. “Do we know him?”

  I bob on my toes. “No, he’s more into sports and stuff.”

  “What was he doing driving you home?” Dad asks. “Are you dating him? You know the rules. We meet the guys you go out with first.”

  Groaning on the inside, I follow them into the living room off the foyer.

  “It’s really not a big deal…” I trail off when my eyes land on Harrison, who’s sitting on the couch with one of Dad’s outdoor magazines forgotten on his lap.

  Harrison raises his eyebrows, and his eyes light with humor, obviously enjoying seeing me in trouble. “Hey, Laura-Lou.”

  I grit my teeth, ignore him, and turn back to my parents. “I promise we’re not dating—we’re not anything. He was just being nice. And I should have called. I messed up, and I’m sorry.”

  My parents exchange a look, and then the tension eases from Dad’s posture.

  Sometimes being the baby of the family can be a real pain. I don’t remember Brandon being saddled with this many rules. Or maybe it’s because I’m a girl. Whatever it is—it’s annoying.

  “Call us next time,” Mom says, and then she goes back to the couch and picks up her discarded novel.

  The remnants of a batch of popcorn sit in a bowl on the coffee table. Half-full coffee cups join it. It all looks very cozy in here. I glance again at Harrison and frown.

  As if he can read my thoughts, he smirks at me. The look makes me want to kick his feet off the coffee table. I might too, but his casual brown oxfords are actually very nice, and they don’t deserve my wrath.

  “I’m going to bed,” I say and turn from the room. “Night.”

  “We’ll be up shortly,” Mom says, but she’s already engrossed in her book again.

  As I walk into my room, a text comes through on my phone. I dig it out of my purse.

  Are you home? Was it awesome? Did Grant kiss you???

  I smile at Riley’s enthusiasm as I write her back. Yes. Kinda. No!

  As soon as it goes through, Riley calls.

  “What do you mean ‘kinda?’” she demands.

  I unwind my scarf from my neck and hang it on the organizer in my closet. “I don’t know. It
was a little uncomfortable.”

  “Good uncomfortable?”

  My jewelry box is a mess of necklaces I rarely wear and dozens of pairs of earrings. I take out the pearl earrings I was wearing tonight and set them on top.

  “Good uncomfortable, I guess.”

  Her exasperation radiates through the phone. “Don’t you like him? During our freshman year you swooned every time he passed you in the hall.”

  I’ve always kind of liked Grant, but over the years, I wonder if watching him from afar has finally lost some of its appeal. And last year I gave up on Grant and my affections shifted to Jason Teller. For all the good that did me.

  But there was definitely something between us tonight.

  “Sure,” I say slowly. “I still kind of like him.”

  Riley laughs. “You’re so fickle.”

  I might be. I can’t argue that when my mind keeps drifting to the loathsome creature who’s downstairs, sitting on the couch, drinking my mother’s coffee, and reading my father’s magazines.

  “Get some sleep,” she says. “You sound listless.” Then, before we hang up for the night, she reminds me, “I have an FBLA thing tomorrow morning, so don’t pick me up.”

  I tell her I remember and finally get her off the phone. After I wash off my makeup and change out of my school clothes, I crawl into bed. Even though I’m exhausted, I can’t shut my mind off, and I end up staring at the ceiling.

  My mom peeks in the room about an hour later and whispers goodnight when she sees I’m not asleep. The house goes dark, and finally, well after midnight, I drift off.

  Instead of waking to my alarm, I’m startled by Dad knocking on my already open door.

  “Hey, kiddo,” he says while I blink in the dark room.

  The only light comes from the hall, and I look at my clock. It reads five-ten, which is twenty minutes before my alarm should go off.

  “It snowed last night, so you’ll need to give yourself a little extra time,” he continues.

  I groan, wanting more than anything to go back to sleep.

  “Okay,” I croak out.

  “I’m on my way out,” Dad says. “And Mom has to leave early this morning. Will you be all right getting out by yourself?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He says goodbye, and I pull myself out of bed. Mom leaves, and the house is oddly quiet. Even Penelope’s absent. She usually sleeps on my pillow, but she still hasn’t forgiven me for holding her down and brushing the glitter out of her fur.

  Since the snow is heavy this morning, I opt for a pair of jeans and my cute faux fur-trimmed snow boots. After a quick breakfast, I pull on a heavy coat and trudge out to my car.

  It’s already snowed several inches, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to slow down anytime soon. As I scoot into my seat to start the car, snow falls on me from the roof and slides down the back of my neck.

  Shivering violently, I turn the key, but nothing happens.

  I try again.

  Still nothing.

  Oh, no.

  Dad’s already at work, and Mom has a meeting this morning. Riley’s already at school.

  I could call Grandpa, but he and Grandma live all the way across town, and I don’t want to wake them this early or have him drive through the snow to get here.

  I try the car one more time, just to be sure.

  It’s not going to start.

  With no other option, I trudge through the snow to the back.

  Wishing with all my being I didn’t have to do this, I knock on the guest house door.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  November 17th

  There are no lights on in the guest house, and I don’t hear anything after I knock. I know Harrison is home because his truck is parked right here in the circular drive.

  Growling under my breath, I take off my glove and knock louder this time, hoping Harrison will hear it now that fabric isn’t muffling the sound.

  After a few moments, a light flicks on in the main room. I hold my breath and hope that Harrison isn’t one of those grumpy morning people.

  The door opens, and Harrison stands on the other side, looking sleep-rumpled in his pajama pants.

  And only pajama pants.

  I gape at him. Then, trying not to stare, I yank my eyes up to his face.

  He’s still too asleep to notice.

  “Lauren?” He runs a hand through his hair. “What’s wrong? What time is it?”

  Freezing despite my heavy coat, I cross my arms. “My car won’t start, and I have to get to school. Do you think you can…fix it…or something?”

  He squints at me, rubs his hands over his face, and then waves me inside.

  It’s so warm. My cheeks begin to tingle as soon as I walk through the door. I pull off my gloves and set them aside so I can rub feeling back into my frozen fingers.

  “I’ll be right back.” Harrison still sounds groggy as he steps into the back bedroom.

  Shifting from one foot to the other, I scan the room. It’s more orderly than it was the last time I was in here, but it still has a different feel. A very Harrison feel. It’s sort of suffocating.

  In just a few minutes, Harrison steps out of the bedroom looking a lot more awake than he did when he first answered the door.

  He grabs a coat and a pair of keys. “Stay here.”

  I’m about to remind him that he’ll need my keys to check the car, but he’s already out the door.

  He’ll figure it out soon enough.

  Then I hear the rumble of his truck starting. I frown at the door.

  “How late are you?” he asks when he comes in.

  There’s snow in his hair and on his coat, and little flakes fall to the floor as he walks through the room.

  “I’m not yet,” I answer as I watch the snow melt on the tile. “I got up early since it snowed.”

  He disappears back into the bedroom, and I wait, feeling the clock ticking.

  “Don’t you need my keys to check my car?” I call back to him.

  “No,” he hollers back. “I’ll just drive you, and then I can look at your car later.”

  A coil of nerves knots itself in my stomach. It’s too early for this.

  He comes back out, looking ready for the day. His hair is perfect—now just mildly disheveled—and he’s shaved.

  “Let’s go.” He opens the door.

  I hesitate. “You don’t have to drive me…”

  “How else are you going to get there?”

  I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem like going with Harrison is a very good idea.

  Finally, I relent and walk out the door. The sky is just lightening above the thick, gray clouds.

  Harrison holds my door open for me. It’s obviously too early for him to remember that he’s a jerk.

  I mumble a thank you as I climb in. Since he started it early, the truck is delightfully warm. He slides into the driver’s seat, fiddles with the heater controls, and then pulls around the drive.

  It’s as if the middle console doesn’t exist. It feels as if he’s right there. I can even smell the faint scent of his aftershave or deodorant or whatever it is that he put on this morning.

  “Sorry to wake you up.” I look out the window at the white landscape.

  I can feel him glance my way. “It’s all right. I had to be up soon anyway.”

  That’s right. He started at the architectural firm yesterday.

  “How do you like the job?” I ask just so I’ll have something to say.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him shrug. “So far all I’ve done is fill out paperwork and go through training.”

  It suddenly hits me that Harrison’s an actual adult. He’ll be finishing up college soon. He has a job—a real job with a retirement plan and investment opportunities.

  And here I am, a little girl asking him to drive me to school.

  I shift in my seat, feeling even more uncomfortable than I was before.

  “What is it?” he asks.


  Surprised he’s perceptive enough to pick up on my discomfort, I look over at him. “Nothing.”

  He grins wide, an ornery expression spreading over his face. “Whatever, Laura-Lou. You have that prim and proper look you get when you don’t like something.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  Harrison shakes his head. “That’s probably not going to happen.”

  I clench my hands in my lap. Despite his chivalrous, “to-the-rescue” attitude this morning, he’s still a loathsome toad.

  A hot toad, mind you. But a toad nonetheless.

  We finally reach the school, and I quickly hop out of his truck. “Thanks for driving me.”

  A few of the girls nearby stop and stare, their eyes wide as they gape at Harrison.

  “Hey, Lauren?” Harrison calls as I begin to shut the door.

  Irritated, I stick my head back in the cab. “What?”

  “I know you’re still hung up on me, but next time let’s not fake car trouble so I’ll give you a ride. It’s a little over the top, don’t you think?”

  I practically shake with anger, but when I try to think of a retort, I can only sputter.

  He has the audacity to grin at me before he puts his truck back in gear. Growling, I slam the door. Even through the layer of metal, I can hear his answering laugh.

  I turn on my heel. Feeling his eyes on me, I hold my head high as I stomp through the snow and stride into the school.

  ***

  There is nothing cute about the garage. The walls are white, but they aren’t even painted. It’s a drywall white with putty and tape marks.

  Dad remodeled it a few years back, and though it’s a lot roomier than it was, he definitely didn’t put any thought into design.

  Honestly, why would he? It’s a garage.

  And I’m stuck with it until Harrison moves out.

  I’m standing on a barstool I’ve dragged from the kitchen, and I’m attempting to hang a huge piece of pink and white canvas. I have it stretched over a tall metal cabinet, and I’m trying to hold it in place with paint cans at the top.

  It’s not going well.

  The right side slips just as I’m scooting the can in place over the left corner, and I growl in frustration as the piece yanks away completely and crumples to the floor.