“I thought of that too,” she says. She looks like she’s about to tell me I won the lottery or something. “Your math and chemistry teacher are pretty set on failing you and seeing you in summer school, but I’ve worked out a deal with them. During your detention to make up time, you’ll be in the library receiving tutoring. Tutoring for two days a week, as well as not missing any more school—” she says, giving me a long look, “will be enough for your teachers to pass you.”
“Tutoring?” I say the word like it’s a curse word. I can think of no worse way to spend my time after school than being retaught everything I didn’t learn in class. I should spend that time coming up with ideas for the store, not listening to some old woman drone on and on about fractions.
I chew on my lip. “I don’t…”
“I’ll stop you right there,” Mrs. Reese says, holding up a manicured hand with a wedding ring that must have cost a fortune. Way more money than it would take to keep the store afloat. “I’m afraid this isn’t a negotiation, Natalie. You will attend make up time twice a week to avoid being arrested and tried by the state of Texas for truancy. You will also receive tutoring during this time period if you want to graduate and not flunk out of school in your senior year.”
“I get it,” I say. “Can I go now?”
“One more thing.”
Mrs. Reese slides a piece of paper across her desk and then hands me a pen. “The school needs your full cooperation in this matter of truancy. Short of being hospitalized, you’ll be expected to attend school every day. Do you understand?”
I nod.
“Great,” she says, pushing the paper close to me. “Now sign this document saying I’ve warned you of the consequences of missing any more school this year.”
It’s some stupid thing, probably not even a legally binding contract. My eyes skim over it, the stupid wording saying Isolemnly swearto attend every day unless a catastrophic circumstance should occur. I sign my name quickly and drop the pen on the table.
I grab my book and turn to leave. “Come see me any time you need,” she calls out after me.
“Sure thing,” I say, as I make a promise to myself that I’ll never step foot in her office again.
Chapter 5
I jump when my alarm goes off on Saturday morning. Is it really nine o’clock already? Ugh. Feels like I just fell asleep half an hour ago.
I sit up in bed, and the stack of papers slide off my bed with a splash that sends them skidding all over the hardwood floor of my bedroom. Shit. I forgot I fell asleep on top of a pile of missed schoolwork my teachers gave me. Thursday had been bad enough after spending hours in the AP’s office, but Friday was a freaking nightmare. Apparently, my ex step-dad’s new wife had told all my teachers about my new efforts to pass senior year so I can get into college. Every teacher except my art teacher gave me a stack of missed work and worksheets they called “extra credit” that I have to finish before the year is over. The term extra credit implies that it’s optional, but all of this work is not.
My teachers all spoke to me in soft tones like I was some breakable object who would shatter into pieces if I didn’t get this last chance to save my grade. It’s bad enough that I have to attend tutoring. Now I’m stuck doing extra work on top of that.
I don’t even bother picking up the papers right now. It’s Saturday, which is luckily not a school day. I throw on a pair of skinny jeans and a pink Magpie polo shirt that actually looks kind of cute on me. It’s from the time Mom and I thought about getting professional and wearing shirts with the store’s logo on the front. Sometimes we wear them and sometimes we don’t, but today is laundry day so I’m stuck without any other option.
Tossing my hair into a messy bun, I grab some Pop-Tarts and tell Mom goodbye. She’ll be driving to the store about ten minutes before we open, but I want to get there early and get started on some ways to bring people into the store. I hop on my bike and pedal through the morning sunshine all the way to the beach.
Since I’m here half an hour early, I go ahead and flip the sign on the door to OPEN. It’s unlikely that anyone will stop by this early, but just in case they do, I don’t want to miss the sale. Behind the front counter, I work on the website, updating it with our new inventory and sales items. Then I type up a newsletter to send out to our pathetically small list of subscribers. We have three hundred and ten people signed up out of the eighty thousand who live in Sterling, TX. And the last time I checked, only half of them even opened our emails.
Still, I dutifully type a message to our customers, offer them ten percent off in the next seven days if they mention this email, and hit send.
Ten minutes before we open, the bells on the door jingle and I assume it’s my mom, so I don’t look up. But when someone clears their throat, the sound is very much masculine, and my head shoots up from behind a rack of greeting cards.
Jack Brown smiles at me. “Hello there,” he says, giving me a polite nod. “I was hoping to speak with Marlene Reese.”
He’s dressed impeccably in a dark gray suit and shiny black leather shoes. He’s holding a folder that looks somehow more threatening than ordinary folders. I glance behind him at the door, knowing my mom will be here any minute. I only have a few seconds to lie like hell and get him out of here.
“She won’t be in today. I’m sorry about that.” I step out from behind the greeting cards and extend my hand, figuring a handshake is a sign of professionalism. Maybe he won’t call my bluff. Maybe he’ll get the hell out of here before Mom walks through that door.
“What can I help you with?” I ask.
He frowns a little, but then he hands me the folder. “I’d like to formally offer your store a buyout. I think you’ll find my offer quite generous. Can you please give this to Marlene as soon as possible?”
I hold back my scowl, instead schooling my lips into a smile. “Of course. But I should warn you not to get your hopes up because my mother is still very young and has no plans of retiring or selling the store any time soon. In fact, we’re considering opening up a coffee shop next door.”
It’s such a lie, but I pull it off pretty well. I don’t even think he knows how much of a lie it is, especially since the last time I talked to him I lied about opening a second store. Still, the corner of his lips quirk up a bit in a way that reminds me of his son, Caleb. We’re the same age and we even used to be friends in elementary school, though I doubt he remembers that. Now Caleb is a jock—with all the popularity that comes with it—and we’re on two opposite ends of the social world at school.
Apparently, his dad and my mom are also on opposite ends. He’s rich, and she’s poor.
“I’ll be sure to deliver this to her, Mr. Brown. Just in case she’d be interested.”
