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“Hello? Earth to Trina?” Audrey waved in my face, breaking my concentration. I blinked and looked at her, momentarily confused. “Did you hear what we said?”
“That I should do what I want?”
Her lips formed a smirk. “Something like that.”
“Trust me. I already am.”
I looked over to see Mason shaking his head. His lips moved, as if he were grumbling something to himself. Around him, the student body of Rock Valley High rushed by, on their way to practices or after school events. With a last grimace, he turned on the heel of his sneakers and headed back in the direction he’d come, totally oblivious to my observation. My heart lurched once again for him, but this time, the pain was joined by a guilty feeling digging into the pit of my stomach.
Audrey and Mandy were totally wrong. I was doing what I wanted. Project Happiness was Exhibit A. And I’d selfishly forced Mason to join my project. So far, it seemed that I’d brought him nothing but pain and irritation. Zero happiness. I had to turn this thing around and fast.
If there was one thing I’d learned in Research Methods 101, it was that Mason Finnick deserved to be happy. Despite the moodiness, the impressively deep frowns, and the brooding, he was a good guy. A great guy. And sweet when he wanted to be. Polly didn’t know what she was missing.
She’d find out, one way or another.
That was what I wanted.
More than anything.
Chapter Fourteen
Bright yellow sparks showered the floor, almost as if they were celebrating the two twisted pieces of metal I’d managed to weld together after two hours of cramp-inducing effort. Turning off the torch and stepping back, I hummed with satisfaction. I wished everything in my life could come together as smoothly as my art projects.
Art had a way of just happening. Sure, sometimes it was in ways I didn’t expect, but I could always count on reaching an ending that made me feel incredibly accomplished. Life, on the other hand...not so reliable. And love?
Judging by what had happened in the hallway earlier with Mason and Polly today, I could forget about that ever going my way.
Just thinking about Mason made my stomach clench. If I was feeling the aftereffects of the love note fail, there was no doubt that he was feeling it even worse. Poor guy had to be devastated. But there was always tomorrow. Always a new day. He just needed a pep talk before we moved onto step three of the plan.
The plan. We couldn’t deviate from the plan. The plan brought me peace, even when I felt like I was floundering in my final year of high school. The plan would get me my A+ in Research Methods, just like it would produce a perfect sculpture that Rock Valley High would adore for all of time.
Deviating from the plan would bring failing grades. And disappointment to my parents. And forbidden thoughts of Mason, with his sculpted lips, and mesmerizing blue eyes, and the way he sometimes smelled like dark chocolate...
Those sneaky little thoughts in my subconscious were yet more proof of why we had to stick to the plan.
With renewed determination, I wiped the sweaty hair out of my face and packed up my things. It was a rare evening that I managed to get a few spare minutes to work on the senior class present, but this was one of them. And after the events of today, I needed the stress relief that came in the form of scorching flames and melted metal.
I was ready to blow the joint, but when I walked by the open doors of the gymnasium the sound of a bouncing basketball caught my ears. Most of the athletic practices had already finished up for the night and sent their teams home to get some quality rest for the big game. Rock Valley High was facing off against our rival, Silver Valley, next Friday.
We couldn’t lose — not on our own turf. It would be embarrassing for all of the Rock Valley Bandits. Everyone in a fifty-mile radius of our town was already on edge.
I peered into the dimmed lighting of the gym to see who’d stayed behind. The court ran perpendicular to the doors, the bleachers stacked away for the night. My stomach did a sudden dip when I realized who it was.
Mason was dribbling a ball on the court and grumbling quietly to himself. He wore a pair of jersey-knit shorts and a white t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, showing off the muscular definition in his arms. With expert skill, he raised the ball and threw it at the basket, scoring an effortless free throw. The ball bounced back to him and he sank it again, repeating the motion several more times like a well-oiled machine.
To anyone else, he would’ve looked like a guy preparing for the big game. But judging from the tension in the coiled and tight muscles along Mason’s arms and the extra frown lines around his mouth, I could tell he was on edge. It seemed that I wasn’t the only one who needed to relieve stress today.
“Trina? What are you doing here?”
The sound of my name coming out of his mouth nearly knocked me over. I blinked hard and grasped onto the side of the doorframe to keep myself upright. Mason had spotted me and paused his practice, the basketball held firmly between his hands. I had to wonder just how long I’d been staring at him before he’d said my name.
“Uh, hi,” I said. Embarrassment leaked into my voice. “I promise I wasn’t stalking you. I was just heading home after working on the sculpture.”
Mason nodded solemnly, his dark eyes seeming to take in every inch of my appearance. Suddenly, I was very much aware of the still-drying sweat that had probably plastered half of my curls to my forehead. Welding was not exactly a beauty pageant skill — and for good reason. I definitely looked like a hot mess. I needed to go home and take a shower. No one in their right mind would want to be within a hundred feet of this.
“How about we shoot a few hoops before you go?” Mason held out the ball with one hand. The tension I’d observed just moments ago seemed to have fled from his body. A hopeful smile lingered on his lips. “Loser has to bring a snack to share for class tomorrow.”
I couldn’t stop the hollow laugh that flew from my mouth. “Might as well let me know what you want to eat, because I’m telling you now, I’m just about a million miles away from Michael Jordan. And you might as well be Shaquille O’Neal.”
