Wicked Dramatic

By Lauren Courcelle

There are many tried and true traditions and memories attached to the legacy of the final year of middle school... football games, concerts, track meets, school dances, love poems, crushes, road trips, pizza parties, graduation projects, field day, a fourteen-foot wall, and of course, Ms. Salt’s infamous, annual, eighth grade, bridge build contest. Thus, when Persephone Smith and her classmates return to the halls of Diversity Middle School for one more year, they anticipate that eighth grade will be the year they finally rule the school. Only... not so fast. From a first-day schedule snafu to a last-minute scramble to graduate, they are continually reminded that, even with their prolific magical abilities, eighth grade is not the year-long celebration they expect it to be. Instead, it is pure drama.
Join twelve-year-old Persephone and her family, friends, and crushes as they take on the emotional rollercoaster of watching loved ones battling cancer, the joys and anguishes of puppy love, the push and pull of right and wrong, the extremes of friendship, and the daily life and death overreactions that make eighth grade a particularly “wicked dramatic” time of life.
“Wicked Dramatic” is the fourth book in a coming-of-age, realistic, paranormal, fantasy series by author Lauren Courcelle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lauren Courcelle
• Release date: Mar 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370218233

Lauren Courcelle

Lauren Courcelle has lived in Vermont all of her life, but if she told you how many years she's been a Vermonter, you'd know how old she is, so don't expect her to admit that! At a young age, she decided she wanted to be a teacher when she grew up. In hindsight, much of her decision was initially based on her tremendous excitement at the idea of being able to write on the chalkboard whenever she wanted! As she matured, or maybe due to the inclusion of many more white boards in classrooms, Lauren realized that the best part about teaching was being able to have a daily impact on students, particularly when inspiring them to become lifelong lovers of literature.For a few years, Lauren left the field of education, to try her hand at something else. When folks would ask her what she missed most about teaching, her response was always, "The kids, and in particular, reading great children's books with the kids!" Having always wanted to write an amazing picture book, in May, 2011, she decided to pursue her dream. Nearly 400 pages later, a chapter book, surprisingly, emerged from her efforts.That book was "Wicked Normal," and Lauren immediately knew that it would become a series, as her characters still had so much more story to tell. Lauren released "Wicked Weird," the second book in the series, less than six months later. The third book, "Wicked Awesome," was published within a year of the first. The fourth book of the series, "Wicked Dramatic," had protagonist, Persephone Smith, embarking on her final year of middle school.Lauren paused Persephone's series to release "unLEASHed," the first book of her first Young Adult series. Although it is a futuristic novel, she hopes it is not a psychic vision of what life will be like some twenty years (or so) from now.On the heels of the release of "unLEASHed," Lauren returned to Persephone's series with Young Adult novels "Wicked Confessions," "Wicked Together," "Wicked Alpha," & "Wicked Omega." She's currently working on the 2nd book in Cordeleya's series (working title: "unGUARDed") and fighting off the urge to spend time right now on the next Persephone book as Imemy's tale needs to be told first! ("Imemy" is a futuristic, YA love story between the narrating protagonist and another teenager told without revealing either's gender, for love is love. Yeah. Be on the lookout for that one!)Lauren continues to reside in Vermont, and in her leisure time, she enjoys knitting scarves, making beaded jewelry, and painting.

Book preview

chapter one

The Schedule Snafu

Dad woke me with his signature rat-a-tat, a sound my ears had not heard in months. Instantly, I was struck with the reality that my wicked awesome summer was over. Although it felt incredible to be home, part of me already missed life out on the road, as I had grown ridiculously attached to nearly everyone on the tour.

You awake, Squirt? Dad inquired.

More or less, I replied.

First day of your last year of middle school, he reminded. Your class rules the school this year!

Instantly, I was mentally transported back to my very first day at Diversity Middle School. I had hated it so much that I never wanted to return! I still despised it, and although I didn’t want to spend another day, much less another school year, within those halls, truancy wasn’t an option. I leapt from my bed and ran to the shower.

Thanks to travelling all summer, I had shopped ‘til I dropped in seemingly every boutique, tourist trap, and mall in the country! Consequently, I had added an eclectic plethora of souvenirs to my wardrobe. So, for my inaugural day of eighth grade, with my hair in a French twist, I wore an adorable, apricot, tea-length sundress, a white cardigan, and my genuine cowgirl boots from Texas.

To commemorate my last first day of middle school, much to my embarrassment, both Mom and Dad dropped me off. Thanks for the lift! See you after school! I exclaimed as I quickly exited the car.

With a few strides I reached the stairs, strutted right by the hooligans that congregated there, pulled the wooden door open, and let myself inside. In the lobby, unbelievably, that kid who was trying to run up the wall on my very first day of middle school was still trying to run up the same wall! For once, I stopped and watched him out of morbid curiosity.

Whatchu lookin’ at? he asked.

For the past two years of my life, you’ve attempted to run up that wall, I noted. When will you give up?

He scoffed, Watch this, and took a few steps back. Then, he ran, full blast, right up the wall, flipped, and landed on his feet!

Whoa! I exclaimed, in shock. "You can do that?"

I been able to do it since before I started here. I just don’t.

I had no idea you could actually run up the wall! I admitted.

Well, now you do, he gloated. So, excuse me, but I got practicin’ to do. With that, he resumed his usual, unsuccessful attempts.

I shook my head and continued to the eighth grade wing. Through some horrific twist of unjust fate in the world, I was in Mr. Westerly’s teacher advisory. In sixth grade social studies, he had it out for me, and I had no reason to think his opinion of me had changed. At least I had reinforcements in T.A. to help me salvage what would likely otherwise be a year-long, miserable experience.

Sure enough, as soon as I entered the room, he addressed me. Persephone Smith! You’re sitting right in front of my desk.

I groaned. Really, Mr. Westerly? I’m in eighth grade now! I don’t need to be babysat. Silently, he emphatically pointed at my assigned seat. I rolled my eyes and sat down before leaning my elbows on my desk and cradling my head in my hands. Eighth grade T.A. was going to be just as awful as I had predicted it would be.

My best friend, Harley Stevens, almost got into the room without me even recognizing him! Somehow, within the past three days, he had gotten a new buzz-cut! Harley! You got a haircut! I noted.

Grams hated Stevie’s color, he revealed, referring to his boyband alter ego. He suavely sat in the seat behind mine, and I immediately turned around to catch up with him. As he attempted to run his fingers through his hair, he found only stubbly fuzz atop his head. Agh! It’s all gone! he proclaimed.

Awww. Never fear, it’ll grow back, I reminded. It looks good. He glared at me skeptically but didn’t say anything. I still don’t get why the bad boy can’t be blonde, I challenged.

"T.J. is the blonde, Harley yet again explained. He’s the pretty boy, the ‘young’ one, the cute guy that makes the girls swoon. He rolled his eyes. The bad boy needs to be dark and mysterious so that we appeal to as wide a fanbase as possible."

As our conversation continued, Harley revealed that despite their seemingly huge popularity on social media and at the tour’s merch booth, Formulaic’s album sales were abysmal! Consequently, his bodyguard, Junior, would not be accompanying him at school.

"Well, I bought your CD," I pointed out.

And I bought one, and Grams bought one, and the sales totals for the first week was 7,003, he admitted. Evidently that wasn’t good, and sales had trailed off in the subsequent weeks. I was completely at a loss for words as Formulaic was really good! Alas, for the time being, Harley’s boyband career was apparently over.

When my ol’ pal, Freddie, arrived in T.A., he immediately sat in the desk next to mine, and I filled him in on my summer. Skye Stanley stole his attention when she, flanked by fashionable girls wearing too much makeup, came into the room. Thankfully, they sat far away from us. I turned to make a flip comment about her to Harley, but his eyes were equally transfixed on Skye and her pretty friends. "Uh, Harley, tell me you’re not staring at Skye," I requested.

"She changed a lot over the summer," he absentmindedly stated.

Doubtful, I grumbled. His somewhat sinister smile clued me into what had changed about Skye. Ugh! You’re such a boy, I moaned in disgust, shaking my head and turning away from him.

Maybe her friends are nice, Freddie hoped aloud.

As the boys exchanged a high five, I looked down at the exquisite, apricot lace covering my same old figure. Nothing about me had changed over the summer. I reminded myself that I was a year younger than my classmates, but that fact gave me little consolation.

When Mr. Westerly handed out our lockers, Harley’s was unfortunately next to Skye’s, and mine was between twins, Naomi and Wes Smith, though they weren’t related to me. Truthfully, despite being in my T.A. every year, I had never spoken to either of them!

Thanks for being a Smith so that there’s a locker between Wes and me, Naomi whispered excitedly. I love my brother, but we already share everything, so I could use some space!

No problem, I noted, locking my stuff into my locker.

I can’t believe we can’t pick our lockers, Wes added. Come on! We’re eighth graders! Why is Westerly such a control freak?

I shrugged. I had wondered the same thing. Was the location of students’ lockers really such a big deal? Apparently for Mr. Westerly it was. I glanced at Freddie who was chatting with the kids near his locker, and then I spotted Skye rubbing Harley’s head.

You better go tell Skye to keep her hands off, Naomi advised.

Well, it’s better than behind your back, Wes decided.

What are you two talking about? I pressed.

You guys have always been in our T.A., Naomi reminded. She shouldn’t be going after Harley. That’s just wrong.

What are you gonna do to her? Wes encouraged.

I’m not doing anything, I fumed. Harley and I are friends, and he can be interested in Skye. I put my backpack on, walked over to Mr. Westerly, and asked him, Are we done here?

Wait for the bell, he advised. I inched down the hall in anticipation of it. Persephone, get back here, he insisted. I slowly crept back towards my T.A. until the sound I awaited sent me on my way.

Hey, wait up! Harley urged, hustling to catch up to me. Walk with me! We’re goin’ to the same place.

I continued on without saying a word. I wasn’t mad per say, but I just didn’t have anything to say to him. When I reached the corridor to the girls’ locker room I muttered, Catch ya inside.

But I’m not a girl, he reminded. I get in trouble if I go in there. He smirked.

I meant in the gym, dork, I dismissed, shaking my head and starting down the hall towards the reality of gym clothes and first period P.E. class. Thanks to the jump start from T.A., I easily beat everyone else to the locker room and peacefully suited up in a bathroom stall without the scrutiny of judgmental, catty eyes.

Yet, somehow, Harley still got to the gym before me. While the other guys attempted to hang on the basketball hoops, he grabbed me to revisit our tour choreography. With every twirl I reminded him that he was undeniably a dork. Although the boys hooted and whistled at us, apparently the girls, trickling in from the locker room, were impressed by his moves, and they flirtatiously flocked to him.

Our teacher introduced herself as Coach Kimball, but before I could find out what she coached, she told us we’d be doing a running unit. Me? Running? Why? Yuck! To kick the unit off, we were headed to the track to do a mile as a baseline.

Hey, at least it’s not football, Harley whispered to me as we followed the class outside.

Running? First thing in the morning?

Lots of people run in the morning, he argued.

I don’t run in the morning, I groaned.

You don’t run ever, he noted. He was right, of course. Unless I was chasing someone, or something, or running away from someone, or something, I was not a person who naturally ran for pleasure.

I threatened, You’re gonna get it, and ran at him.

And she’s off! he shouted, running away from me. His long legs carried him faster than I could go, and we ran past our class.

When he stopped, I caught him and yelled, Gotcha!

"Glad to see two of you warming up," Coach Kimball prematurely praised. Little did she know that she had just witnessed the sum total of all the running I planned to do in P.E. class.

As my classmates took off on their baseline miles, I was walking before I had jogged half a lap. Lapped ya! Harley shouted as he flew by me. I gawked at his speed. He was but a dot on the other side as I reached the starting line to mark my first lap. Who would have thought Harley was a runner? Lapped ya again! he gloated as he passed me a second time. And a third time! He walked with me for my third lap and teased, Is this seriously your top speed?

I don’t care how long it takes me, I confessed. I don’t like P.E., and I don’t like running first thing in the morning.

"If you actually ran, you’d be done by now," he rationalized.

Whatever, I huffed. The whole activity was stupid. I wasn’t a runner. Harley apparently was a runner, but I wasn’t Harley!

To add insult to injury, he began running backwards in front of me! Come on, Persephone, catch me! he demanded. I groaned and rolled my eyes, continuing at exactly the same speed.

I need to drop this dumb class, I groused.

P.E. is a required class, so good luck with that, Coach Kimball piped in. Leave it to me to complain just as we were reaching the starting line again. What lap was that? she prompted.

Can I lie and say four? I hoped.

Three for her and five for me, Harley differentiated. I futilely swatted at him, but he was out of my reach. You can’t catch me!

I stopped walking and gave him a look to suggest otherwise. As he took off running again, I closed my eyes and felt the swirl of a surge of power within me. Catch him, I grumbled.

I opened my eyes and found Harley right in my face. Okay, that was weird. I was way over there, and now I’m here again. He gasped, You used your powers! I whacked him on his arm, as promised. Owww, he whined. Well, I hope it was worth it because anyone could’ve witnessed that, and good luck explainin’ it. And with that, he jogged off towards the finish line.

I felt socked in the gut as I hadn’t really thought about that. How would I explain it? I hadn’t intended to move him; I had meant to get a surge of speed and catch him! Why didn’t powers simply do what I wanted? Why did they have to overcomplicate things?

Luckily for me, nobody was paying attention, and I quietly finished my mile in sixteen minutes, a time Coach Kimball deemed unacceptable. Unfortunately, I just didn’t care.

After the torture of eighth grade P.E. had ended for the day, I found Harley waiting for me outside the locker room. You haven’t walked with me enough already today? I teased him.

Should I race ahead and save a seat for Skye? he threatened.

Be my guest, I allowed, calling his bluff.

As we reached the academic wings of the building, Harley suddenly dashed ahead to the stairs. I was confused. Second period was social studies, on the first floor, in the eighth grade wing. So, I headed to class. Where you goin’? he shouted.

Class, I replied, rolling my eyes.

Um, class is this way, he insisted.

I know where social studies is, I snarled.

"Uh, science is next. Social studies is fourth period."

I knew my schedule perfectly. You’re mistaken, I challenged. Social studies is second period, and science isn’t until sixth period. As both of us stubbornly pulled out our schedules, we discovered that indeed, they were different! Harley had science second and third periods, but I had social studies next! We had identical classes and teachers but at completely different times! So, following a quick hug, we went our separate ways.

As I plodded into social studies, my mind mulled over a zillion questions. Would I know anyone in my classes? Who made these schedules? Had there been a mistake? Why was this happening? How would my friends and I rule the school as eighth graders when evidently we no longer even saw each other at school?

As I scanned the room, I recognized no one. Obviously there had been a mistake. I needed to get my schedule changed! But just as Mr. McCormick was about to start his lecture, a familiar face entered. Katrina’s cousin, Travis! He spotted me and took the seat next to mine. Hey, Persephone! What are you doing in here?

I have social studies, I mumbled.

That’s weird, he acknowledged. You’ve never been in any of my classes before.

First time for everything, I dismissed, pleased to know one person in the class.

By lunch, Harley had information about the schedule snafu. As it turned out, there were multiple sections of courses, and since they all used the same curriculum, schedule changes weren’t allowed. Ugh. Not cool. But what was cool was that we had a whole lunch bunch at my usual lunch table! Obviously there was Harley and me, and we were joined by Misty, Katrina, Seth, Jade, Coral, and Morgan, who was that kid who habitually ran up the wall. He was sitting with Seth because they were both on the school’s football team! Say what? Sweet, gentle, kind, playful, adorable, cute, little Seth Totter… was on the football team? "Seth! Since when have you played football?" I inquired.

Princess, I’m a boy. I’ve played football forever, he replied. I furrowed my eyebrows at him. I may be daft and even self-centered, but no way, no how, was Seth on DMS’s team last year. My skeptical glare prompted his continued explanation, You know, like toss the ball around with Dad on Sunday mornings. Nope, I still wasn’t buying it. Watching football on Sunday afternoons? Sure, I could see that. Getting up early to go play in the backyard? Not so much.

I’ve never seen you play football, I confessed.

Then, Princess, you been missing out, Morgan piped in. Totter’s got a heck of an arm on him! Pinpoint accuracy from fifty yards away! Hits the mark every time! Ridiculous!

Dude, her name is Persephone, Seth corrected.

Jade snatched her tray and stormed off to another table. Coral trailed her like a puppy dog. I quickly surmised that my summer away from Vermont had left me completely out of the loop. Were Seth and Jade on the outs? He could’ve mentioned that in a video chat. Story? I asked him, but he shook his head and rolled his eyes.

Morgan obliviously continued, My bad. I thought her name was Princess.

Well, it’s not, Seth recapped.

"Uh, okay. Then, Persephone, you gonna wear Totter’s jersey to Saturday’s game?" Morgan inquired with a devilish grin.

With that, Harley got up and left the table! What was going on? Why was the lunch bunch dissipating? The next thing I knew, Seth asked me, Story? Story? What story? Harley? Harley and I were Harley and me. There wasn’t a story, or at least nothing Seth would buy. In parallel to his response, I also simply shook my head.

"But don’t you need to wear your jersey?" I asked in an attempt to address the concept Morgan had broached.

Seth chuckled and explained, We wear our home jerseys. So, girls wear the away jerseys.

I raised my eyebrow. Why wasn’t Jade wearing Seth’s jersey to the game? And why had she stormed away from the table? Better yet, why had Harley stomped off, and why was he now sitting next to Skye?

Our QB’s single. You can be his girl, Morgan summarized.

QB? I asked.

Seth’s the quarterback, Misty explained with a swoon in her tone. Morgan is the kicker. She giggled and looked at Morgan as though she hoped her knowledge of who’s who on the Diversity Middle School football team would meet with his approval. It did.

What’s your name, beautiful? he inquired of her.

Misty, she quickly replied.

Misty, wanna wear my jersey to the game? he asked. Her eyes blossomed into saucers, and she enthusiastically nodded her acceptance of his offer. "See, Totter? Girls want to wear our jerseys. Imagine your Princess in the crowd on Saturday, cheering you, and wearing your number, ’8.’" Seth covered his reddening face with his hand in seeming embarrassment.

What about Jade? I nervously interrupted.

Who’s Jade? Morgan replied.

Nobody, Seth muttered as the bell rang. In the resultant bustle of everyone scrambling back to class, I didn’t realize that I wasn’t the only person not racing to return to fourth period. Princess, what’s your locker number?

I smirked. 517.

Cool. Meet ya there right after school.

No explanation was necessary, and I couldn’t fight back the smile emerging on my lips. I was going to my first football game on Saturday, and my choice of attire was already predetermined for me.

I was lollygagging along to the garbage when I was accosted by Harley. Can we talk? he requested.

I nodded. Yeah, what was that all about, and why are you hanging out with Skye? I lobbied on our way to the academic wings.

You know, you’re almost cute when you’re angry, he goaded with a wink.

My nostrils flared, I groaned, and I determined our talk was already over. I couldn’t take any more of his teasing, so I stomped off to class. I mean, Skye Stanley? Eww! Seriously, Harley? Yuck!

That was the exact moment when I first knew that not having the same schedule as Harley Stevens and the rest of my friends was actually the best possible scenario for eighth grade. After all, with the drama that unfolded whenever we all occupied the same room at the same time, separation was apparently the only, magic-free, way we’d all be getting through that year alive.

chapter two

In The Halls of DMS

After school, I raced to my locker. Seth was waiting for me. Hi, Princess, he greeted. Gosh, he was cute! And single! Swoon! He handed me a plastic grocery bag and said, Here’s my jersey. As I giggled, he continued, So, yeah, I was bored this summer, so I went out for the football team. Now I’m the quarterback. I looked at him incredulously. He shrugged. I guess I’m good.

So, in other words, you use magic, I simplified.

Well, I just make sure nobody gets hurt, he hedged. I knew what that meant… a circle of protection on the players! That was Seth for you! Total sweetie! I just had to hug him, and let me say, football had made his arms so strong! Swoon!

Totter, you waste no time, Harley interrupted. What have you been broken up with Jade for a whole day now?

Seth sheepishly released me. Bro, it’s been a month, but it’s not like that. Princess is my friend.

"That’s a friend hug? Well, then, I want a friend hug, too, Totter!" Harley joked, laughing as he squeezed Seth in what looked to be a very painfully tight hug.

Uncle, bro! You’re crushin’ me! Seth gasped.

Don’t you forget it, Harley promised before winking at me.

Skye picked that moment to arrive at her locker. The boys’ antics received a disapproving glare. Immediately, Harley leapt to her side and clarified, Totter was just demonstrating how friends hug.

As I opened my locker, my lip curled into a snarl. How dare he explain anything to her? I felt Seth’s hands on my shoulders, clearly attempting to calm me, but my inner jealousy was already unleashed. As I put my stuff into my backpack, I overheard Skye ask Harley for a demonstration of a friend hug, which he too willingly obliged.

Harley giving Skye a hug like Seth had given me? Yuck. As I zipped up my backpack, I noticed I could no longer hear them conversing. However, Seth used a firm grasp on my locker door to block my attempts to peek over at them. He leaned his chin on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, Let’s get out of here.

I nodded in agreement as I couldn’t escape fast enough. The moment he picked up my backpack and subsequently released my locker door, I slammed it closed. As I did, I saw Harley and Skye were kissing!

My stomach genuinely churned, and I wanted to hurl! Harley smooching Skye? Gross! Seth grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hall. As we exited the eighth grade wing, he turned and made a gesture at Harley who promptly returned Seth’s gesture.

Continuing hand-in-hand towards the catwalks, Seth asked me, You okay?

I’m fine, I lied.

Princess, if you like him, you’ve gotta tell him!

I scoffed, Whatever. He knows I like him. We’re best friends!

"Uh, Princess, he’s my best friend, too, but seeing him kissing Skye Stanley didn’t make me feel jealous. Cuz he’s my best friend."

My mouth gaped! Seth had called me out! I had no rebuttal. As I mindlessly toyed with the beaded ring on my thumb – the one I had given Seth on Leap Day – I smiled with the sudden realization that with Jade out of the picture, Seth was free to wear it again! I immediately handed it to him, and he promptly put it onto his left ring finger and hugged me as securely as he had at my locker. Instantaneously, the catwalk filled with the sun’s warmth and illumination. Everything felt so right. So perfect. I didn’t want him to ever let go.

I didn’t know how much time had passed before someone abruptly joined us. "Aww! I love these friend hugs! Harley declared, somehow making friend" sound like a swear word.

At once the three of us released each other, and Seth teased, Bro, don’t let us pull you away from Skye.

Harley beamed proudly. She had cheer practice. I’ll catch up with her whenever. He shrugged. "Besides, I need to celebrate the first day of school with milkshakes with my two best friends!" I felt a malicious zing radiating from his seemingly innocuous words.

Despite Seth and me raising many objections, in the end, Harley got his way. We’d get my ‘Rents to give us a lift to the corner store for milkshakes, and Seth would be back for football practice at 3:30. Then, Harley and I would walk home. My parents wouldn’t object, as frankly, they loved Seth and Harley almost as much as I did.

Oops. I mean… eh, well, surely you know what I mean.

chapter three

Coffee and Confidants

Coach Kimball used our baseline miles to match us with a variety of predetermined routes through the city, based on our abilities. Although Harley wanted to be my running buddy, our running aptitudes just weren’t compatible, but that didn’t stop him from pestering Coach Kimball until she granted him permission to join me on my route after he completed his route each day.

Magic? I guessed, as he caught up to me on my first half mile.

Maybe a little bit, he teased. "But who cares, really? I ran the five miles. It’s not like I just teleported here." I scowled at him as though I wanted to chase him, but I knew I couldn’t. With another mile and a half left on my assigned route, I needed to pace myself.

Besides, I needed the time to pick his brain to learn everything there was to know about football. I’m well aware that we had played flag football in each of the past two years of gym class, but with my priorities on conversing with Harley and avoiding the ball, I certainly didn’t learn the ins and outs of the game! I knew the goal was to score touchdowns and win, but the whole downs and yards and laterals and field goals were way beyond my scope of understanding.

Thankfully, Harley was a secret guru of football, and he kindly agreed to break the sport down for me to ensure I’d be a knowledgeable spectator at Seth’s game. It boiled down to whenever Seth threw the ball and a guy in a home jersey caught it, cheer, and anytime that receiver was in the end zone, jump up and don’t stop cheering!

Of course, you could just follow my lead, Harley offered.

You’re going to the game on Saturday? I gasped.

You’re forgetting my incentive, he revealed with a coy smile. Cheerleaders. I playfully punched him in the arm. Yeah, okay, I deserved that.

"Yeah, you did. So, how is Skye?" I pressed.

He fidgeted and rubbed his hair. Yeah, I’m sorry about yesterday. It started as a joke, and it went too far. I didn’t expect her to kiss me in the middle of the hallway!

"She kissed you?"

Well, I didn’t exactly object, he confessed before shrugging and running ahead, protecting his arm from another whack. As much as I was opposed to moving faster, I didn’t want to walk by myself, so I hurried to catch up to him. "Oh, so you do know how to run," he observed, slowing his pace.

Shut up, I growled, annoyed that he ran with such ease.

He then claimed that on his assigned route, Coach Kimball saw him running and told him he ought to go out for the cross-country team. It was weird to think of Harley as an athlete, but his short-lived, boyband career had gotten him into ridiculously good shape. As we returned to campus, I pointed out that our gym teacher hadn’t been anywhere on my loop. That’s cuz you don’t go by the corner store that sells coffee, Harley admitted.

I sincerely doubted that our teacher would send us kids out, unsupervised, while she went to the store for a coffee, but sure enough, when I stopped at Coach Kimball’s office on the way to the locker room to change up, she was sitting there with her feet up on her desk, drinking a coffee, and talking on the phone! I couldn’t believe my eyes! Weren’t teachers supposed to passionately care about our educations? If they didn’t care, why should we?

With an ingenious brainstorm, I ran to the locker room, and without wasting time going into a bathroom stall, I changed and bounded back out before anyone else had even come in. Then, I anxiously waited for Harley near the boys’ locker room.

How are you done before me? he asked as he joined me.

You were right! I announced.

He rubbed his hair. I usually am, but you just haven’t figured that out yet, he teased with a grin. Though honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

I enlightened him as we walked back to the eighth grade wing. Coach Kimball totally was sitting in her office, utterly oblivious to our existence! She wouldn’t have noticed if we walked the routes backwards, on our hands, or not at all! So, why do we bother?

Harley burst into laughter. Don’t even tell me you’re plotting how to get out of walking two miles each morning, he challenged before realizing that was exactly what I was scheming. Um. No.

Why not? You, of all people, should be on board.

"Why? Cuz I used to cut class? When was the last time I was that guy?"

I considered his question. He had certainly cleaned up his act since sixth grade, but you can’t take the rebel out of the bad boy. I grinned widely as I recalled something very convenient. If I remember right, you were that guy when you were fourteen, I teased.

And you’re hoping I’ll turn back into him when I do fourteen this time around? he realized. I thought ya didn’t dig bad boys! He winked, grabbed me, spun me around, and dipped me back. We shouldn’t have been standing that close, but I liked the rebellious feeling. He whispered, Too bad you haven’t kissed Totter yet.

Honestly, the idea to lie ran rampant through my mind, but in typical fashion, I instead foolishly asked, "Why do you think I’m going to ever kiss Seth?"

Harley apparently grew tired of holding me precariously because he stood me back up again. Because you love him.

Without thinking, I argumentatively started, Well, I love – before slamming on my oral brakes, realizing what I was about to argue. I couldn’t say that. I couldn’t finish the sentence with the "you, too," that was on the tip of my tongue! Me love Harley? Yeah, right! I was clearly arguing for the sake of arguing with him! I revised my sentence, mid-thought, hoping he wouldn’t notice. "Puppies, but it’s not like I run up to every cute puppy I see and kiss it."

That wasn’t what you were going to say, he detected, studying me. Suddenly, his eyes went as wide as saucers, his mouth gaped, and he put his arms out and wrapped them around me for a hug. Oh, Persephone, I am so, so sorry, he apologized in a whispered voice as he held me snugly.

I was beyond confused. Why was he apologizing now? With hopes that he’d elaborate, I whispered, For what?

For kissing Skye. No, wait. For flirting with her. I mean, even for me, that’s low.

You can flirt with anyone you want to, Harley.

Well, yeah, technically, but… he paused. We were still hugging, and as the window of a reasonable friend hug had long closed, it had reached awkward. When he let go of me, I stepped back. He took my hands in his and continued, "I didn’t think you were still trying to find the words. I thought you hadn’t said anything because you didn’t feel anything."

My confusion was compounded. How could he possibly be under the disillusion that I didn’t feel anything for him? What exactly do I need to do to make you believe I care about you? I pressed.

His arms scooped me in for another hug. Nothing. He kissed me on top of my head and released me as the bell prompted the hall to immediately swell with students. Have fun in social studies, he added, before turning to head upstairs for science.

I was glad that Mr. McCormick didn’t call on me during second period, as I was replaying and analyzing the interaction with Harley. Alas, no amount of reexamination provided me the clarity I sought.

Okay, P. Obviously boy trouble. Spill, Travis commanded as the bell rang to end social studies. Who do I get to beat up? I couldn’t help but smirk. Oh, you think I’m joking? No. No boy is worth this much torture. Spill it. We walked together to English.

What’s more important? Telling someone you love them or treating them like you do? I asked him.

Wait! Who’s ultimatuming you for an ‘I love you’ now? he inquired, stopping mid-stride in the hall and halting my movement by grabbing my arm. Keep in mind, anyone who ultimatums you needs to lose you.

Trav, you’ve been watching too many soap operas, I accused, continuing towards Mrs. French’s class.

Well, is he looking for an ‘I love you, too,’ or does he want you to say it first? he asked, hurrying to catch up with me.

"He didn’t say it. He wrote it, and I haven’t said it back."

So, you’re helping him save face by not mentioning it, Travis deduced. I looked at him with confusion and shook my head apprehensively. Well, if you loved him, you’d have said it back.

It’s not that simple, I contended.

Yeah, it really is.

No, it’s not, I insisted, storming ahead to class.

When Travis got to the room, he plunked himself into the seat next to mine and continued our discussion. It’s not a crime for you not to love him.

I didn’t say I don’t love him, I pointed out.

Right. But the problem is that you didn’t say anything at all.

What was I supposed to say? I inquired, as Mrs. French made her way to the front of the room to begin class.

How about the truth? he suggested.

Again, what was I supposed to say? I reiterated. Mrs. French began her lecture, so Travis couldn’t answer me, but he didn’t need to. I knew what he’d say. And maybe he was right.

Only I knew I couldn’t say it.

chapter four

The First Football Game

Saturday was a gorgeous day for a football game. As it was still technically summer, most fans were rocking tank tops and sunglasses. But not me. I had the quarterback’s jersey on. I was floored that my ‘Rents let me out of the house sporting it. Mom had maintained that I was at that age where I needed to fall into the conventions of being a teenager, and Dad kept grumbling about his hedge clippers. I thought he was making veiled threats to my friends’ ears, but when Mom and I went out to the car, he actually was trimming the shrubs!

Squirt, have fun and be careful, and don’t go under the bleachers, Dad called to me.

Daa-aad! I whined. People don’t go under the bleachers to kiss anymore! I climbed into the car snidely mumbling, They’re too busy kissing in the halls.

As we drove over to Harley’s to pick him up for the game, I couldn’t help but ask, Mom, is it customary for a girl to go to a football game with a boy, while wearing another boy’s jersey?

My Little Dragon, you’ve never been one for convention, she replied. "Traditionally, big groups of girlfriends go to cheer for the cute boys, but they spend the time socializing and don’t pay attention to the actual game. They buy hot cocoa or cider and flirt with the guys who are there. Then they primp and preen in front of the bathroom mirrors, gossiping about who’s going to be dating who next."

Did you ever go to football games when you were in school?

Never in middle school. Rarely in high school. I was busy with other stuff.

Like what?

Studying. Gosh, I was a geek, she recalled with a smirk. Honestly, I didn’t care about football games. I liked going to the one game versus our crosstown rivals each year, but other than that? I wasn’t giving up my Friday nights and Saturdays to watch the spectacle known as the social dynamics of a football game and then go off to a party where activities in which I had no interest occurred.

Mom, the game starts at ten in the morning. Do you really think there’s going to be some wild party afterwards? It’ll be what, noon? I mean, ‘Hey everybody, let’s throw the wildest brunch in the history of DMS!’ Really, Mom?

Just be careful if you go to anything after the game. Call me if you need me to come get you. Anywhere you are. Anything that is going on. No questions asked. And don’t drink anything that you-

Haven’t opened myself. Yeah, I got it, Mom. I know the drill, but I don’t understand why you need to be so cautionary today. It’s only a middle school football game!

"I’m dropping you off with Harley, she reviewed. What one of you doesn’t think of, the other one will, and I wouldn’t be a fit parent if I didn’t warn you that there are people and situations out there that you’re not anticipating. By preparing you for the worst possibilities, you’ll handle reality with flying colors."

Mid-statement, Harley joined us. What’d I miss? he asked.

You don’t even want to know, I groaned. Mom was just warning me about the potential pitfalls of football parties.

So, we’re going to the party? he excitedly exclaimed.

Party? Mom and I said in unison.

Yeah, Totter said it’s a tradition that Coach Wilson throws a big barbeque at his place up on the mountain after the first game of the season! There’s horseback riding and a swimmin’ hole and-

I didn’t bring a swimsuit, I interrupted.

I’m sure you know how to improvise, he reassured me. I punched him in the arm. Owww!

Harley! You don’t get to see me in my skivvies! I announced.

"Well, if you can go, Totter’s dad can take us up after the game."

So, you and Seth have pre-planned this, Mom stated. Well, it’s up to you, Persephone. Do you want to go to the barbeque?

Obviously I indicated that I most certainly did want to go to the team barbeque! I mean, how cool is that?

Mom dropped us off at the football field, and I eagerly asked a man by the turnstile, Where do we buy tickets?

He looked at me as though I had said something wrong. You just go in, he stated gruffly. How was I supposed to know that middle school football games weren’t ticketed events? It wasn’t like I had been to one before!

Hey, Persephone! Today is my treat! Harley teased as he jumped the turnstile.

Hey! Don’t do that! Get back here! the gruff man yelled.

I turned the turnstile manually to count Harley before passing through it