Brighton
2:15 p.m. --- 22 hours, 45 minutes left
Amelia pulls me to the side of the hall as soon as class is over. “Let’s go get mochas and talk. I know you’re stressing.” “Can’t. Friday—manicures with Mom.” My answer is quick, my mind immediately shuttering off tempting thoughts of sinking into a cozy chair at Bean Haven and having an honest conversation with Amelia. “Thanks, though.”
“I think she’d understand if you wanted to skip this week.”
“I really can’t. I can’t mess with her routine right now. She’s . . .” I flutter my hand and try to think of the right word, “fragile.”
“And you’re not? B, you—”
“Brighton! There you are!” Silvia’s a sophomore, but I work with her on yearbook and dance committees. She moves a million miles an hour—both on and off the soccer field— and speaks everything with exclamation points. Her energy is contagious . . . normally. “Did you get my texts? I need help on my lab report!”
Amelia frowns. “We’re kinda in the middle of some- thing.”
“Oh, sorry! I know, it’s Friday afternoon—finally! You probably want to leave. It’s not due till Monday. Want me to e-mail what I have and we can meet up tomorrow?”
“Can’t you ask someone else?” Amelia suggests. I know the hand she’s put on my arm is supposed to be supportive, but it feels like yet another weight, another demand, another expectation.
“Mr. Leland told me to ask Brighton. But I guess if you don’t want to . . .” I hope the statement ends with “I’ll ask someone else” or “I’ll figure it out,” but Silvia just shrugs and sighs.
“She doesn’t.”
“Amelia!” I exclaim.
Silvia takes a step backward, but I protest, “It’s all right. Really, it’s okay. Show me now.” I squeeze Amelia’s arm and give her an apologetic look. “Have fun tonight with Peter.”
“Call me later.” It’s a command, and I nod before I follow
Silvia toward the computer lab.
“Brighton!” Jake Murphy calls down the hall. “What time should I be at the library on Sunday?”
I don’t want to yell, so I hold up eight fingers. “Eight a.m.? You’re killing me,” he bellows.
“I try,” I say, shooting finger guns in his direction.
This earns me one of his booming laughs and a “For you, my coffee and I will be there. Large. Coffee.”
Ellie Cooper stops me next, and it’s hard to maintain a smile. Just this once I’d like to get from point A to point B without having twenty conversations. Invisibility sounds like the most desirable of superpowers—I’ll have to ask Peter which radioactive creature needs to bite me.
“B, I’m going to be a little late on Sunday. Tennis lesson.”
“That’s okay. We’ll probably be at the library until noonish.”
“Great! I’ll be there by ten. At the latest. Who’s coming?” The list is at the bottom of my bag—and if I pull it out, she’ll want to talk about everyone on it. So I wink. “Wait and see.”
“You’re the worst. Ugh, okay, I guess I’ll be patient. Oh, almost forgot, Mr. Donnelly wants to see you before you leave.”
“He does?” Mr. Donnelly is the Key Club advisor. I’m sure it’s nothing, just some last-minute reminders about the book project, but it’s yet another thing between me and my car. I pull on a smile. “Thanks, Ellie. See you Sunday.”
YOU ARE READING
Bright Before Sunrise
Teen FictionWhen Jonah is forced to move from Hamilton to Cross Pointe for the second half of his senior year, "miserable" doesn't even begin to cover it. He feels like the doggy-bag from his mother's first marriage and everything else about her new life with a...
