Renata Santos doesn't expect her heart to flutter when she catches a boy stealing flowers out of her backyard. But as she unravels his reputation, she realizes puppy-eyed delinquent Isaac Marshall may just be the sunshine she needs to turn her life...
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M I M O S A
[acacia dealbata] ➳ sensitivity.
ISAAC AND I AGREED not to look through Jackie's phone.
She was just another kid at school, after all. We didn't want to uncover anything potentially embarrassing about her. Plus, she was much less evil than her dad, and we had nothing to gain from hacking into her social media accounts.
So the phone sat at the bottom of my backpack throughout fourth period. Isaac couldn't seem to help himself and nudged it with his foot a few times during the lesson, but I reeled him back with a death glare.
"Can you not? If Mr. Davis tries to confiscate it..."
A tiny smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth as he switched to kicking the leg of his desk instead. "Don't worry. I got you."
I snorted. "That's exactly what I'm worried about."
At the end of the day, I returned the phone to the school office and told the receptionist I had found it in a gym locker. Never mind that I wasn't even taking P.E. this semester — my lie slipped through the elderly woman's mental detectors unnoticed.
She tucked the phone into her Lost and Found drawer, and as I left, a heavy weight lifted off my chest. I couldn't believe it had been so easy to discard the evidence of my first and only major theft. It was almost too good to be true.
Nonetheless, my relief was short-lived.
As I left the office, I spotted the counsellor's door out of the corner of my eye. It reminded me that I had yet to talk to my parents about attending Isaac's stepbrother's party, and that they had yet to sign the permission slip authorizing the school to give me an earlier exam.
I had a feeling they wouldn't be too enthused about my plans.
My intuition proved correct after dinner. After scarfing down a healthy amount of rice and beans to avoid all conversation, I knew I had to say something before Mom left for her night shift. When I breached into their bedroom, she was packing a clean pair of scrubs into her work bag, and Dad was reading the news on his laptop.
He waved at me absentmindedly. I teetered by the doorway, then decided I'd just cut to the chase. "I need you to sign a form to tell the school counsellor I'm allowed to take my math final three days early." Dad gave me a funny look, so I added, "Por favor."
"I've been a teacher for fifteen years," he said. "I know a well-hidden excuse to skip school when I hear one."
"Papai," I complained, even though he was right. He accepted the piece of paper from me and frowned at it, wearing his reading glasses and an awfully serious expression.
"Do you want to explain this to us while your father reads the fine print?" Mom asked. "You said you were doing fine in school."
"I am. This has nothing to do with my grades." Even as I said it, I couldn't help but cringe. But I could tell by the looks on both of their faces that I was meant to start talking. So I did.
