Robin Constantine - The Promise of Amazing

“Alliteration,” I said.

“Yes, that’s it,” she said. “Cute and smart. Bet you’re in from college for Thanksgiving.”

Compliment and info dig. I was so in.

“See, I’m less of a challenge than you think.”

“Let me get that dessert. Stay right where you are. You’re, like, the most entertaining thing that’s happened in this sleepy, little dump all day.”

Mia kept her eyes on me until she disappeared into the kitchen.

Luke Dobson would be proud. I could almost hear him say, See how easy it is to get back in the game?

Is this really what I wanted though? Did I want to wedge my way into a girl’s heart to sniff out if she’d be a good hit? Or just a lovely distraction? Mia fit the second bill nicely. She probably lived paycheck to paycheck, so no bank there. But she was as sexy as hell. Killer rear view.

Christ, Grayson, stop lining up her stats .

Mia came back. She placed a large slab of pumpkin pie in front of me, took whipped cream, and, without asking, put a generous spray over the top.

“How’d you know that was my favorite part?”

“Lucky guess,” she said, taking her finger and swiping a bit from the top. She put it in her mouth. “I can’t believe I just did that! You make me feel a little wicked.”

The moment was interrupted by the ding of the order-up bell and a loud shout of “Mia!” from the kitchen. She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Be right back, Mike.”

The pie sat in front of me. If I took a bite . . .

This wasn’t who I was anymore. It felt wrong to be playing Mia for my own amusement. I couldn’t go backward. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself about getting kicked out of St. Gabe’s, because the truth was—I was the one who screwed it all up. Me. Term-paper pimp. Cheater. No spin-doctoring that. And I needed to figure out how to move forward. I was so damn sick of standing still.

I reached into my inside jacket pocket for my wallet. Right on the top, in front of my license, was Ruth Caswell’s card from the Camelot Inn. Wren. I would not mess up this second chance fate had tossed in my path.

“Hey, dontcha like it?” Mia asked.

“Oh, yeah, Mia, but . . . my buddy just called. I have to run. Just the check,” I said, getting up. She pouted and scribbled on her order pad.

“Well, if you’re bored later, stop by. I get off at midnight.”

I took the bill up to the register, ignoring the flirty tone in her voice.

“Here, I think she wants you to have that,” the cashier said, handing me back my change along with the check. In bold print it said, MIKE, U R HOT, CALL ME! (heart) Mia with her number beneath it. I turned to see Mia, behind the counter, helping another customer. I waved the check at her: “got it.”

Then I trotted down the steps, crumpled the check, and tossed it in the trash can out front.

A new plan formed as I slid behind the wheel.

And it started with Wren.

“MORNING,” I SAID.

My father sat stoically at the kitchen table, reading the New York Times . I fixed a bowl of Apple Jacks and sat across from him, wondering if I should bring up what happened last night. He beat me to it.

“Your mother is already at the Inn for that big wedding today. Brooke spent the night at Pete’s parents’ house. Probably best if things cool down between Brooke and your mother,” he said, eyes still on the paper. He reached for his coffee mug.

“So you’re okay with it?” I asked.

His piercing blue prosecutor’s eyes bored into me over his reading glasses.

“Let’s just say this isn’t what I envisioned for your sister, but I’m dealing with it.”

“It’s kind of exciting, don’t you think, Grandpa ?”

My father closed the paper, folded it neatly in front of him, and pushed his reading glasses back into his graying hair. Maybe the Grandpa mention wasn’t the best route.

“What?” I asked, wiping a milk dribble from the corner of my mouth.

“You do realize this isn’t the best path for her to follow? Or you.”

“Oh, God, Dad,” I said, blushing. “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just—she’s an adult. In a relationship with someone she loves. You and Mom—”

“Exactly. Your mother and I have been through it. Student loans. Baby food. Sleep schedules. It’s hard enough juggling a new family, but throw in law school? Lots of sacrifices. For both parties. I just hope Brooke can handle it.”

“Handle what?” Josh asked, breezing in with a trail of frigid air—a full brown paper bag under one arm, the Daily News under the other. He dropped the bag on the island and placed the paper in front of my father. Josh was in the same clothes he’d been wearing last night.

“How industrious. Out early?” Dad asked, suspicious.

“Sure, Dad,” Josh answered, winking at me. I knew otherwise, since I’d woken up at 4:00 a.m. in his room, where he’d left me, surrounded by three years’ worth of St. Gabe’s yearbooks. After my first pic of Grayson, I’d needed more. I’d spent the rest of the night poring over Grayson Barrett: The Earlier Years , piecing together what I could about him from the little info the yearbooks gave. He’d had a major growth spurt between freshman and sophomore year. He was captain of the JV lacrosse team and an alternate on varsity when he was a sophomore. He was also in the Key Club and the chess club. Not that it mattered, since I was never going to see him again.

“Here,” Josh said, putting an everything bagel in front of Dad.

“Some example you’re setting for your little sister,” my father said, slicing his bagel in half.

“Dad, don’t be a buzzkill. Had to celebrate Saint Gabe’s huge win yesterday,” Josh said, flopping down in his seat and grabbing a bagel. “I work hard, party harder . . . your motto, remember?”

I raised my eyebrows at my father as he pushed Josh’s hat off his head, revealing his usual dirty-blond mass of unkempt bedhead.

“Don’t give away my secrets, Josh. Wrennie’s my easy kid. I’d like her to stay like that.”

“Great,” I said, pushing away my bowl of cereal. “Why don’t you just call me boring?”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said. “You remind me of your mother, always something going on behind those eyes of yours. You think before you leap. Quiet is not a bad thing.”

“You know what they say: It’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch out for . . . all those secrets,” Josh said, taking a monster bite of his bagel.

“Not my Wren,” my father said, giving my hand a squeeze.

Josh mouthed Grayson behind Dad’s back and put a hand over his heart, batting his eyes in an exaggerated way. I crumpled up my napkin and threw it at him.

“Cut it out!” I said, getting up from the table. “All this bonding over bagels was fun, but now I have to go to work. Are you coming with me today?”

“Um, no. Dad and I have a big day of college football planned. Right, Daddy-O?”

My father sighed, but even he wasn’t immune to Josh’s charms.

“I’ll give you a ride when you’re ready, Wren,” Dad said, picking up his paper again.

“Can I drive?” I asked. He nodded.

I ran upstairs to shower and change. With my hair still damp, I put it in a loose fish-tail braid. The easy kid . There were worse things to be, I guessed. I didn’t dazzle like Brooke or light up a room like Josh, but there was something about me . . . wasn’t there? Something that made Grayson seek me out at school, for more than just to thank me. I held that thought as I went downstairs and off to work.

When I arrived at the Camelot, I found Mom in her office. She remained silent, going over a contract on her desk, as I walked in.