A shy high school senior jock and a closed-off girl battling an immune disorder fake a relationship to win a social media contest.
Being shy isn't easy, especially when you're the new kid at school. Scotts Valley's football program is subpar compare...
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Friday, I unlocked the Home Ec kitchen, pocketed my key, and entered with my lunch, my Stanford essay, and a bad mood. My early application wasn't accepted, but so few were. I wanted to revise my essay for spring resubmission during the lunch babysitting Mrs. Calvin inflicted on me. She had a dentist appointment and wrote me out of fifth period, but I still didn't want to be here.
With a sigh, I sat at her desk, put on my headphones, and read my essay.
The lessons we learn from obstacles can be fundamental to guiding future success. Recall a time when you faced a failure, challenge, or setback. How did it affect you, and what did you learn from the experience?
What a depressing question. Why wouldn't they want to know about my successes or strengths? My previous answer focused on accepting my psoriasis and it driving me to want to become a doctor, but maybe frustrated acceptance wasn't a strong enough lesson.
"Hey." Brody arrived first, coming in with fast, long steps and carrying two plastic shopping bags.
Mrs. Calvin giving everyone thirty dollars to buy their ingredients was crazy. She hoped people would learn how to spend within their budget and calculate sales tax, but no one returned their change. Last year, someone spent only ten dollars.
My mouth dropped when Brody handed me a dollar and two quarters. I blinked at the crumpled bill in his palm before smiling at him wide enough to pinch my cheeks.
He really was different, and my heart pinched in appreciation. I cupped my hand under his hand to catch his change. The skin on the backside of his fingers was softer than the callous pads and his palm, and his index finger dented my palm. He rolled his hand, dropping the change and squeezing my hand. The light contact made me suck in a breath.
Not wanting to get us in trouble, I pointed to his workstation, put Brody's change in the envelope Mrs. Calvin left in her top drawer, and tucked my headphones back on. He pulled out his planning worksheets, bowls, and spoons. Hopefully, he knew to preheat his oven a little to make his dough rise faster, so—He went over and turned it on.
I couldn't say anything, but I could smile. He must've felt my gaze because he looked up from washing his hands and gave me a disarming grin and wink.
My heart plunged in a dropping sensation, and heat flooded my cheeks. These flashes of quiet confidence on Brody were so attractive. I lowered my gaze to my paper, but the typed words blurred. He worked quickly, starting to make his pizza dough—which Mrs. Calvin didn't think he could manage in such a short time, but I believed in him—by oiling a glass bowl while his water and yeast mixed. When I mentally reminded him to shut off his warming oven, his head turned, and he shut it off.
Brody was measuring and sifting flour when another person entered. Thankfully, it was Jane, but five minutes later, Layla joined us.
Ugh. She was here for one reason: tormenting me. Her smirking at Brody through class made me want to stuff her head in the oven. Her meal plan was a joke, starting with boxed mac n' cheese, which Mrs. Calvin made her change. Grilled cheese and steamed carrots didn't need advance prep, so I could only assume her no-bake cheesecake with canned cherry topping was why she came in. Or the personal torment factor.
