Popular party girl and high school senior Jessica Stone has a secret: she used to be a nerd - a big one; a goody two-shoes, grade-skipping, all-state spelling bee champ. But she lost the braces, put on some contacts, and applied all her academic gen...
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Chapter Two
But I'm not happy. I'm miserable. Utterly bereft, depressed and completely regretting my temporary moment of insanity.
I'm also mother effing hot. Fanning myself, I look around the stifling van containing our driver, Hector, one oblivious teacher and six sweaty, hostile strangers. I didn't pay much attention to them on the plane, consumed with my own inner turmoil, but none seem overly familiar. Besides, it's not like we run in the same social circles — not anymore anyway. No one speaks a word to me. I get the vibe they're less than thrilled about my last minute annexation of their trip. Talk about joining the club.
I take a long drink from my water bottle, chugging hard. Sunglasses slide off the back of my head and a hand goes up to grab them.
"Better hang on tight to those Pradas, Princess," says a voice from my past.
Water sprays out my nose and mouth, splattering the backs of the two girls sitting in the row in front of me, their shrieks simultaneous.
"What the hell?" the blonde says, turning around and wiping her neck. The other girl, with the inky tresses, looks at me in disgust. I ignore them as I'm busy choking to death.
There are a few thumps on my back, and a cheery, "Easy does it, Messy Jessie." I turn my head, everything in slow motion. I'm hearing things. My disbelieving eyes rake over the boy on my right, whose once cherubic face has morphed into something slightly more ... archangelic? Probably why I hadn't recognized him.
The world speeds up again.
"Panama is supposed to be pretty safe, Trav-ass," I somehow manage to gasp between coughs, eyes watering, "but I would've thought you knew that."
"Oh, I do," he says, handing me the sunglasses I hadn't been able to save from falling. "I'm just surprised you do." He pushes wavy brown hair out of dark green eyes that glint with familiar mischief.
"There happens to be this fabulous invention called Google," I retort, wiping the water dribbling down my chin. "In fact, you're there under the search term 'annoying know-it-all.'"
He grins, straight white teeth competing with a faded image of him in braces. "At least you're still aware of the fact that I do. Know it all."
Too shocked to think of a decent comeback, I face forward, staring out the bug-splattered windshield, my heart racing. You have got to be kidding me. Since when does Travis freaking Henley go to Cassels Prep?
"What the hell is your problem?" Blondie says, having dried herself off. Teal glasses frame hazel eyes that glower at me from under thick bangs. Both girls look like they've just turned over a large rock to expose some revolting specimen squirming in the mud.
"Sorry," I mutter, distracted, but still aware there's no way they'd ever talk to me like that at school. This only serves to remind me that I'm miles out of my realm: 3,650 of them, to be exact. They whip their heads around, whispering and throwing the occasional withering look over their shoulders.
"Long time, no talk, Messy Jessie." Travis nudges me with his elbow.
"Don't call me that," I hiss.
"So you prefer Princess?"
"I'd prefer if you stopped talking to me."
"Whatever you say, Princess." He grins and ruffles my hair. I glare at him, smooth my hair back into a ponytail and stare straight ahead. I must be hallucinating. That's the only explanation why Travis's leg is pressed against mine. Travis, who'd known me before my phoenixlike rise from the ashes of uncoolness. In fact, I'm clinging to the faint hope that everything since that day in Mr. A's class has been some kind of extended hallucination: Miles, Panama and now Travis? Maybe there was a chemical leak in lab and I'm in a coma right now.
"You will all love the place, I am sure," Hector yells over his shoulder as Latin music blares from the stereo. We zoom along the waterfront. Tall buildings swirl up into the sky and construction looms everywhere as Panama hurries to catch up to its reputation as a thriving metropolis.
Trying to get a grip on my shock, I turn to the girl on my left who's reading a book on Panama. "Do you know how much longer it is?" I ask. Travis leans over the seat to talk to a guy with shaggy brown hair who managed to escape being spit on. What's he telling him? My chest tightens.
"Around an hour, I think," she says in a soft voice, looking up from the guidebook. The dark French braids are vaguely familiar and I place them from biology class, front row. Her name's some sort of musical instrument. Harp, maybe?
My "thanks" is drowned out by an enormous truck rocketing past, inches from sideswiping us. Hector honks and gestures wildly. "Que te pasa! Ove!" Horns blare and fists shake. Panama traffic makes driving back home in Seattle look like meditation practice. I grab the seat in front to keep from falling into Travis as we swerve to avoid another large truck.
The phone shifts in my back pocket, jabbing me in the butt. Discreetly, I pull it out to see if Ky's texted yet. All electronics are forbidden. Mr. A has peculiar ideas about doing most of our research the old-fashioned way. Personally, I don't think he wants to be responsible if anything gets lost or stolen. Only cameras allowed. Which I, of course, didn't bring, since there's nothing I want to remember about this trip.
No new messages.
My stomach clenches. It's fine. I reassure myself. They're all traveling today as well. I probably won't hear from anyone until tomorrow. Ky and Alyssa were horrified when they heard the news and vowed to keep tabs on Miles. We made up after our fight, getting back together, but things are still kinda shaky. Even though he'd acted like a major d bag, some part of me is reluctant to let go after all the work I've put into that relationship. Into all of the relationships with my new friends and new life.
I cast a sidelong look at Travis. And now this. He could ruin everything.
Blondie turns to say something to him and sees my phone. "Kiki." She elbows Inky Tresses, nodding at me, then raises her voice. "Excuse me, you're not allowed to have that."
"Chrissy's right." Kiki's brown eyes are hard. "Didn't you read the waiver?"
Mr. A hears and holds out his hand. "You'll get it back at the end of the trip."
Seriously?
I grudgingly deposit my only link to the outside world in Chrissy's outstretched palm. She gives me a smug look and hands it over to Mr. A. What are we, in grade two? I open my mouth to say something when Hector slams on the brakes, my upper torso lurching forward then snapping back.
"He's got a gun!" someone screams.
The breath leaves my body as Travis throws himself on top of me.
