A & L Do Summer (20 page)

“WE'RE HERE, ASPEN! THE FIRST DAY OF OUR LAST YEAR OF
high school.” Laurel straightens the mirror she hung in our locker and checks her reflection.

Sam and Tyler step out of the hallway throng and stop near us. They're wearing the senior fall uniform of baggy khaki shorts and wrinkled polos. And, while they don't look much better than they did at the barn kegger, they appear to be reasonably sober.

“Hello there, lovely ladies,” Sam drawls. “You looked mighty fine on the tube last night, Aspen.” He looks me up and down with his eyes half-closed. He's either trying to look sexy or is suffering from pink eye. “Mighty fine.”

“As did you, Laurel. And you look even finer this morning.” Tyler attempts a leer while he scratches the five hairs growing on his upper lip.

It wouldn't be cool to start off my senior year by making a rude remark. “Uh, thanks…I guess.”

“You are more than welcome.” Sam bows from the waist, climbing two more rungs up the dork ladder.

“Later.” Tyler tips an imaginary hat as they resume their hallway strut.

When they're out of earshot, Laurel rolls her eyes and says, “Can't be late enough for me.” She slams our locker shut. “I told you if we did something to get noticed during the summer it would lead to an outstanding senior year,” Laurel adds as she tugs her shorts over her butt cheeks. “And everything worked out exactly the way I planned it.”

My mind travels back to yesterday. After our families went out to lunch together, Clay offered to drive me home, and I raced to his pickup before my parents could veto the idea. When he asked if I wanted to take a detour to his farm to see Sammy and Cleo, I was so excited I almost lost my lunch. But I maintained my usual cool exterior and only stammered a little.

He showed me his prairie plantings, the resident farm cats, and his recent animal arrivals. Sammy, curled up inside his doghouse, barely opened his eyes when I scratched his head. And Cleo—whose wing tag had been discreetly removed—was much more interested in Rooster Cogburn than in either of us.

After we said our hellos to the animals, Clay and I walked down to the wooden bridge overlooking Cottonwood Creek. The leaves in Clay's patch of woods flashed green and silver tinged with the first hints of autumn red. Silvery minnows swam through the shallow water, and a painted turtle watched us from a rotting log before slipping into the creek. It was peaceful and shady, with the soothing sound of moving water. And when Clay held me close and kissed me, it became my favorite place on Earth.

Next weekend is his family's annual Labor Day picnic at the farm. My parents are invited, along with Laurel, her dad, and Miss Simmons. Manny will be there, too. He's coming home to visit after only one week at Iowa State. But Laurel may have something to do with that.

Laurel's selective memory is working as well as ever. There's no way she could plan a summer as bizarre as ours. “Let's just say I won't complain about the way it ended.”

As we make our way to our first classes, Miss Noonbottom sweeps toward us. Her flowered dress seems tighter and shorter than it did last spring. Knowing too well how often she drops her baton, I fear for this year's vocal music students.

Miss Noonbottom stops in the middle of the hall, blocking traffic in both directions. “Well, if it isn't Cottonwood Creek's newest celebrities.” She beams at us. “You girls made quite a splash on last evening's news. Quite a splash.”

“Thank you, Miss Noonbottom,” Laurel and I say together.

She lowers her voice. “I heard a rumor—from a very reliable source—that Principal Hammond is going to call an assembly in your honor this afternoon.”

“That's awesome!” Laurel fluffs up her hair. “Thanks for telling us.”

“Don't mention it.” Miss Noonbottom looks around and notices the traffic jam behind her. “Well, I must be off to class. I'll see you young heroes later today.”

“Listen to that,” Laurel says as we step aside to let her walk past. “She even remembers us.”

Miss Noonbottom stops and wags her finger. “Now, Aster and Lily, you mustn't dally. I expect you girls to set a good example for your classmates.”

Laurel sputters, but Miss Noonbottom is intent on getting to the music room.

“I see what you mean, Laurel,” I say, suppressing a chuckle. “Now that we're famous, our senior year is going to be completely different.”

I AM BLESSED TO HAVE THE SUPPORT AND AFFECTION
of a number of resilient, insightful women—and men—who lift me up in so many ways. Thank you for honoring me with your friendship.

My everlasting love and gratitude go to my magical writing group: Sharelle Byars Moranville, Eileen Boggess, and Rebecca Janni. You are talented authors, amazing women, and priceless friends.

I have the deepest admiration and respect for my incredible agent, Rosemary Stimola, for your humor, knowledge of all things publishing, and your belief in me. I still pinch myself to see if I'm dreaming.

Thank you to my brilliant editor, Ruth Katcher, whose insight, kindness, and patience made revising easy. Working with you is a delight.

Thanks also to the outstanding team at Egmont USA: managing editor Nico Medina, assistant editor Alison Weiss, and copyeditor Sandra Smith. For city folks, you do a real good job.

Special thanks to Chief Larry Phillips of the Waukee Police Department for patiently answering my questions about juvenile offenders. Please excuse the liberties I took with police procedures.

A bonus thank-you to my brother Dan who—brave soul that he is—reads every manuscript I send him.

And a big hug and kiss to my forever guy, Mike. I know you'll see this eventually.