Undercover Justice

Undercover Justice

Laura DeLanoy

Copyright Laura DeLanoy 2013

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© 2013 by Laura DeLanoy

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

First digital version

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Print edition produced in the United States of America

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To my husband Eric, for his praise and encouragement.

I love you.

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Chapter 1

“Blue 15…Blue 15…Down…Set…Hut!”
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Grunts and groaned filled the grassy courtyard as a dozen of the biggest, loudest, and most popular varsity football players pushed and shoved in a before school scrimmage. Glancing up, I gave my twin brother Kent a quick thumbs up after he threw a touchdown pass. I will admit that growing up with a twin brother, who lived and breathed football, had its advantages as I watched all those good-looking guys fly past me.

I sat on a stone ledge by a huge fountain. The courtyard and fountain of Pine Valley High School was by far the nicest thing about the decade’s old school. It reminded me of a park. It was beautifully landscaped, and huge old oak trees towered overhead with large open grassy areas. I was sitting in front of my high school, waiting for the first bell to ring, announcing the start of what I hoped would be the greatest day of my whole senior year.

Glancing at my phone for the umpteenth time, I saw that we still had 8 minutes before the first bell rang. I couldn’t wait for the day to get started because we were going on a field trip in government today. When we got our small group assignments, I had every intention of being grouped with the cutest most popular boy in school. That meant extra study time after school, maybe over dinner, and getting to spend the rest of the school year in his charming presence.

Tyler Gordon III.

I have had the biggest crush on him since our freshman year. But he has had one girl after another on his arm. That is until last week when he broke up with his latest girlfriend during spring break, in a very nasty and still being talked about, way. I give him the benefit of the doubt. Every rumor flying around school is most often highly exaggerated if not an outright lie.

I don’t know him real well because his family attends Pine Hill Baptist Church while my family attends Pine Hill Community Church across the street. Sometimes I think that the two churches have an unintentional rivalry going as to who has the most members on any given Sunday. I think it is pretty funny. The only bad thing is that Tyler doesn’t belong to our youth group and so I don’t get to see him except at school.

He is what some would call preppy, with a medium build, a little above average height, and always wearing the latest fashion. He always has neatly trimmed blond hair. He has blue eyes, and a great smile. I think that he is the best dresser in the whole school and also one of the most popular. Somehow, I had to make sure that Tyler was in my group. Then maybe we would get to know each other better, and with the Prom coming up…

“Watch Out!”

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw a quick flash of a football and my breath caught. Before I could prepare myself, everything went black as the ball hit me square in my right eye. Crying out, I dropped my bag and notes on the ground and slapped my hand over my eye. Pain radiated through my cheekbone and throbbed hot and dark in the center of my eye. That’s what I get for day dreaming and not paying closer attention, I guess.

“Omi-gosh, are you ok?” asked a quiet female voice in front of me.

Lifting my hand off my eye, I blinked a couple times and her face started coming into view. A tall slender girl with long brown hair and thick stylish black glasses stood holding my bag and dropped notes. She looked vaguely familiar.

“Yeah,” I said, rubbing my eye, “I think so. I wasn’t expecting it, so I didn’t duck.” As she came into focus, I recognized her as Charlotte Duncan, a girl who transferred a couple of months ago.

Behind me, someone snickered. Mentally groaning, I turned around and saw the bane of my school years smirking behind her perfectly manicured hand.

Vanessa Bigsby has been my rival since Kindergarten. She has made it her mission; along with her side kick Shelby Mills, to be the most popular and prettiest girl in school and to make sure that I was not. We have had what you would call an unfriendly rivalry. God calls us to love our enemies. I find that I have to work on that principal after every encounter I have with her. After all these years, the final competition between us will be which one of us is crowned prom queen our senior year.

“Did you have an accident?” Vanessa asked smugly. “Better get ice on that before your whole face turns purple,” she said with a big smile, obviously delighted over the prospect. Great. Just my luck, I will probably have a huge black eye only weeks before prom.

At the sound of running footsteps and loud male voices, I closed my eyes and groaned. Their verbal insults and grunting signaled the arrival of the football players which meant more gawkers. Or depending on your perspective, the culprits.

“Are you ok sis?” my brother Kent asked with concern.

Opening my eyes, I looked up at the crowd that had formed with amazing speed. They all started talking at once.

“Wow! Looks like its turning purple already.”

“Do you think it will match her dress?”

“Way to go moron!”

“If you had thrown the ball better, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Yeah, well if you had caught the ball instead of tripping over you own feet, this wouldn’t have happened either.”

Turning to my brother, I replied quietly, “I’m fine, just a little embarrassed.”

“Just chalk it up as another of your embarrassing misfortunes,” my brother said with a grin.

Ever since I have been little, trouble has followed me wherever I went. In kindergarten it was the school bully who decided he liked my lunch box the best. In second grade, it was the neighbor’s pit bull that I thought needed to go for a walk. By middle school, things got a bit more dangerous. In seventh grade, it was the hornets’ nest at the top of the willow tree in our yard that I thought would make a great science project. There were many other incidents that resulted in other minor injuries and with some a trip to the ER. I have never felt that any of them were my fault. At least not completely.

I am not a clumsy person. I am very athletic and enjoy running. Trouble just seems to find me when I least expect it. I figure God made some people trouble makers and others trouble finders. That’s me, a magnet for trouble.

Kent, who is one minute older than me, finds it hilarious. He is usually right there in the thick of things, but remains unscathed, while I end up needing medical attention or him to defend me.

I was desperate for a way to disappear. I was very relieved when Charlotte, who had picked up my bag, pushed her way back over to me. Handing me the bag, she said, “I know where we can get you some ice, if you want to get out of here.”

“That would be great.”

Standing up, I took my bag from her and slung it over my shoulder.

“See you on the bus,” I mumbled to my brother. Mortification started to make me feel worse than my eye actually did, and I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

Walking quickly, I followed her down the sidewalk towards the main school entrance. After we had gotten away from the crowd and walked through the double doors, Charlotte stopped and turned to me.

Smiling warmly she stuck out her hand.

“Hi, I’m Charlotte Duncan.”

“I know,” I said smiling, “I’m Nora Barton. You’re in my government class aren’t you? You transferred a few months ago right?”

“Yes. I usually sit in the back and try not to draw attention to myself,” she said with a small smile.

“The teacher always calls on you for the right answer if no one else knows it,” I said, “But you never raise your hand. Why”

“No one likes the class know-it-all,” Charlotte explained. “It’s bad enough that Ms. Morley singles me out. I don’t need to draw any more attention to myself.”

Wanting to change the subject I asked, “Where are we going anyway? Nothing’s down here but the teachers’ lounge.”

“Actually, a while back one of the science teachers converted an old room into a clubhouse, if you will, for the science club to meet. We have a refrigerator with ice trays. I thought it would be more private.”

“Thanks, I wouldn’t want to have to go into the main office for ice. It would spread like wild fire if I did that.”

Charlotte was too nice to point out that Vanessa had probably already spread the news as fast as she could. Opening the door to the club room, Charlotte walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a few ice cubes. Neatly wrapping them in a clean bandana, she handed me the bundle.

“I hope this helps. Your outfit is so great by the way. Is that bag a Coach? Is it real? I have this thing for purses. I just can’t have too many.”

Wow. She talks. I don’t think I have heard that much out of her since the start of the semester.

“Um… thanks, no this isn’t an authentic Coach purse. It just… kind of… went with my outfit. Would you like to see it?” I asked handing it to her.

Holding the bandana to my eye, I studied Charlotte as she inspected my bag with all the intensity of a science experiment.

She was a few inches taller than my own five foot three inches. She had long, straight, dark brown hair that she had neatly tied back with a blue ribbon. She was wearing a pair of jeans that looked well worn and comfortable with a pale yellow polo that showed off her olive skin tone. They were very practical clothes for a field trip.

Looking down at my own outfit, I felt jealous of her comfortable, simple outfit. I have inherited my mom’s elegant and neat as a pin fashion style. Because my brother Kent was always dirty from rough housing, she felt the need to make sure I was the opposite. I think it made her feel better as a mother to have at least one child who was clean and tidy all the time. After all those years, the preppy, conservative clothes stuck, and now I find my closet has very little else.

Today, I was wearing a cream-colored pencil skirt. I usually wear a skirt to school. I know most people just wear jeans, but it is hard to find pants that I don’t trip over. I have never had that problem with a skirt. My cap-sleeved cashmere sweater was both comfortable and stylish. That was my one condition with my wardrobe. I don’t care how stylish or trendy clothing is, if it is not soft feeling or comfortable then it wasn’t worth the effort.

I take after my mother’s petite Irish family. We all have dark Auburn hair and very fair skin. As far back as I can tell, not one woman in the family line has been over 5’3” or one hundred twenty-five pounds. I know this, because presently, that is what I am. I keep hearing that it is so unusual to be that big.

Something must be wrong with me. In my family the women are known to have very high metabolisms. They can eat whatever they want and not gain an ounce. They all have very healthy appetites. Every one of them can out eat most of the high school football team. I’m not joking. The only thing I was blessed with was the healthy appetite portion of our genes because I seem to have no problem gaining a few extra pounds here and there. High metabolism must have skipped me in our gene pool, much to my dismay.

Kent on the other hand, took after our fathers, also Irish family. Only, their line was blessed with height and better skin tone. He is over six feet tall with an even complexion that has the ability to tan. Any extra pounds go straight to lean muscle. He also has hair that is more strawberry blond, with a strong emphasis on the blond part. I would give anything to be able to tan and have blond hair.

Is that so much to ask? Guys don’t care as much about this stuff as girls do, I don’t think.

“It’s beautiful,” Charlotte said handing the bag back to me.

“So… what does the science club do anyway?” I asked glancing around the room.

“Mostly we just hang out together. We try to do a new project or experiment every month. It’s ok,” Charlotte shrugged. “There aren’t a lot of girls who belong, so it can get intense with male testosterone. Mr. Cotter, the club faculty advisor, is pretty cool. He let us turn this room into more of a hangout instead of a science lab.”

I noticed that there were a few tall lab tables on one side of the room filled with high tech looking computers and other equally “techie” equipment. The other half of the room was decked out in music posters, old couches, a TV, full sized refrigerator, and believe it or not, a ping-pong table and arcade game.