Twenty
I don’t text Carlos over the long holiday weekend. However, I do put his number in my phone’s contact list, code name Poe from The Force Awakens. And I think about texting him, a lot. But I never actually do it because I spend the weekend worrying about him being disqualified for “fraternizing.”
As Dad and I pull into the parking garage, I send up a quick prayer that Carlos arrives late so we don’t have our usual morning “alone time” up in the sky box. Instead, Carlos is waiting for the elevator when my dad and I push through the steel doors. My heart beats so loudly I wonder if he can hear it; no way can I make eye contact.
“Good morning, Mr. K,” Carlos says to my dad. He glances at me, but I keep my focus on the elevator doors.
“Good morning, Carlos.”
I’m secretly pleased Dad remembers who Carlos is. Technically he should know all of the interns by name, but he is the big kahuna, after all, with more important things on his mind, like who’s trying to destroy Emergent on social media.
Today I’m supposed to meet Jiang for lunch, and I hope to pump her for info. She and Brian planned to spend the weekend digging deep, hoping to find a trail of breadcrumbs leading to the jerk. My money’s still on Lewis.
When the elevator doors slide open, I move to a corner and so does Carlos, parking himself next to me, which is both horrifying and thrilling.
“Hi, Laurel,” he says, and now I’m stuck.
“Hi.” I barely glance at him but my whole body amps up, every sense hyper-aware of him.
Dad leans against the opposite wall of the elevator and studies us. “Did you have a good weekend, Carlos?”
My eyes narrow suspiciously. It’s this type of random yet pointed inquiry that makes me suspect he truly has Darth Vader spying abilities, even though his expression is bland. I don’t dare look at Carlos, whose arm brushes mine as he raises it to run a hand through his hair.
“Yeah, it was great.” I hear the grin in his voice. “Full of surprises.”
My face flames as I stare at the numbers above the elevator doors, willing us to speed up. Dad glances down at his phone and his shoulders tense.
Uh-oh. Has @PRTruth struck again? The elevator dings as we reach the first floor of Emergent and Dad steps out, so distracted by whatever is on his phone he doesn’t say goodbye. The doors slide closed, leaving Carlos and me alone together in the metal box. I sneak a glance at the chocolate eyes, which look especially melty today.
Carlos clears his throat. “So. We should talk about what happened on Saturday.”
Since when do guys want to talk? Oh wait, that’s what this is—the sorry-if-you-got-the-wrong-idea-it-was-just-a-kiss speech.
“We don’t have to talk. It was no big deal.” Each word rips out a piece of my heart, but it’s for the best. I won’t be the reason he loses his shot at the money.
“You’re a lousy liar, Special K.” His gaze narrows. “Why didn’t you text me?”
“I—uh—don’t know.”
“Look, if you’re not interested just be straight up and tell me, okay?” There’s a surprising hint of defensiveness in his voice.
Not interested? Not interested?
The elevator doors slide open to reveal Trish, arms crossed over her chest, who studies us suspiciously. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Nope.” Carlos adjusts his backpack strap and stalks away, leaving me alone with Trish.
“What’d you do to piss off your Boy Scout, princess?”
I stare after Carlos, wishing I were brave enough to call after him. “I’m an idiot,” I mutter under my breath.
“Agreed.” Trish steps into the elevator as I exit. “You want a donut?”
I blink, surprised by her offer. “Okay. Chocolate. Please.”
She nods, and right before the doors close she flashes me a sympathetic half smile.
…
I spend the morning on to-do tasks for Elijah and Ashley, then sit with Jason to show him a few basics of Photoshop. He struggles to keep up. Dark circles shadow his eyes and he can’t stop yawning.
“Big party weekend?” I ask, immediately regretting my drinking joke.
“Not for me, but my dad had a hell of a weekend.” He tries to smile but fails.
Jason ducks his head, and red blotches of embarrassment bloom on his neck and cheeks…and that’s when I notice the makeup. He did a good job applying it, blending it into his skin as thoroughly as a makeup salesperson at Ulta, or someone who’s familiar with stage makeup. I examine it more closely and have to swallow my gasp.
I didn’t just miss the makeup earlier, I missed the mottled purple and blue bruising underneath it.
Oh God. Why am I so stupid?
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “My party weekend joke was insensitive. Feel free to ignore my idiot self the rest of the summer.”
He glances up, flashing a quick, shy smile. “You’re not an idiot, but sometimes I think I am.” He points to his computer screen. “This software stuff kills me. Sometimes I think all I’m good at is throwing footballs and cleaning up my dad’s puke.” He winces and darts me an apologetic look. “See what I mean? I can’t even have a normal conversation.”
Tentatively, I place my hand over his, which is gripping the computer mouse. “It’s okay, Jason. You’re dealing with a lot. I’m impressed you’re here every day, with all that’s going on.”
His hand relaxes its death grip on the mouse, so I remove my hand from his. He blows out a long, slow breath, then turns to me.
“Thanks, Laurel. That means a lot.” He pushes back his overgrown blond hair that used to captivate me. “I know I don’t have a shot at the scholarship compared to everyone else, but working here is pretty cool.” He flashes me another quick grin. “Except for getting locked in the basement.”
It’s my turn to wince. “Yeah…that stunk…except for the Pixy Stix.”
Jason laughs, and the sound lifts my heart. He deserves so much more than life has dealt him.
“Let’s try this again.” I reach for the mouse and take him through the basics, but slower this time. We crack dumb jokes about our practice photo of two dogs playing tug-of-war. His fatigue appears to lessen, and this time around he remembers what I show him.
A reminder pops up on his screen: “Stockwell Suds tour in one hour.”
“I’ve gotta go meet Lewis.” He rubs his palms across his khakis. “Do I, um, look okay?” He stands up and straightens his tie, which must be his dad’s, based on the boring pattern and faded colors.
I’ve always thought he looked more than okay, but I try to be objective, viewing him as Cal Stockwell might. His creamy button-down shirt is decent; he must’ve ironed it, which makes my heart crack a tiny bit. His khaki pants are fine. Most people won’t notice the frayed edges on the pant cuffs.
He looks like who he is—a nice guy who wants to make a good impression.
“You look great.” I hope my smile conveys that I mean it. I hesitate, then point to my cheek. “Maybe touch that up just a bit.”
He startles like a skittish deer, then hunches his shoulders. “Okay. Thanks.” He won’t look me in the eye, so I stand up to face him.
“Jason, I meant what I said.” I touch his shoulder, grateful he doesn’t flinch. “You look great, but more important, you’re a smart guy. Don’t forget it.”
He nods, raising his head and meeting my gaze. “Do you think it’s weird, me working on a brewery project?” He chews his lip. “Since my dad is, you know?”
“No. I assume you chose it because Cal’s a pro athlete who started his own business. And you’re hoping someday to do the same.”
He nods, relief shining in his eyes. “That’s exactly why. If acting doesn’t work out, and I have to play pro ball, I don’t want to do it for long.” He taps the side of his head and grins. “I don’t have extra brain cells to lose to concussions.”
“You have plenty of brain cells. Now, get going; you don’t want to be late. Lewis could make your day miserable.” I shoo him away, and he waves, looking much happier than earlier.
My stomach twists with worry for Jason. I wonder if I should tell someone about the bruising. But who? Eyes downcast, I make my way to my desk, sneaking a peek at Carlos.
That’s a mistake, because though he sits as stiffly as a mannequin, his wounded expression looks like someone just punched him in the gut.
And I’m afraid that someone is me.
…
I’d do anything to take away the hurt in Carlos’s eyes. I’m worried he took my elevator silence as a rejection, and that he misinterpreted my interactions with Jason. As much as I want a chance with him once this internship ends, maybe it’s not in the cards.
Frustrated, I shift my energy to the Rubios’ website. I worked on it over the weekend, tweaking the photos and putting them into a new website template. Even though my stomach twists every time I glance at Carlos at his desk, I still want to do this for him, and for his family.
After a few font changes, I decide it’s ready for feedback. I take a breath and email the test site link to Trish, putting “Boy Scout” in the subject line. I know she’ll be honest and for whatever reason, I’m starting to trust her.
A few minutes later my inbox pings with a new message.
“It pains me to admit you do have a brain, princess. Good work. Send it to the Boy Scout.”
I glance at Trish, whose lips twist in a grudging smile. She tilts her head toward Carlos, whose brow is furrowed as he hunches over his computer. She’s right, of course. The final say is up to him and even if he hates it, and me, maybe the website will drive more people to Encantado.
I glance at the Star Wars figures on my desk. “May the Force be with us,” I whisper, touching Leia’s head for luck. Holding my breath, I email the test site link to Carlos, then grab my camera bag, eager to escape for lunch.
In the lobby, I approach Miss Emmaline’s desk, since I was thrown off my morning joke routine by my elevator ride with Carlos.
“Hi, Miss Emmaline.”
She folds her hands on her desk and waits.
“Why did the skeleton go to the party by himself?”
She responds with one slow blink.
“He had no body to go with him.”
A single silver eyebrow arches, but she says nothing. Somehow our familiar, stubborn exchange puts me in better spirits.
“One of these days you’re going to crack, Miss Emmaline. I can feel it.”
Once outside, the hour speeds by. There’s a baseball game today, so I take tons of photos of fans—families decked out in Colorado Rockies gear, a group of loud guys wearing San Diego Padres T-shirts engaging in friendly heckling with Rockies fans, and street vendors selling burritos and bottled water outside the stadium. It’s a glorious afternoon and I hope my pictures capture the crackling energy. On a whim, I buy my dad a Rockies bobblehead figure from a street vendor.
Back at work, I stop by Dad’s office, but Ms. Romero tells me he’s out to lunch with a client. I put the bobblehead on his desk with a note, drawing an X and O, and a Vader helmet.
Upstairs, everyone is back at work except Jason, who’s at the brewery, and Elijah, who is daringly breaking the one-hour lunch rule. More power to him.
When I sit, I sneak a glance at Carlos, who’s watching me like he’s trying just as hard to figure me out as I am him. He stands up and strides purposefully across the room. He presents me with a battered book with a sun-faded cover. Cornball Jokes to Annoy Your Friends, Volume Two.
“There’s more than one volume?” I’m proud of myself for joking, because I was sure he’d never speak to me again after this morning. I can’t believe he brought me a gift—a super dorky one, yet something that’s specific to me.
Carlos grins. “Four, actually. I thought this might help you with Miss Emmaline.”
We stare at each other, and I feel the energy crackling between us again. I wonder if he’s giving me another chance, but how do I just blurt out that of course I’m freaking interested in him; we just have to wait four more weeks until the internship is over.
I open the joke book to a random page. “Why does the seagull fly over the sea?”
He shrugs, but the way he’s smiling at me is so distracting I have to look at the book again for the punchline.
“Because if it flew over the bay, it would be a bay-gull.”
Carlos groans, but his flirty smile doesn’t waver.
“Thanks for this.” I close the book. “I’ll try out the seagull joke tomorrow.”
Carlos nods and pushes a lock of hair out of his eyes. His eyelashes are stupidly long for a guy and I wish he’d stop blinking them so wantonly, like a Hershey’s Kisses eye slut.
“So.” He perches on the edge of my desk. “I checked out the website link.”
I reach out to clutch my Princess Leia figure for luck.
“It’s great.” He picks up my Chewbacca figure and rolls him between his palms.
“So you like it?” My eyes dart to Chewie. He’s been in my collection since I was eight years old and I don’t want him damaged.
“I do. So does my dad—I sent him the link while you were at lunch. Rose loves it. Just need to see what my mom says. She’s the boss.” He flashes both dimples, and I almost forget about Chewie. Almost.
I hold out my hand and clear my throat. “Could you, um, please give me Chewbacca?”
Carlos blinks like he’s not quite sure he heard right, then hands him over. I breathe a tiny sigh of relief and return Chewie to his place of honor. I have my priorities, after all, one of which is keeping the holy trinity together. I glance at Carlos, wondering if he’s sorry he kissed such a dork.
“So, uh, how’d it go with Jason this morning?” Carlos is still perched on my desk, and I get the feeling he’s not leaving until he knows where he stands with me, which puts me in a painfully awkward situation.
“Good. I showed him some Photoshop tips.”
Carlos waits for me to say more, using his hypnotic eyes to break through my flimsy barricade. Unable to resist, I babble like a prisoner bartering secret intel for freedom.
“He had a rough weekend, so he was tired. He was worried about touring the brewery with Lewis, and making a good impression on Cal Stockwell, and he doesn’t want to lose any brain cells to concussions, and he’s a great guy, you know? But he’s stuck in a horrible situation with his dad and he doesn’t deserve it and…”
I run out of steam, but I hope Carlos got the unspoken message underneath my babbling. I grasp my tiny Han Solo, squeezing him as if he can somehow send me some of his cocky bravado.
Frowning, Carlos crosses his arms over his chest. His someday-I’ll-be-a-lawyer persona analyzes my words.
“Rough weekend.” His voice is clipped, his eyes frosty. “As in he partied too hard?”
“No,” I snap. Carlos has no business judging Jason. “As in his dad partied too hard and Jason had to deal with the fallout.” I hope my eyes are as frosty as his.
Carlos reels like I’ve slapped him. He drops his gaze and is quiet for an uncomfortably long moment. When he finally looks up, the frostiness is gone.
“You cheered him up.” Carlos states this as a fact. “Gave him a shot of confidence before he went to the brewery.”
My defensiveness cracks. “I hope so. He needs all the support he can get.”
Carlos ducks his head, dark hair falling across his forehead. I’m not going to tell him any more about the situation. Maybe I should be flattered he was jealous, but what I want is for him to be kind to Jason.
The awkward silence between us stretches like a rubber band about to snap, but we’re saved by Elijah, who slides into the room like somebody cued him for a rescue.
“Dudes!”
Carlos looks as grateful as I am for our one-man distraction.
Elijah turns his manic energy on me. “Special K, is your costume ready? Comic Con is almost here. Wait ’til you see this.” He yanks his phone from his back pocket. “Prepare to be amazed.”
He hands the phone to me, and yes, I am amazed. He’s wearing a complete Star-Lord getup from Guardians of the Galaxy, including the long duster coat and leather boots. And a vintage Sony Walkman exactly like the one in the movie.
“Where’d you get that?” I ask, excitement pitching my voice higher. “Not Target.”
“I know, right?” Elijah shakes his head in disgust. “Those toys are for kids.” A proud grin stretches across his face. “My mom insisted I keep some of my paycheck for me this time, so I bought it on eBay.”
He’s so excited about the Walkman, I don’t think he realizes he revealed that he’s giving up his salary to help his family. Carlos and I share a meaningful look, and my insides go gooey at the warmth and compassion in those chocolate eyes. If only he’d show Jason the same.
“Well?” Elijah prompts. “Say something, Special K.”
I stand up in an effort to match Elijah’s enthusiasm. “You’re right—it’s amazing.” I grin. “So’s your costume.”
“Told you.” He takes his phone from me and scrolls to another photo, this one of his girlfriend Alisha as Gamora, looking sexy in a skintight leather outfit, long dark wig, and green skin makeup.
He shows Carlos, whose eyes go wide, clearly appreciating the costume. “Who’s she supposed to be?”
Elijah and I share an appalled look, and Carlos sighs. “I bet if I showed you a picture of Kaká you wouldn’t recognize him.”
“Brazilian soccer star,” I say. Carlos grins appreciatively.
“Whatever.” Elijah points to his phone. “Dude, don’t you go to the movies? How can you not recognize her? And my costume?”
“I’m more of a John Wick guy.”
“Star-Lord’s like the John Wick of the galaxy,” Elijah tells Carlos. “I can’t believe you haven’t seen Guardians.”
“I don’t think I’d use a John Wick analogy. He’s more of a—” I’m ready to engage in a nerd debate with Elijah, but the quizzical expression on Carlos’s face stops me.
This is where the cute guy finally realizes what a super nerd I am and wonders why he ever kissed me. I’ve been here before, at the Winter Dance when my date walked away from me and never looked back after I geeked out about a graphic novel.
“Wait,” Carlos says. “Is that the movie with the talking tree?”
Elijah rolls his eyes. “Groot. And he’s not a tree. He’s an extraterrestrial badass who looks like a tree. He can regenerate over and over.”
“Okay, okay.” Carlos laughs, but not in a mean way. “So maybe my sci-fi knowledge is lacking. But a guy can learn, right?” He glances at me and all I can do is nod. I’m still absorbing the fact that he hasn’t walked away.
“It’s possible to learn, with the right teacher.” Elijah side-eyes me, eyes glinting. “Like Laurel, for instance.”
I start to protest, but Elijah’s faster. “Is your costume ready, Special K?”
Carlos’s interest level perks up considerably. No way am I showing them the picture of me in my Qa’hr outfit. I’m worried it’s too sexy, by my standards, but Lexi insists it’s not.
“Yeah,” I say reluctantly. “It’s ready.”
“And?” Elijah’s eyebrows raise expectantly.
“And it’s ready.” My cheeks flush and I wish someone else would interrupt us. Even the Manicotti would be welcome right now.
“What’s your costume?” Carlos asks, a flash of something bright and intrigued in those dark eyes.
I hope he’s not wondering if I’m going to look as hot as Elijah’s girlfriend, because that’s impossible. Or maybe he’s wondering if I’m going as something esoteric and unwieldy, like the Tardis on rolling wheels. Then again, he’s never been to Comic Con so he has no idea of the possibilities.
“It’s a character from a book series,” I tell them.
“Huh.” Carlos frowns. “So how do you know how she dresses?”
Elijah shakes his head in mock disgust. “This Padawan has so much to learn.”
“We all start somewhere.” I smile shyly at Carlos. “I’m lucky these books have fantastic covers and a few interior illustrations, so that’s my reference.” I hesitate. “Plus, fan art can be really inspiring.”
“So people will recognize a character from a book? Even if it hasn’t been made into a movie?” He sounds genuinely curious.
“Fans of the books will. It’s sort of like a secret club.”
“With a secret handshake.” Carlos grins. “That’s cool.”
“You don’t think it’s stupid?”
“My little brother spends half his life in costume. I don’t think he’s stupid.”
Elijah puts up a hand. “Whoa. Cosplay is not childish. It’s serious business.” He darts me an amused glance. “Want me to kick his butt? I’m sure it’s breaking one of Mantoni’s rules, but whatever.”
“I didn’t mean it as an insult.” Carlos glances anxiously between us. “I’m trying to…I just…crap. Never mind. I’ll just say the wrong thing again.” He tugs at his hair, clearly frustrated.
“It’s okay,” Elijah says like he’s granting a huge favor. “You’re a noob nerd. You’re allowed stupid statements—one per day.” He turns to me. “So are you gonna tell us which book?”
“Nope.” No way. They’ll both Google it and once they see Qa’hr, I’ll be way too self-conscious.
Qa’hr isn’t bursting out of her clothes like some comic book females, but her battle-worn pants are shredded, revealing some skin, and she does rock killer thigh-high boots. Her silvery shirt is a sleeveless turtleneck with a cut-out infinity symbol over each shoulder. The best part is her weaponry, a selection of awesome knives, but since Denver Comic Con has a strict policy about weapons, I’m going to skip those.
“I bet I’ll know it when I see it.” Elijah’s grin is smug.
“I’ll be impressed if you do.”
“Can I still get tickets?” Carlos asks. “For my brother. And I’d have to bring him, since he’s only ten.”
My stomach hits the floor. Carlos at the con? I don’t know if I can handle my worlds colliding like that. “It’s sold out.” This isn’t a lie—it sells out early every year.
Carlos’s hopeful smile falters.
“Check out the online ticket resellers,” Elijah says, making me want to practice Qa’hr’s self-defense moves on him. “I bet you can score two tickets. Might be pricey, though.”
The office phone on my desk rings, making all of us jump.
“Hello? This is Laurel.”
“Laurel! In my office now!” The Manicotti sounds apoplectic.
“Um, okay. I’ll be right down.” I grab my Hello Kitty notebook. “Duty calls.”
“I could hear him screaming all the way over here.” Carlos sounds concerned.
“We got your back, Jedi. Light up the Bat-Signal if you need backup.” Elijah gives me a fist-bump as I leave.
As soon as I knock on his door, Mr. Mantoni points to his guest chair.
“Close the door.”
I do as he commands and perch anxiously on the edge of the chair. He spins his monitor around and points to his twitter feed.
“Look at this.”
Goose bumps chill my skin. @PRTruth has struck again.
“Underage drinking by paid interns? Way to go @Emergent @KristoffRhett. Make your clients proud. @StockwellSuds.”
The tweet is posted with a picture of Jason leaning against a bar drinking amber liquid from a pint glass. A slew of tweeters has already weighed in. It’s just a matter of minutes before the client calls my dad.
My stomach twists as my mind whirs with questions and conspiracies. Lewis isn’t in the photo, but I assume he encouraged Jason to drink. Maybe even forced him. Jason wouldn’t do this voluntarily, not with his dad being an alcoholic.
Or did he think it would be rude not to have a sip, if Cal was there? But who would tweet this, and why? My whirling thoughts return again and again to Lewis.
I face the Manicotti. “I think Lewis tweeted this.”
He scowls. “What if it was Jason?”
“He wouldn’t,” I insist. “He doesn’t drink.”
Mr. Mantoni’s lips purse and his eyes disappear into a squint.
“It’s true!” I exclaim. “I don’t know what he said in his essay but—” I stop. What if Jason didn’t reveal his family troubles in his essay? Maybe he only told us.
The Manicotti stabs his computer screen. “Photographic evidence, Laurel. Pictures don’t lie.”
“Of course they do.” Doesn’t he know what Photoshop can do?
My scalp tingles, sending a chill down to my neck. Wait a minute. What if—
“Maybe it was another intern.” Mr. Mantoni interrupts my thoughts. “Trying to get rid of the competition?”
He’s crazy. How does Trish stand it?
“But that’s…I mean, how would another intern get the photo? That had to come from Lewis.”
He rubs a hand over his bald head, clearly frustrated. The door bursts open and my dad stalks in, followed by Jiang and Brian, who look panicked. Dad stops short when he sees me.
“What is my daughter doing here, Tom?”
Jiang and Brian take seats at the small meeting table, darting each other nervous glances.
“I think she can help,” Mr. Mantoni said. “These tweets from @PRTruth started the week the interns started.” His face twists with suspicion. “Coincidence? Or clue?”
Dad Vader looks murderous. He yanks out a chair and tilts his chin toward the door.
“Time to leave, Laurel.”
“I think I’ll stay.” I cross the office and sit next to Jiang, whose face is tight with stress.
“This is a professional meet—” Dad begins, but I cut him off.
“Dad, I need you to listen to me. There is no way Jason drank at that brewery.” I stare him down. “You have to believe me.” I swallow. “Please.” I glance at the Manicotti. “None of the interns would do this, but maybe I can help you figure out who it is.”
Dad and the Manicotti share a scowly, meaningful look full of all sorts of coded messages. I’d put my money on Dad winning this battle.
Mr. Mantoni heaves a resigned sigh. “Maybe she can check their social media. But that’s all.”
“We already did that,” Brian says. “Nothing incriminating.”
Dad taps a pen on the table. “I just got off the phone with Cal Stockwell. He’s furious. He wants Lewis fired, or at least off the account.” He surveys everyone at the table except me. “And he wants to know why we put an underage intern on his account.”
Ouch. Maybe I should leave.
“You two figure out who’s doing this.” Dad orders Jiang and Brian. “Where’s Katherine?”
Jiang clears her throat. “On her way to the airport, but she said she’ll cancel her trip if—”
Dad waves a hand dismissively. “No. I’ll call her.” He stands abruptly, jarring the table and knocking over an empty water glass. “As soon as Jason and Lewis are back, send them to my office.”
My stomach shrinks in on itself, imagining the upcoming storm. Dad shoots me a slightly less intense glare. “Go back to your job, Laurel, and stay out of this. It’s not your problem.”
He storms out, and I can practically see the black Vader cape billowing behind him. Jiang and Brian share worried looks while Mr. Mantoni tugs on his tie.
“You heard your father, Laurel,” Mr. Mantoni says. “Go back to work.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice.
“If you feel like something’s off with any of the interns, please let us know,” Jiang calls after me.
I nod at Jiang and close the door behind me, wondering how long until my dad explodes. And Jason…omigod, poor Jason. I can’t let him be the victim of whoever is sabotaging my dad. If anyone should be fired, it’s Lewis, I’m sure of it.
But what if my dad does fire Jason? What will his dad do to him? Panic grips me by the throat and I change course, rushing to my dad’s office.
“Laurel, honey, not now.” Ms. Romero stands up from her desk like she’s ready to body block me.
“Sorry,” I mouth, then I barge into Dad’s office. He’s on the phone, firing words like bullets. The look he shoots my direction has probably annihilated worthier opponents than me. But I’m not backing down.
He points to me, then the door. I shake my head and stand my ground.
“Katherine, give me a minute.” He presses the mute button on his phone and glares at me. “Laurel, I know you have feelings for this boy, but you cannot—”
“No, I don’t,” I interrupt. “Not the way you think.” I approach his desk, my hands twisting nervously. “Dad, I’m begging you to listen to me. Jason does. Not. Drink. I know it.”
“Every teenager tries booze, Laurel. I’m not an idiot.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “This is partly my fault, putting him in a situation where beer is flowing and he’s surrounded by athletes he admires. I should’ve known—”
“Dad, listen to me! Jason doesn’t drink because his dad does. Way too much.” I silently beg Jason for forgiveness as I reveal his secret. “Look at his face.” My voice is a ragged whisper. “Look at the shadows under his eyes. Look at the bruise on his cheek he tried to hide with makeup today.”
My dad’s flinty gray eyes blink rapidly, anger quickly replaced by shock. He presses the button on his phone. “Katherine, I’ll have to call you back.” He lowers the phone to the cradle and folds his hands on his desk.
“Tell me what you know, Laurel Anne.”