Always and Forever Page 2

  Michael leaned across the table and tugged affectionately on her hair. “Ah, the idealism of a sixteen-year-old! What I’d give to have it again.”

  Melissa lunged at him and he laughed, catching her wrist. She grimaced as his fingers closed around her bruise. He dropped her arm and eyed the ugly purple mark in surprise. “What’s that? And how did you get it?”

  “Just a bruise, and I don’t know.” She was curious about her bruises too, but couldn’t figure out how she got them. “Probably stumbling around in the dark at four A.M.,” she said, poking Michael lightly in the arm.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “It’s a little sore, but it’ll go away.” Unable to divert his look of concern, she teased, “You know how we princesses are. Just a pea under our mattress and we turn black and blue.”

  Michael stood and stretched, his physique rippling with muscle. “I think I’m gonna crash for a couple of hours before I go to work. Tell Mom not to count on me for supper. I’m working overtime at the warehouse shelving stock. We get paid double time on Saturdays you know.”

  “You don’t have to work so hard for your money,” Melissa said, the light of mischief in her eyes.

  “How’s that?”

  “You could always marry it.”

  Michael shook his head in amusement. “And I’ll bet you can fix me up with just the right rich girl.”

  “In a few years.” Melissa smiled. “She’s much too young for you now.”

  “You’re a hopeless romantic, Sis.”

  “And you’re a hopeless pragmatic.”

  “I tell you what, when you get that law degree, I’ll hire you to run my empire.”

  She stuck out her tongue, and he bounded out of the kitchen with a laugh.

  On Monday, Jory picked Melissa up for school. Melissa decided it wasn’t a bad way to arrive each day—in a sporty white convertible with plush red interior. After Jory’s second tour of the parking lot, Melissa asked, “Is there some reason we’re cruising and not parking?”

  “Absolutely. We want to be seen, don’t we? How can we march straight into the building without first making sure that everyone at Lincoln is totally aware of our arrival?” To emphasize her point, Jory waved at a group of students congregated in the lot. Behind them, Lincoln High rose, an ultramodern glass and concrete structure, only two years old and already nearly filled to capacity. Yellow buses unloaded at the far end of the parking lot, and Melissa was glad she didn’t have to be on one.

  “When you’re finished cruising, could you please park? I need to get to homeroom early,” Melissa said. “On Friday, Mr. Marshall said he wanted to see me first thing today.”

  “Ugh.” Jory wrinkled her nose. “What a way to start the week. Well, it can’t be anything you’ve done wrong—everyone knows Melissa Austin is the model student.”

  Jory slowed and honked. Melissa glanced in the direction her friend waved, and her heart suddenly somersaulted into her throat. Brad Kessing stood next to his bronze Firebird, dressed in khaki slacks and a sky-blue cotton shirt that accentuated his athletic build. The sunlight highlighted his golden blond hair. “Hey, Brad,” Jory called.

  Melissa started fidgeting around in her purse for her hairbrush, and her nervousness must have caught Jory’s attention. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “I just noticed that I look a mess. My hair’s got a mind of its own today and—”

  “Melissa, do you have a thing for Brad?”

  “Oh, he’s all right.”

  “All right?” Jory mused. “Then how come you’re turning three shades of red?”

  “I am not!”

  “Are too!”

  Melissa settled pleading eyes on her friend. “Just keep it to yourself, okay?”

  “Why? I can introduce you two. Brad and I go way back. Our parents play doubles at the country club all the time.”

  “Just drop it,” Melissa demanded, speaking under her breath, even as Brad sauntered over to Jory’s car and leaned his elbows against the door frame. “Hi, Jory. What’s up?”

  “Nothing much. Do you know my friend, Melissa Austin?”

  Brad’s cool blue eyes took her in, and Melissa’s mouth went dry. The strong lines of his jaw and chin etched themselves into her brain. “Hey, Melissa.”

  She managed a nod before Jory blurted, “Are you playing in the club tournament next Saturday?”

  “Not this time. The soccer coach wants us to take it easy so we don’t get injured before practice starts for the season. How about you?”

  “Me—tennis?” Jory wrinkled her nose. “That is the game with the racket and the little fuzzy ball, isn’t it?”

  Brad laughed. “You’re some athlete, Delaney.” His attention turned to Melissa. “Do you know any more about sports than she does?”

  “I play racquetball with my brother every now and then, but that’s about as athletic as I get.”

  Brad scrutinized her, studying her features one by one while her stomach fluttered. “Maybe Jory could bring you out to the club sometime and we could knock a few balls around.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Just name a time,” Jory said. Melissa could have killed her. From far away, a bell sounded. The spell was broken and Brad straightened, breaking his hold on Melissa’s gaze. He tapped the side of the car. “Maybe I’ll see you two around later.”

  As he ambled across the parking lot, Jory called, “Count on it!”

  “That was so embarrassing, Jory,” Melissa hissed. “Why didn’t you just ask him to take me out on a date?”

  Jory snapped her fingers. “Why didn’t I think of that?” She maneuvered her car into a space that was too small. “I told you I wanted to be your social director.”

  “Well, I don’t need a social director. I want to keep my mind on studying, because I’m going to get a scholarship. I haven’t got time for guys this year.” She opened the door and banged the side of the car next to Jory s. “Now how am I supposed to get out?”

  “Simple,” Jory said with a smile. “Climb over.” She had already stood on the seat and swung her legs to the asphalt below. Melissa followed, and as she sat on the edge of the door she caught Jory staring wide-eyed at her legs, which were blotched with large purple bruises. “What happened to you?” Jory asked.

  Melissa felt a sharp pain in her knees and ankle joints when she hit the pavement. “Nothing. And don’t try to change the subject. You practically threw me at Brad. He must think I’m a real jerk.”

  “Oh, honestly, Melissa. You know what your problem is?”

  “No. But I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  “You’re too serious. These are supposed to be the best years of our lives. You should be dating, partying, having fun … ”

  “I know exactly what I want. And a boyfriend is low priority.” She limped slightly as she caught up with Jory.

  “Well, I do want a boyfriend,” Jory said. “And if I can’t have the one I really want—”

  “Michael?”

  Jory cut her a sideways look. “—then I’ll become experienced enough to appeal to him in the future. In the meantime, though, it’s the party life for me. Do yourself a favor, Melissa, and go after Brad before he gets snatched up by some ditzy sophomore.”

  Melissa shook her head. Jory would never understand. Melissa wanted to take the world head-on. Like Michael, she wanted things from life, things that college and hard work could bring her. Life was more than an endless round of parties and days spent at the country club. Romanticism aside, Melissa knew she had a pragmatic streak, too.

  She said goodbye to Jory and promised to meet her at the car after school. Late for her meeting with Mr. Marshall, she rushed toward homeroom shrugging off a nagging fatigue, and when she swung into the doorway Mr. Marshall smiled at her.

  “Good to see you, Melissa. Come closer. I want to ask you something.” She approached his desk and he tossed aside his pencil.

  “You’re a very bright girl and doing far above a
verage work. How would you like to come out for Brain Bowl this year?”

  Chapter Three

  “Brain Bowl?”

  “Surely you’re aware of the countywide Brain Bowl competition. It’s a chance for the brightest students from each high school to come together and test their knowledge against each other in a team setting.”

  Melissa did know about Brain Bowl. She’d watched some of the finalist matches the previous spring on Tampa’s educational TV channel. “I know it’s a tough game.”

  “True. After county competitions, there are state. Even nationals.”

  Melissa shifted her notebook to her hip, her interest piqued by Mr. Marshall’s words. “There’re prizes, aren’t there?”

  The teacher pushed his glasses higher on his nose and smiled. “Big prizes. For the county winners, a trip to Washington, D.C., a thousand dollars in savings bonds to each panelist, and two thousand for the school. But for the state winners, it’s a trip to Europe and a four-year scholarship.”

  Melissa’s eyes narrowed. “But I thought only seniors were allowed to participate.”

  “Usually. But we need to have juniors primed for next year’s competition. Since Lincoln High is so new, we didn’t do very well in our last two outings. But this year, it’s going to be different.”

  “How?”

  His grin was broad and reminded Melissa of a little boys. “Mrs. Watson and I are in charge. The preliminary rounds don’t start until March, but we believe that if we start working now, we’ll have a shot at putting the best possible team out there. Interested?”

  Melissa nodded emphatically. She was very interested. “What Mrs. Watson and I did was to go through all the achievement scores for every one of Lincoln’s juniors and seniors. We’ve based our selections on IQ and grade point average. You’re high on both.”

  She felt deep satisfaction from knowing her hard work was paying off. She’d have to tell Jory the next time they got into a discussion about her studious habits. Mr. Marshall picked up a file folder and flipped through it. “However, being smart isn’t enough in Brain Bowl. You also need a certain aggressiveness—” he gestured with a fist, “—a special presence when the heat’s on you to come up with an answer.”

  “How do I try out for the team?”

  “It’s a multistage process,” Mr. Marshall told her. “Next week we’re testing all the kids whom we’ve already weeded out as having the academic potential. There will be a battery of tests after school for two days. They’ll be academic, of course, with some psychological testing. We’ll need parental consent for you to take the tests.” He reached into the folder and handed her a form. “If you score in the range we need, you’ll begin Brain Bowl drills three days a week during sixth-period study hall, and then probably every day after school until the competition begins.

  “We won’t choose the final team—four panelists and two alternates—until a month before the competitions. Then we’ll really hit the drilling hard. Probably every day, so there won’t be much time for anything else. Especially a social life.” His eyes drifted. “My wife threatened divorce if I got involved in Brain Bowl again this year, but there’s something about the event. You get sort of swept up in it.” He grinned with satisfaction. “Anyway, you should realize that you may work for months and still not be selected for the final team. But we’re not restricting the panel to seniors. We’re going after the right chemistry, the right mix of talent. We want to win!” He paused. “For the Green and Gold, of course.”

  Lincoln’s colors. “Of course.” By now, homeroom was filled, and Melissa had to take her seat. “I’ll get my mother to sign the form, Mr. Marshall. I’d like to be eligible for the selection.”

  He flashed her another smile. “I thought you might. You’re a good student. And Mrs. Watson thinks you’re team material.”

  Melissa had had Mrs. Watson the year before for advanced English and had earned an A. She walked to her seat with her head spinning. Brain Bowl. A four-year scholarship. At the least, a savings bond. She wanted to make it. Inwardly she smiled, feeling a rush of confidence mingled with joy. Princeton. Maybe it wasn’t such a pipe dream after all.

  That night she helped her mother make a salad. It was just the two of them since Michael had classes. Melissa related every word of her conversation with Mr. Marshall to her mother. “I’ve got the form in my room,” she said. “You will sign it, won’t you?”

  Mrs. Austin, a tall, slim woman with dark hair, listened intently. Melissa felt her mother’s eyes on her. “Is that the way you want to spend your junior year? Studying after school almost every day? Without any guarantees you’ll make the team?”

  “I want to go to college.”

  Her mother sighed. “How did I ever raise such success-oriented kids? All I wanted to do when I was your age was get married.”

  “I want it all, Mom. Lots of women have careers and families. Why can’t I do both? You do.”

  “I had to,” her mother reminded her. “I would have been perfectly content to stay at home and raise babies. But, when I did have to go to work, it would have been much easier if I’d had an education to fall back on. As it was, I started at the bottom.”

  Melissa remembered. After her husband had walked out, Janelle Austin had started with the phone company as an operator on the night shift, even though it meant leaving fourteen-year-old Michael in charge at home. Melissa had learned to rely on Michael and to feel safe with him guarding the doors—Michael and his baseball bat would fight off any intruder! For a while they had been strapped financially, but they’d made it. And they’d made it with enough style that Jory Delaney, the cute little rich girl in Melissa’s fifth-grade class, spent every available moment at the Austin household.

  “Michael wants to be wealthy enough so that you’ll never have to work again,” Melissa said over the sound of running water as she washed vegetables.

  “That’s very kind and noble of him. But I’d probably work now even if I didn’t have to. Once the two of you are out on your own I’ll have little else to do.”

  Melissa felt a certain sense of pity for her mother. Alone. That’s how she was facing the rest of her life. Sometimes Melissa wondered why she had never remarried. She was still pretty. Perhaps her clothes were a bit dated.… Melissa shot her mother a glance. Did she still miss their father? Still long for him? The image of Brads clear blue eyes floated into Melissas memory. A girl could easily lose her perspective and allow herself to get lost in them. She jerked herself away from the seductive daydream. No. She’d made up her mind. Studies came first from now on. The Brad Kessings in her life would simply have to wait. She refused to travel the same road her mother had.

  A sudden, sharp pain in her fingers caused her to drop the vegetable peeler with a noisy clank.

  “Goodness. What happened?” her mother asked.

  Gingerly Melissa flexed her fingers. “Just a cramp,” she said. But it had been more than that—more like a deep aching inside her joints. Maybe her crack to Jory about rheumatism wasn’t so far off the mark.

  A rap sounded on the back door. “Well, hello, Jory,” Mrs. Austin said, smiling.

  “Am I interrupting supper?”

  “We haven’t started yet.”

  “Then I’ll come back later.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it. Come in.”

  Jory shrugged at Melissa self-consciously. Her auburn curls were streaked with hair paint, and her outfit was straight out of a fashion magazine. Melissa was sure it had cost a fortune. “I—uh—was just driving by.” Melissa waved her over to the sink.

  “You know you don’t need an excuse to stop in, Jory,” Melissa’s mother said, taking salad plates out of the cupboard.

  “It’s just that my parents are at the club tonight. Some sort of charity auction. The house felt lonesome … ” Her sentence trailed and she shifted from foot to foot.

  “Have you eaten?”

  “Uh—sort of.”

  “For Jory, ‘sort of m
eans a Coke and a bag of chips.”

  “Coke and chocolate chip cookies,” Jory corrected with a smile that crinkled her eyes and revealed her dimples.

  “We’re only having chef’s salad, but you’re welcome to join us.”

  “Michael’s at school tonight,” Melissa added, conveying information in a way that only Jory would understand.

  “I’d love to stay,” Jory said, acknowledging Melissa’s message and Mrs. Austin’s invitation with gratitude. “I’ve always loved your chef’s salad.”

  “Here.” Melissa handed Jory three glasses. “There’s ice tea in the fridge. You’ll have to work for your supper.”

  “Small price,” Jory said while opening the freezer door to get ice.

  They sat at the kitchen table eating and talking. It often amazed Melissa how much Jory could talk. Afterward Jory shooed Mrs. Austin out while she and Melissa cleared the table and stacked dishes in the dishwasher. “So you’re going out for Brain Bowl?”

  “Sure am.”

  “Guess I’ll have to find something to get involved with then,” Jory said.

  “You could test,” Melissa urged. “I know you’re very smart.”

  Jory rolled her eyes. “Pul-eez. I couldn’t walk in the door with my grade point average. No, you go on without me. You’re the one who wants to go to Princeton.”

  Melissa nodded. Although she hated to admit it, Jory had brains, but no initiative. “I haven’t made it yet,” she said.

  “You will. Hey! Why don’t you plan on spending next Friday night with me?” Jory asked with a quick turn of her body. “The testing will be over by then, and my folks will be on a cruise to the Bahamas. We can rent a ton of VGR movies, stay up all night, and pig out on pizza.”

  Melissa considered the offer. “You won’t make me sit through Aliens again, will you?”

  “You mean that touching story about monsters wrapping humans in cocoons for future meals? Naw.”

  “Some comedies this time, all right?”

  “We’ll go to the rental store together, and you can pick out any ones you want. I’ll put it on Daddy’s tab.” Her smile was impish. “Then we’ll take off Saturday morning for the country club—go swimming, have lunch, do the sauna. I’ll put that on Daddy’s tab too.”