Page 33 of Shark Cove

White tension brackets appeared around Avila’s nose and mouth, but he lifted a designer sneaker and set it on the corner of Roberts’s desk. “Snap away, boss lady.”

Roberts put on the heavy-looking ankle monitoring device, activating it with an app on her phone. She smiled, a brief switch of thin lips. “Give me your phone. Now we won’t have any trouble finding you the next time we need to ask you a few questions. Thanks for the flowers, Keo. We’ll be in touch.”

The young man surrendered his phone and left, shutting the door a little harder than necessary. Peg’s hound-dog eyes gleamed. “Tell me what you find in that furniture warehouse, will you?”

Chapter Fourteen

Malia hadto warn Blake about Dr. Mercado’s investigation. Fortunately, she remembered his number, and safe from her mother’s view, hidden behind one of the school’s fancy pillars, she phoned him on the Wallflower burner. As expected with a strange number, he didn’t pick up.

“Hi Blake, it’s Malia,” she said into the voice mail. “I’m grounded from my phone so this is the Wallflower one. Listen, the shit’s hit the fan with the website, and I was just in the Headmaster’s office getting grilled. I wanted to give you a heads-up that he might be pulling you in to try to find out about the owner of the site. Please don’t tell him it’s me. I have a plan to make everything better—to use Wallflower for good. Meet me at that place in the library at recess so I can tell you about it.” Malia hung up before she could lose her nerve, and then broke into a trot for class.

At recess, which was just a twenty-minute respite in the academically rigorous day, Malia went to the study carrel and drew two chairs into the space. She took out her books and opened them but couldn’t focus. She put her head down on her folded arms and shut her gritty eyes.

“Good thing you left me a message.” Blake’s voice, harsh with emotion, brought Malia bolt upright.

She gestured to the chair next to her. “Did he call you in?”

“Yeah. I listened to your message on the way to the office. Good thing, or I’d have told him who the Wallflower is.” Blake’s mouth was set in a hard line, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Somehow, he was still the best-looking guy she’d ever seen, but as he glanced at her, one side of his mouth quirked up. “You look like hell, Malia.”

She sighed gustily. “It’s been a hellish twenty-four hours.” She ground the heels of her hands into her eyes.

Blake grabbed one of her wrists where the sleeve had fallen back. “What are all these bandages?”

“Nothing. Burned myself on the stove.” She tried to pry her wrist out of his hand. Embarrassment made her face hot.

Thankfully, he let go. “I bet the Wallflower could make an interesting post about those injuries.”

Malia took a deep breath, let it out. “Please, sit down.”

He sat.

She raised her eyes to his. “I feel terrible about what you told me yesterday about Lani, and how the website affected you, too. I truly didn’t realize how ugly it was, or how it hurt people. It was a game to me; it made me feel good to know things, to dress up stories about people and make them entertaining.” She blinked as tears rose up. “I’m truly sorry about all this. The only way I can live with myself and justify not turning myself in . . . is to make the website into something good. I already started that with the search for Camille, but now I’d like to change the whole focus of the Wallflower Diaries to reporting interesting, good news on campus, like solving problems for people and the school.”

“You’ll lose half the readership,” Blake said. “Nobody wants to read good stuff.” He leaned in closer so as not to be overheard by a passing student, and took her hand, idly playing with her fingers, his gaze on the bandage decorating her arm. The study carrel seemed to wrap around them, creating intimacy. “It’s dirt they love.” His fingers stroked the tape at the edge of her bandage.

“I don’t care. I just don’t want to hurt one more person.” Malia shut her eyes. Two fat tears escaped from under her swollen lids and slipped down her face, catching on her lips.

Before she could dash the tears away, Blake’s warm mouth touched hers. She opened her eyes in surprise, and he kissed her more deeply, sipping at her lips, drawing in her tears. One of his hands came up to cup her wet cheek and the other wrapped around her nape, tangling in her hair as he drew her closer.

This can’t really be happeningwas what came to Malia’s mind before all words fled, and there was nothing but a kiss that awakened every nerve ending in her body, taking her to an entirely new place and lighting her on fire.

“Get a room,” she heard from somewhere back in the stacks, followed by a burst of male laughter. Blake’s posse of jock dudes had found them.

Malia wrenched away and hid her face in her arms as Blake turned and barked, “Get lost, assholes!”

The guys must have gone because things went quiet, and Blake’s hand found her cheek again. He tipped up her face; Malia’s was hot with humiliation, so she kept her eyes closed.

“Where were we?” was all he said.

A giggle of pure joy tried to escape and was captured between their mouths.

The bell rang, and by then they were deep in the carrel. Malia’s head rested on Blake’s arm and their faces were inches apart as they breathed each other’s air. Malia hadn’t opened her eyes or said a word the whole time; to do so would break the spell.

Blake kissed her one more time on the tip of her nose, and on each of her closed eyelids, and left.

Malia rested there, in a fog of bliss, until the tardy bell rang.

“How do people function?” Malia said aloud. The experience had set a high standard for her first kiss. She gathered her crumpled papers and books, then pulled her hood up over her head and slid her sunglasses on to dim her own glow—but as she headed for class, she remembered Camille, and that doused her like cold water.

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