Page 3 of Beachside Kisses With My Best Friend

Marilee looks up at me—I’ve got a good six inches on her at least—and blinks. Then laughs. “Sorry, I’ve been talking the whole time. Off in my own world. I do that a lot.” Marilee gestures toward her apron smudged with flour and frosting. “I’m a mess, I know.”

“I don’t mind the talking.” I really don’t. It’s nice, actually. “And you’re not a mess.”

“That’s not what Don—” She freezes, then shakes off whatever she was going to say. “Anyway, tell me more about yourself.” Marilee busies herself with cleanup, unscrewing the lid on the pastry tube.

I step forward to grab a paper towel and sweep some stray sprinkles from the counter into my waiting hand. “Not much to tell, honestly.” I toss the sprinkles into the trash.

“Well, what do you do for fun?”

“Run.”

“Like, away from your problems?” Her eyes sparkle as she kicks on the sink beside our station and washes out the frosting tube.

I snort. “Maybe sometimes. But I was talking more like track and field.”

“Ah, makes sense. You look like a runner.”

“Uh, thank you?” By that, I hope she doesn’t mean I look scrawny. I’d like to add more bulk to my body, but I’m not really sure where to start. Maybe my gym teacher can give me some pointers next semester. I’d ask Dad, but he’s not really in any condition right now to be giving advice on physical fitness. And even if he was, he wouldn’t have time for me anyway. “What else can I do to help?” Most of the materials and tools are still out on the table. “Seems like there’s still a lot to clean.”

“We don’t have to have everything put away since there’s a class after us. Maybe take that tray of cookies to the room across the hall?” She’s washing out a mixing bowl, yellow gloves on her hands, but she uses her chin to indicate the door. “We’re storing them in Mrs. Lincoln’s room. She’s the student government teacher and will keep them safe in containers until the bake sale this weekend.”

“Bake sale? So I don’t get to sample one now?” I tease.

“Nope. You’ll need to wait for Friday night’s football game. We’re in the championships. You should come.”

I like sports, but attending sporting events has never been on my radar. Still… “Will you be there?”

She dries her hands on a towel, unhooks her apron, and tosses it onto our table. “Of course. You can sit with me and my friends.”

Maybe this new high school won’t be so bad. “That’d be great. Thanks.” I take the tray of cookies in hand and make my way through the classroom, where other pairs are also straightening up and grabbing their things. Glancing at the clock, I pick up the pace. There’s only a minute or so until the bell rings if the schedule I memorized yesterday is correct.

I plow my way through the door, out to the hallway, and start to cross.

That’s when I hear, “Watch out, freak!” and see a football careen toward me. Protecting the cookies, I turn away from the flying object, and the football slams into my back.

I suck in air as I hear laughter ring through the hallway.

“Jordan?” Marilee’s voice lifts behind me, and then she’s squatting there, her hand on my back, rubbing where the ball hit. “Are you all right?”

I want to scream not really, because that’s definitely gonna leave a mark. Instead, “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.” Marilee looks down, where I safely set the cookie sheet after the football landed. “You saved the cookies!” There’s pure delight in her tone, and suddenly, I care nothing for my bruised back.

In that moment, I’m Marilee Moffitt’s hero. And I have a feeling there’s nothing better than that.

Marilee stands and dusts off her hands before tugging on my sleeve.

I stand too, leaning down to grab the precious cookie tray.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asks again.

“He’s fine, babe.” Another voice joins our conversation, one with a sneer and an uncanny resemblance to the person who yelled for me to “watch out, freak” just a few moments ago.

We turn to find a broad guy in a blue varsity football jacket strutting toward us from down the hall, his black spiked hair as pointed as the glare he’s giving me.

“Donny?” Marilee squeals as he approaches us. “What are you doing here? Your next class is across campus.”

The bell chooses that moment to ring, and students pour from their classes. And even though I feel like a complete third wheel—because of course, Marilee is taken, and of course this jerk is her boyfriend—and I know I should move on, my feet don’t agree.

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