Page 43 of Adorkable

That’s right, I thought. Moving up and doing fine without any help from you.

It’d taken a lot of courage for Mom to leave the great Nick Spitz when I was just five, but she’d gotten out of a bad relationship, raised me on her own, and was thriving in a job she loved. Despite Dad’s insults and his constant put-downs, she was a fighter. It had to eat him up how successful Mom was in her job. I hoped it did.

“I see you’re still wearing those odd clothes of yours.” He gestured to my green “Yoda Knows Best” tee and shook his head. “Don’t see how you’re ever going attract a man wearing all that nonsense.”

And suddenly Becks was there.

“Sal,” he said, laying a gentle hand on my elbow, “you alright?”

“Fine,” I said. This time his touch seemed to give me strength.

Hooker muttered, “Want me to give him five across the face?”

I shook my head, wondering when that expression had gotten so popular.

“Maybe I was mistaken,” Dad said, giving Becks a long look. “You dating my daughter? Seems a little strange if you ask me.”

“Yeah, I am,” Becks said in a hard tone. “And nobody did ask you.”

Dad held up his hands. “Easy there son, I was just stating facts.”

Becks didn’t fall for it. “I’m not your son.”

“Okay, okay,” Dad said, his smile a tight line. “No need to get angry. I’m just saying Sally girl isn’t your typical Southern beauty. Has too much of her momma in her for that.”

Alright, now even I wanted to give him five across the face, but before I could lift a hand, before I could form a fist, the Sheriff stepped in.

“How’s it going over here, Nick?” His old eyes passed from one face to the other and stopped on me. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, looking from me to my Dad and back again. “I never knew you had a child.”

“Yes, sir,” Dad smiled as if he hadn’t just told my F.B.F. I was ugly. “This is my Sally girl, the only one I’ve got.”

Lucky me, I thought.

The Sherriff, hands on hips, puffed out his big barrel chest. “You must be pretty proud. I just cannot believe this. Nick here’s prone to practical jokes. So tell me young woman, are you really Deputy Spitz’s daughter?”

“No.”

The word was out of my mouth before I could think. I didn’t know what came over me...but it felt really good.

“Sally,” Dad hissed, but I ignored him.

“No,” I repeated, “I’m Martha Nicholls’s daughter.”

Brows contracted, the Sheriff asked, “But isn’t Nick your father?”

I had a trueStar Warsmoment. The urge to scream “Nooooo!” at the top of my lungs, just as Luke had when Darth Vader revealed his parentage, was tempting. The possibility of seeing Dad’s face was nearly too much to resist. Instead I decided to take the high road.

“I guess.” I shrugged then looked over at my friends. They were both smiling. “We should get back to class.”

“You’re just like your mother,” Dad said to my back.

Stopping, I turned. “You better believe it.”

Hooker was so proud she called me Super Spitz the rest of the day; Becks couldn’t stop grinning; and I was walking on air. Standing up to him, for my mom, for myself, it sent me on the best kind of power trip. I was free, liberated. For a second there I even considered burning my bra. Hours later adrenaline still coursed through my veins. There had to be some major endorphins going on there too because I was far too giddy for there not to be. What happened between fifth and sixth period was a result of this feeling—or at least, that’s what I told myself.

It couldn’t have been jealousy. No way, I was above all that, a rock of strength and conviction. My sense of justice was tested when I saw Twyla Cornish plastered all over Becks in the hall, her hands clinging to his right arm, body pressed to his side. Anger flared hot in my gut. I’d had about enough of women throwing themselves at my boyfriend—correctionfakeboyfriend...but the fake part wasn’t common knowledge. This wasn’t about the green-eyed monster, I assured myself as I strode directly to Becks and the bespectacled home wrecker, ripped her hands away and shoved Becks into the storeroom where we’d started this thing over a week ago. It was about self-respect.

As the bell rang, I glared at him. I was missing the first part of British Lit, my favorite class.

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