Page 15 of The Last Love Song
Megan hurried to pick up the tub of ice that had been set at one end of the tent, anxious to be out of there. Shewould not lookat the twisted knot of spoiled bitchy girls lounging on the oversize pillows. But when the boys started cheering over a high score on their latest mission, Megan couldn’t help a quick peek at the score.
Child’s play.
She had a character in the same game about fifty levels higher than those guys. Perversely, she’d played with some of them online and they’d never known her from the screen name she used: Bruiser12—her badass alter ego.
Her moment of pleasure ended abruptly as her gaze landed on the throng of girls. Five glossy heads with hair straightened into look-alike sheets, their expensive skirts spilling onto one another since they sat so close together. Bailey McCord was there. Of course. Her former friend.
Their eyes met for a nanosecond before Bailey frowned and looked back down at her phone screen.
Hypocrite.
Irritated, Megan lifted the ice tub too fast. Half the contents spilled on the grass in a crash-thud, making everyone turn and stare. The boys broke out in a sarcastic cheer.
“Nice one!”
“Real smooth!”
A girl’s voice slid underneath the boys’ shouts. “Could she be any more hopeless?”
Of course, Megan berated herself with a lot worse than that. Ignoring the mess, she trudged out of the tent with the tub, her face burning.
“Hey, Meg!” a friendly voice shouted from behind her.
She almost didn’t turn around, half afraid of being suckered into another insult, but then a flash of recognition hit. She knew that musical soprano tone.
Slowing her step, she willed her heart rate to slow. Attempted to wipe the pissy expression from her face. Then she turned.
“Hi, Ms. Finley.”
Her music teacher hurried across the lawn, red curls bouncing on her shoulders. She always dressed with a fashion sense that landed somewhere between preppy and demure—weird, since she used to own Last Chance Vintage with her sister. The store had the coolest stuff in town, but Ms. Finley didn’t look as if she shopped there. She had a Southern-lady polish, from her pedicure to her refined pearl jewelry and barely-there makeup. Today, she wore a sheer yellow dress layered over a simple lemon-colored sheath.
On the plus side, Ms. Finley actually had a brain and a huge love of music, both qualities Megan doubted many of her graduating class possessed. Ms. Finley loved Bach, knew all the alternative bands, and could launch into a soaring melody from some random piece of medieval liturgical music when the mood struck her. As guitar teachers went, she was extremely cool. In their next lesson, they were supposed to talk about taking guitar solos to the next level. But now, Ms. Finley was skipping town.
Leaving Megan alone in a school system that had turned on her for reasons she didn’t understand. She couldn’t imagine facing her days without the outlet of her music. Without her one friend remaining—even if she was a teacher.
“Let me help you with that,” her music instructor offered, grabbing one side of the heavy tub still partially full of ice.
“That’s okay.” Megan didn’t want to spill it again, but she also didn’t want to get in trouble with her boss for letting a client do her job. “Please.” She tugged the metal bowl back. Gently. “If Iwant work again next weekend, I’d better do what they ask me to.”
“Oh.” Ms. Finley frowned, but let go, pink fingernails sliding away. “Okay. Can I walk with you for a minute? I can tell your boss I was giving you special wedding instructions or something.”
“That’s okay.” Megan slowed her pace since Ms. Finley wore high heels. “I need to bring this to the truck.”
The caterer’s mobile cooking unit sat off to one side of the massive lawn beside a box trailer full of tables and equipment. Megan headed toward it with Ms. Finley.
“I wanted to see if everything is okay?” her teacher asked, voice full of concern. “You mentioned taking the job for extra money and I worried—I don’t know. Are things all right at home?”
“Fine.” The last thing she needed was for Ms. Finley to talk to her dad. He worried enough about Megan. “Everything is fine,” she lied. “I’m just thinking more about college now with senior year under way. I’m trying to put everything I can into the fund to help out.”
That much was true. Her father could barely afford the household budget on his college-teaching salary. He taught online at a school that wouldn’t give faculty members a discount for their kids to attend, but according to her dad, it was the best he could do in an overcrowded job market.
So the money created one issue. The fact that she’d become a target for trouble at school was another problem she wasn’t about to share. And the person who’d taken to harassing her online brought her problems to a whole other creepy level.
“That’s good of you, Megan.” Ms. Finley smiled, her perfectly lined lips saying all the right grown-up things. “College is a great goal.” She walked in silence for a moment, frowning.
“But?” Arriving at the catering truck, Megan dumped the ice in the spot allotted for excess water runoff then shoved the tub into the trailer.
“But a guitar is always a great goal, too.” Ms. Finley stared back at her, perfectly serious.
