Page 2 of The Rival Kiss

The Amity Creek Independent School had its problems, sure. While most of the teachers are dedicated and passionate, it’s well-known that those who play poker with Principal Norman Lester are exempt from any kind of professional standards. Last week I was incensed when Mrs. Blackmore—a woman who’s been teaching for forty years and should have retired at twenty—told my sophomores they were the worst class in the entire school. That rage fueled me as I revamped my resume and emailed the school board, applying for the recently vacated position of vice principal.

An application I now regret. I’m not ready. And if I screw up this job, it will be a very public failure. Not an option. I need that computer. I need to try and recall that email.

I reach for the computer, but Harry grabs it first and holds it out of my reach. “Maybe a little competition would light a fire under this school. It could be a good thing, Maisie.”

No way am I giving him the satisfaction of jumping for it. I plant my hands on my hips instead. “Or you steal enrollments and funds, and then you don’t even make it in the long term. Meanwhile, this school collapses.” Forget the impact on my career—Amity Creek’s public high school is already bursting, and the loss of this school would surely send students traveling long distances to other counties.

And what exactly makes Harry think he can do this any better than the rest of them? His arrogance knows no bounds—especially now, looking down at me with that smirk as he waggles my own laptop at me. Someone needs to take that attitude down a peg or two. I raise a brow at him. “Why don’t you just work within the system we’ve got?” I give a dramatic eye roll. “Oh, that’s right. You’re allergic to authority.”

Harry’s smirk falls away, and his eyes narrow. “And you’re addicted to it.” He holds the laptop further out of my reach, his tone accusing. “You haven’t even listened to my pitch, and you’ve already decided it will be a disaster.”

Ouch. That one lands. I often accuse Harry of having a chip on his shoulder, but he’s right. I’ve already decided he’ll fail. And I might hold the world to a high standard, but I hold myself to a higher one. I straighten my shoulders. “Alright, then. Pitch it to me.”

His mouth opens, then closes. He blinks. “No.”

I give an incredulous laugh. The dim light and his brown skin makes it hard to tell, but is he blushing?

He lowers the laptop but keeps his grip on it. “We haven’t worked out our official pitch yet.”

Interesting—very interesting. Harry Latu, nervous? I haven’t seen it in the fifteen years since the young Aussie swaggered into my eighth grade English class. I shrug. “So I’ll lower my expectations. Just tell me why this school has to be in Amity Creek. And why it has to be now.”

Harry holds my gaze for a long moment, then nods and places the laptop down on the desk. His acquiescence triggers a flood of anticipation through my chest. Weird. When he closes the laptop lid with a firmclick,the sensation only amps up.

Harry takes an audibly deep breath, straightens, and meets my gaze. “For starters, the US is facing a trades shortage. There’s not nearly as many blue-collar jobs as there once were, but because of that trend and other perceptions, the number of kids going into trades has plummeted.”

I perch against the desk behind me. What does a trade shortage have to do with a new school? Is he planning some kind of charter school?

Whatever uncharacteristic bout of nervousness Harry was experiencing falls away as his expression grows animated and he gestures to the school around us. “We have kids who love to work with their hands. The country needs them to be skilled in these jobs.” His gaze darts around the classroom and lands on a map of the state. He strides over to it and points to our location, in the southeastern corner of Washington State. I catch myself leaning forward. “But did you know that of the fourteen skills centers in the state, only three are less than three hours from here?”

I give a slow nod. One of my many cousins had attended a skills center for half of every school day—a compromise between a teen boy fixated on becoming a mechanic and his mother who was desperate for him to graduate. But he had to move to Spokane to do it.

Harry grabs a marker and sketches something on my whiteboard. I straighten. “Is that a permanent—” I cut myself off at the look he tosses over his shoulder.

“Save your questions for the end of class, Miss Hastings.”

I press my lips together and watch him draw. The rough outlines of his grandfather’s farm appear, and Harry adds school buildings in quick, sure strokes. “I want to combine a skill center with a charter school and develop an educational facility that is dedicated to creating future leaders in trade industries.” He finishes his rough campus map and writes the name beneath with a flourish.Southeast Washington Trade Academy.He recaps the marker like he’s just drafted the Declaration of Independence. “We take juniors and seniors only, and we build a curriculum that they can stay engaged with. One that will give them not only the academic and technical skills they need, but one that will grow their character. I’m serious about being known for the best future leaders in the business. There’s a fantastic group in Australia that is already doing this, and the trend is growing fast.”

I push away from the desk and step closer to better read his whiteboard map. “And you don’t think this school can help those kids?”

Harry snorts and picks up a copy ofRomeo and Julietthat’s been sitting in my end-of-week lost-and-found pile, with a metal water bottle and—ick—someone’s retainer. I’d handed the books out to my class only yesterday. Harry flicks the corner of the pages with his thumb. “Believe me, I love Shakespeare. The ability to use the right quote on a first date is… quite useful.”

I meet his gaze. The twinkle in his eyes makes me swallow. Harry on a first date? All that energy and fire focused on one woman for an entire evening? It sounds—well, that is to say—

“But a technically-minded sixteen-year-old boy who just wants to get on a build site isn’t going to appreciate it.” Harry drops the book on the desk, and I jolt back into reality. “If you’re lucky, he’ll just switch off. If you’re not lucky, he’ll disrupt others or drop out entirely.” Harry spreads his hands. Big, rough, marker-smudged hands that spend their weekends outdoors and the weekdays in the classroom. “I don’t want these hands-on kids feeling like school isn’t a place for them.” He claps those large hands together. “So I’m going to build a school for them.”

The fire in his voice heats my own blood. Harry never looks more alive than when he finds a way to engage an unwilling student. Today, that student is me. And by golly, it is working.

But Harry has always been an ideas man, sleeves rolled up to fight anyone in his way. It’s like he feeds off the energy of people opposing him. Diplomacy? Forget it. That’d rob him of the chance to get on his soap box.

But I live in the real world, where things get done by people who know how to negotiate. So, I hold up a hand. “Mr. Latu?”

He gives an imperious nod, and I bite back a smile and fold my arms. “Build it with what? You have a piece of farmland on the edge of town. No building, no staff, no curriculum.”

He raises a brow. “I am not bound to please thee with my answers.”

Ha-ha, very clever. From him, other women probably getDoubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt that I love,while I get Shakespeare quotes in the form of arguments.

Harry flashes a grin like he’s read my thoughts and relents. “The curriculum is underway. Justin’s got some brilliant ideas.”

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