Kissing the Shy Guy - Stephanie Street Page 0,11

as unconditionally as her.

“He just didn’t want to anymore.”

Melly frowned. “Can you find someone else to sing your song with you?”

I shook my head. “It’s not that easy. It takes a lot of work to practice, and the competition is coming soon.”

Melly’s eyes widened, and she grabbed my hands. “You have to hurry and find a new singer!”

“Melly, it doesn’t work like that. He would have to learn the song and the dance and the speaking, too.”

“You have to find someone who already knows the words,” she said reasonably.

I patted her hand. “Good idea. I’ll try that.”

Problem solved, Melly laid her head back down. The movie was almost over. She’d go to bed soon, leaving me time with my thoughts to figure out what to do next.

I wished it was as simple as Melly made it sound. Find someone who already knows the words.

4

Adam

I couldn’t stop thinking about Jenna. I couldn’t wrap my head around what I knew from what other people told me and what I’d seen and heard and felt with my own eyes, ears, and heart when I talked to her myself the other day.

Jenna was a mystery—and a dangerous one. I knew myself and my own tendencies. I had no desire to get chewed up and spit out by Jenna Bradford.

I didn’t lack all experience with girls. I had six sisters, for goodness sakes. I knew about the tears, the hormones, the drama. Girls could be catty and hateful and two-faced. I’d seen it all in my own house. Manipulation? Child’s play. I could spot female intrigue a mile away.

However, I didn’t lack sympathy or compassion. I’d felt both when Jenna told me about the scholarship and Josh quitting, not to mention breaking up with her. What a douche. It had been a few years now, but I remembered precisely how tightly wound Diana had been as she prepared to compete for the prestigious scholarship. What Josh had done was harsh.

It wasn’t easy ignoring the attraction I’d felt, either. It was almost as surprising as the moments when she opened up and shared something so personal with me. I couldn’t escape the emotions I experienced, holding her as she cried. Jenna, the ice queen, had been vulnerable in a way I doubted she often let herself be.

I hadn’t told anyone about those minutes in the choir room. What would I say? Jenna wouldn’t appreciate me blabbing about her personal life at school, not that I ever would, and telling Jarom would amount to the same thing. I didn’t have the same relationship with Bash or Asher, so talking to them was out. And telling any of my sisters? Not only would they tell everyone they knew, but would tease me relentlessly for being a ‘softie’ as they called it.

“What are you up to?” Mom asked as soon as I walked into the kitchen after school. It was Friday, three days after I’d talked with Jenna.

I glanced up, surprised at Mom’s tone. Neither of my parents paid much attention to when I came or went. I’d turned eighteen just after the start of the school year. They had other things to worry about—namely, my sisters.

“I just walked in the door.”

“I know that. Didn’t I just watch you do it?” She straightened the dishtowel hanging from a rod on the kitchen island.

Hmm. Something was up. Her abrupt, irritated movements were signal enough, but her lips were tight, the fine lines fanned around her eyes deepened.

Well versed in the language of irritated female, I kept quiet but didn’t leave the kitchen. I could have left and gone upstairs to my room, but then whatever was bothering her would percolate like the coffee in the new machine we’d gotten her for her birthday. Only it wouldn’t drip carefully into the pot, it would spit and spew, burning anyone stupid enough to remain close.

Better to stick around and have it out. But that didn’t mean I had to go hungry. I propped my guitar case against the wall, then dug around the pantry for something quick and mobile. Who knew? Once the sparks started flying, I might need to make a quick escape. Better safe than sorry—and hungry.

I settled on a granola bar and applesauce in a pouch. Armed with a snack and a juice box from the fridge, I sat at the table, hoping I looked innocent. I chewed the granola bar carefully and deliberately.

Mom fluttered around me, shifting this and that until everything in the kitchen was exactly the