He winked. “It’l probably be around lunchtime, I’m sorry I can’t give you an exact time.” He spoke fast, looking to the bus every few seconds. “I’l meet you at that flat rock outcropping where I found you today.”
“I’l be there.” She would wait al day if need be. Anything for another chance to see Peter. His gaze gave her such hope.
“I’ve gotta run. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Peter jogged easily across the field toward the bus, Adam at his side.
“Sorry to interrupt back there. Looks like you were about to get some.”
Peter shoved him away. “Shut it.”
Chapter 4
The next day Mr. Hursley gave final instructions to the class.
“Be sure to save your work often, the network has been acting up again, and it would be a shame to have the best Homecoming flyer Rockvile High ever fal victim to a cyber death.” He took a cursory lap around the room to make sure everyone was on task. The tap of keyboards in action filed the room. Satisfied, Mr. Hursley eased into his desk chair, adjusted his outdated bifocals and settled into the sports section.
Libby eyed the people around her. To her right sat two stuck-up girls who believed the world revolved around them. The drama queens scooted their chairs tight together and whispered under the hum of two dozen computers. On her left lounged basketbal star, aka chick magnet, Tom West, his incredibly long legs stretched far beneath the table. He peered toward the teacher’s desk, where Mr. Hursley buried himself behind the newspaper.
Tom slid on tiny earphones and began nodding to the beat of unheard music. How Tom manipulated the tiny ipod with his giant hands, Libby couldn’t fathom.
With everyone’s attention elsewhere, she hunched closer to the keyboard, clicked on the internet icon and typed in “Google”.
Instantly the screen popped up, startling her. Most kids spent hours surfing the web. The only time Libby touched a computer was to work on school assignments during class. Aunt Marge would never own something as progressive as a computer; she lived in the Dark Ages. For the first time in many months, Libby was motivated to break the rules a little and play on the web.
Her nerves betrayed her as her hands began to shake. She puled away from the keyboard as if burned. This was sily. She never broke the rules and this was so simple. She wasn’t defacing school property. She wanted to know more about Peter and the information was just a few keystrokes away.
She took a deep breath and rested her arms on the desk.
With nervous concentration she clicked on the search box and typed.
“Peter Jamieson.”
Seeing his name on the screen, even though she put it there, brought him to life as if he sat right before her. She drew her hands away. Why was she nervous? She’d worked hard not to care about anything anymore, but now she wanted this so badly, her stomach hurt.
She bit her lower lip, reached out with her right index finger and pressed enter.
4,710,084 items in 0.23 seconds.
Libby’s jaw dropped. A list displayed item after item and most included a photo of Peter or Peter with his brothers.
She leaned back in the chair, her hand covering her mouth.
Over four milion hits! This couldn’t possibly be right, but there it was, his familiar smile over and over.
Disbelief didn’t begin to express her emotions. It made no sense. Why would the boy on the screen want to be her friend?
What would a guy like Peter see in her? Was she going nuts? No, she stil remembered the touch of his lips on her hands. It was insane
She leaned forward, oblivious to the world around her and began to read the headings.
Peter Jamieson, official fan site.
Peter Jamieson, Song Writing Genius, Strikes Gold with New Album.
Peter Jamieson Along with Brothers Garrett and Adam, Kick Off Sold-Out Triple Threat Tour.
Peter Jamieson Visits Kids at Tulsa Children’s Hospital.
Peter Jamieson, Lead Singer of the Band Jamieson, Rocks Denver.
Libby reached for the mouse to advance the page.
“Miss Sawyer, that doesn’t look anything like a homecoming flyer.”
She jumped in her seat, knocking her knee against the table leg, then whipped around. Mr. Hursley stood planted behind her, arms crossed. Libby swalowed.
“Are you finished with your work already or do you need detention to help get you back on track?” Mr. Hursley didn’t mess around.
“No,” she responded, her eyes like a deer in the headlights.
The heat in her body rose up her neck to her face, turning it a hot pink. Don’t cry.
Basketbal boy and