My Surprise Next Door (Sweet Mountain High #4) - Stephanie Street Page 0,2

Miller hadn’t finished with Kate yet, because he kept on kissing her.

“Mr. Hardwell.” Mr. Klaton clapped his hands sharply to get Miller’s attention.

“Huh?” Miller lifted his head, his eyes dazed. Kate wasn’t in any better shape. She kept hold of Miller’s shoulders while he tried to make sense of Mr. Klaton reading him the riot act.

“No public displays, Mr. Miller.” Mr. Klaton turned his stern eyes on Kate. “I expected more from you, Ms. Andrews.”

He reached into the front pocket of his button-down shirt, removed a fresh pad of detention slips, and filled out two.

Miller took the slips with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Mr. Klaton.” Dude wasn’t sorry at all. And who could blame him with a girlfriend like Kate Andrews?

“Get to class,” Mr. Klaton barked, turning to include spectators. “All of you!”

Now that the show was over, everyone moved at once. Mr. Klaton went back into his classroom with one last glare for Miller and Kate.

“What got into those two?” Braden asked. We hadn’t moved. I couldn’t, because suddenly my mind whirled with possibilities. It just might work. It would take careful planning and a healthy dose of confidence.

I kept my eye on the lovebirds. Kate’s shoulders hunched forward as she laughed, her cheeks blushing pink. Miller’s smile smacked with satisfaction. He pulled her into his chest and kissed the top of her head. I had no idea what was going on with those two, but the golden couple of the senior class had just given me the perfect way to get back at my nosy, goody-two-shoes neighbor.

2

Mia

“My neighbor is so annoying,” I complained to my best friend, Kennedy Short, while we made our way to lunch on Wednesday. It had been a long week, and it seemed Taggish was determined to make as much noise as possible in his driveway, which happened to be right outside my bedroom window. He was driving me crazy. I had too much to do. I didn’t need any distractions.

“Taggish? What did he do now?” My extreme dislike for my next-door neighbor was nothing new to Kennedy.

Taggish Morton.

His name sounded like something out of a romance novel, one of those Regency-era stories about rakes and rogues, or maybe pirates, which made it a perfect name for him.

He was tall. Broad. Devilishly handsome. And trouble.

In fact, I believed the word trouble had been created with Taggish in mind.

He was mischievous. And charming. He always seemed to be able to talk his way out of anything.

But the most annoying thing he’d ever done was move in next door to me.

“Oh, the usual. He’s just so loud and distracting. I need to focus on my project for the scholarship. He’s making it almost impossible to concentrate when I’m working.”

And I needed to concentrate. I had less than a month to come up with something spectacular to submit to the Anne Merriman Art Foundation scholarship competition. If I won, the money from the scholarship would cover the costs of my tuition and room and board for four years of school.

Kennedy waggled her eyebrows. “I’d have a hard time concentrating, too, if Taggish Morton lived next door to me. I don’t know how you can complain about all those hot guys playing basketball with their shirts off right outside your bedroom window. All you need is a chair and a bag of popcorn, and you’d never have to leave your room again.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course, Kennedy would think that. The girl was boy crazy. As for me? I could do without. I had more important things to worry about than a boyfriend. I didn’t even have time for a crush! Painting consumed my every waking moment. That and trying to find the perfect subject for my submission.

“He can’t even take out the trash without letting the whole neighborhood know what he’s doing.” An exaggeration, but not by much. It didn’t help that my bedroom window overlooked his driveway, and the springtime temperatures made it so I needed my window open if I didn’t want to suffocate.

Between Taggish and the pressure of a looming deadline, I was about to explode. Why couldn’t I come up with anything good enough? Ms. Coltrain, the high school art teacher, reassured me I had what it took to win the competition—she’d been the one to hand me the application in the first place. But nothing I’d done so far had gotten the reaction out of her that I needed. The one that said I’d created the perfect painting to submit for