Rebel at Spruce High (Spruce Texas Romance #5) - Daryl Banner Page 0,31

as I imagine a completely different setting. What’s Toby’s day-to-day life like? What does he eat for dinner? Is he eating right now, seated at a table with his own stiff parents and mix of troubles and dissatisfactions? What does he do for hours before going to bed? I sure as hell know my life here so far is full of a lot of nothing. What does anyone do in a town like this to pass the time? Other than gossip, which I’ve already not only learned the hard way, but been a direct part of.

Or maybe Toby’s parents are super sweet. Maybe after that hard first day, his mom baked him a cake, and they all crowded around a tiny TV to watch movies and make him feel better. ‘Don’t let those bullies get you down,’ I could imagine his mother saying. ‘Just ignore their mean words. Sticks and stones, right, sweetheart?’

The thought has me smirking, amused.

“Why don’t you join an activity?” suggests my dad. “Perhaps an Arts program? Or an afterschool club? An enriching experience of some sort? Spruce High even has a Theatre Arts program.”

My mother clears her throat. Again.

“Yes,” my father decides, “that would be an excellent way to meet others. To work alongside your peers. To make friends.”

My parents are so convinced it will just take the right set of friends to mold me into who they need me to be: someone who’ll join my dad’s business endeavors someday, even if I still know next to nothing about what exactly he does. It has something to do with investing in businesses, traveling too much, and blaming my behavior whenever they have to relocate to a new city.

Then my thoughts are on Toby again. I imagine him sitting at this table with me, just as my father requested. Nervously cutting a bite of steak with his hardworking hands. Giving short glances at my parents, curious, timid. Blushing adorably each time he’s asked a simple question. Maybe he would have just come off the farm where I’m pretending he works, sweaty and red-faced, muscles in his arms sore from his day’s work, a total dream boy.

Imagining just that brief moment makes everything bearable.

“I already made a friend,” I state.

My father makes a musical hum of approval. “Why haven’t I heard of them? Here I am, going on and on. Who are they?”

I didn’t mean to say it aloud. It’s not even that true. Maybe I just want to get my dad off my back. “He’s in a few of my classes.”

“What’s his name?” my mom asks crisply, coming alive.

Here’s where the real fun begins. “Toby Michaels,” I answer her calmly, remembering his full name from the roll calls.

She pauses, troubled for a moment. “No, I don’t remember a Michaels. That isn’t one of the names here in Spruce. Is there no one in your classes with the last name McPherson? Or Evans?”

“Or Strong?” suggests my dad, picking up on my mom’s hints.

I struggle not to roll my eyes. They roll anyway. “Well, he’s my friend. Toby. Not a Strong or an Evans or a whatever. First guy I met. Seems nice. Acts normal. Wouldn’t harm a fly.” The words pour out in an unimpressive drone. “Not a … Not a single rebel bone in his skinny body. You’d be so proud of me.”

My father, not picking up on a note of my sarcasm, nods with approval. “Sounds like a nice young man. Will you invite him over sometime? Maybe this weekend?”

“Now wait a minute …” my mother softly interjects. Yep. It’s clicking. “You said Toby …? Is this …” She sets down her glass and squints at me. “Is this the boy you defended in the lunch room? The one for whom you went to the principal’s office?”

I take a measured breath, then nod.

“No.” She eyes her husband across the table, then fills him in. “This so-called ‘new friend’ is the kid that was being teased in the lunch room. And he’s the reason Donovan went to the principal’s office. No.” She folds her napkin and gives a snappy shake of her head. “You’ll make other friends.”

“Toby is not the reason I went to the principal’s office,” I say right back, annoyed. “I’m the reason.”

“People are power,” my mother states, repeating herself from before, “but you need the right people, otherwise you will get lost to the fold all over again, just like in New York. Donovan—”

“You don’t even know him. He’s quiet and shy. He appreciates