LITMIR.BIZ

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them. My dolphin friends trail behind. The whales’ song becomes stronger. If the situation weren’t so dire, I’d enjoy listening to them. This group is happy. When they finally come in sight, I swim back and forth in front of them. Their massive bodies dwarf me. They slow and watch me curiously.

      The dolphins chatter, their fins swinging from side to side, swishing cool salty liquid. In response, the lead whale lobs the surface. The wave knocks me up and out of the water. I land with a loud splash.

      The dolphins circle me chattering in agitation.

      I shake myself and head back toward the whales. The whale that caused the small tsunami noses me in apology. I pat him and swim past, careful of his tail.

      The dolphins continue to chatter. The whales respond, roll on their sides, turn around, and swim back toward the ocean.

      I blow bubbles out my mouth and manage a credible chatter. The dolphins chirp back at me.

      The rest of the night passes uneventfully. Around one-thirty, I remember my English Lit paper. I take one more cruise around the bay then head home.

      It takes me two hours to write the darn thing. I proof it and slip into bed. The alarm beeps insistently less than three hours later. “Nooo.” I pull the pillow over my head, already drifting back to sleep.

      “Honey, it’s time to get up. If you don’t, you’ll be late for school.” Gramps raps his knuckles against the door.

      “Coming.” Resigned, I unbury my head.

      His footsteps disappear down the hall.

      I stretch like a cat, get up, stumble to my tiny bathroom, and throw water on my face. With short, impatient strokes, I gather my hair back before I throw on my clothes. With great reluctance, I put on my glasses. I grimace in disgust at my appearance. I look more like a mouse than a dolph-girl. Oh well. Even Superman had his mild-mannered, nearly invisible counterpart: Clark Kent.

      My mood lightens exponentially as I open the door and smell the seductive scent of pancakes and fresh-brew. Of their own accord, my steps hasten to the kitchen.

      “Thanks. This looks wonderful.” A stack of pancakes on a plain white plate, orange juice, and a steaming cup of coffee sit on the table. I slide into my chair.

      “Eat up.” He stands at the stove. Batter pops and hisses as he ladles it into a cast-iron skillet.

      My stomach rumbles. Gramps doesn’t have to ask me twice. Swimming the sea burns an unbelievable amount of calories. I have the appetite of a football player and never gain an ounce.

      I suck down a fluffy hot stack swimming in butter and maple syrup, grab my books, and head for the door.

      “Have a good one. Did you get your homework done?” Gramps scoops flapjacks out of the skillet and sits down to eat his breakfast.

      “Sure did. You have a good one, too.” I blow out the door and hop in my truck. The engine rumbles to life. A white puff of smoke sputters out the tail pipe as I head for school.

      I chug into the parking lot and have the satisfaction of seeing Fahrenbacher blanch as I pull alongside his sleek black 350Z, my wheel base inches from his own. He jerks the wheel sharply and the car swerves to the right, almost into another parked car.

      He waves his third digit at me.

      I bare my teeth and pull my old truck directly in front of him to snag a parking spot. There will be reprisal, but even Clark Kent occasionally forgets his meek disguise.

      Bam. I slam the door on my old truck. I have to slam it for the latch to catch.

      Fahrenbacher parks his car, jumps out, grabs my shoulder, and yanks. His fingers close around a handful of cotton fleece. I leave my sweatshirt behind and beat a hasty retreat. Luckily, my disguise is intact. He has a hundred pounds on me. I’ve put off taking self-defense classes because I don’t have any extra time. I’ll have to rethink that.

      I nearly step on the person in front of me getting through the door. I glance over my shoulder. Fahrenbacher glares at me, his face red, hatred in his eyes. He mouths, “You’re going down.”

      “Loser.” I mouth back.

      He lunges.

      I scurry to my class and sit down as the bell rings.

      Fahrenbacher sticks his head in the door and starts forward. The English teacher looks up from the roster. “Mr. Fahrenbacher, do you want something?”

      He shakes his head, frustration on his face.

      “Then I suggest you get to your class.”

      He stares at me, his face an ugly purple, before he storms out.

      I don’t realize I sat next to Holly until she leans over and whispers. “What did you do to God’s gift to women?” She wears a fitted white cami over an ocher, fitted tee that brings out the highlights in her hair. A light floral fragrance tickles my nose.

      “Beat him to a parking spot and nearly scratched his sports car.” I speak out of the side of my mouth.

      Miss Sweeney looks at me, her eyebrows lift. I open my notebook, pull out a pen, and put my industrious-student-ready-to-soak-up-all-knowledge expression on. Her attention shifts. “Good morning, class.”

      Since it’s first hour, she gets a half-hearted response, along with several barely concealed yawns.

      The weight of a stare that isn’t Miss Sweeney’s causes my head to swivel sharply right. My glance collides with intense blue eyes.

      Our gazes lock. Energy crackles. He breaks contact long enough to look at the doorway Fahrenbacher disappeared through before he shifts his attention back to me and raises his eyebrows. The boy doesn’t miss much. Neither does his sister for that matter.

      I shrug my shoulders.

      “Ms. Dunn.”

      My head swivels toward the teacher.

      “What is the oldest known piece of significant literature in the English language?”

      I clear my throat. “Beowulf.”

      She gives me an approving smile. “That’s right, Ms. Dunn.” She goes into lecture mode and I slouch down in my seat. I can feel Tyler’s stare. My skin quivers. It’s like a touch. I ignore him—or at least try to—focusing my attention on the instructor. The problem is my reaction to him is more than just physical. I’ve come to realize Tyler Carlisle is more than just a pretty face. The more I’m around the guy, the more I like him. He’s so sweet and funny. I straighten. I’m pretty sure I’ve been staring at the teacher with a dopey smile plastered on my face.

      When the bell rings, my feelings are mixed. I won’t have the distraction of Tyler for the next hour.

      Holly scoops up her books and waits for me. I rise reluctantly. I like Holly but doing the girlfriend thing is such a bad idea.

      Ann Jones, the class president who sits in the row in front of us, turns. “Are you heading for study hall, Holly?”

      “I am, but I’m waiting for Piper. I’ll catch ya later.” She smiles at Ann. Holly has one of those smiles that zeroes in and makes you feel like the most important person in the world, like basking in sunshine.

      “Okay.” Ann smiles back, looks at me, and smiles politely. I swear she just stopped herself from shaking her head in bewilderment. I feel like commiserating. I certainly can’t see what my attraction for the twins is.

      Tyler waits at the door. He falls into step as we walk down the hall. Hurried footsteps clatter around us. The scents of books, sweat, and uber-strong aftershave surround us. It’s as natural as the smell of coconut in sunscreen.

      “Tyler, your class is in the other direction,” Holly points out, shifting her books more securely in her arm.

      He ignores her and looks at me. “What did you do now to piss

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