bestsellers.
"Which was the hardest case you solved?" I ask Dad, as he steps and I roll out of Big Y to his car. Who names a grocery store Big Y? Then again, what's up with Piggly Wiggly?
"I'm not a detective. I don't solve cases. I just research and write about them."
But I notice the twinkle in his eye when he says "solve."
"Come on, Dad. If you hadn't worked those clues in Georgia, the husband would've totally gotten away with her murder."
Dad made the police look like Deputy Dewey, and my life suddenly became Scream 5. Okay, maybe not exactly. It's not like I had a crazy boyfriend with mommy issues slicing and dicing my friends, thank goodness. But the end of the school year was something we both anticipated, and we didn't wait until August, like usual, to move.
"So which was the hardest?"
Dad opens the hatch of his Subaru Forrester. "Georgia."
I knew it. I hand him the bag of eggs and bread. "What about the craziest?"
"Is this a new game?"
"Yes. There's only so many times you can say, 'I spy with my little eye�'"
He chuckles and pushes the bag of cereal, chips, and frozen waffles beside the eggs. "The weirdestâ¦"
"Not weird. Crazy, as in evil or sadistic."
He gives me a long stare. He hates when I talk about the crazies. Like if I mention it enough I'll become one. I just can't help it. The criminal mind fascinates me, and just because I'm not a legal adult doesn't mean I can't handle it. Nothing scares me. Not the dark, or spiders, or even clowns. Well, maybe knife wielding maniacs in hockey masks, but since I've only met one, and it was on my TV screen, I don't count it as a true fear.
"Only one percent of murders are committed by serial killers. It's rare."
On second thought, it is a bit scary how well Dad knows me.
"It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again." I use my special Buffalo Bill voice.
An older woman passes us and visibly scowls at me. At least she knows her films.
Dad shakes his head. "What have I told you about reciting horror movies in public?"
I lift the last bag out of the cart and push it into the back of the car. "Not to do it?"
He shuts the hatch. "Well, it's nice to know you're at least listening. Do you know where this goes?"
I grab the cart and direct it toward the place where carts gather, beneath the sign that states: Return Carts Here. It's not rocket science, Dad.
Deciding this is an awesome spot for a gold medal spin, I lean on my back wheels and take off. Feet in and out, around and around until the store and parking lot are a blur. I want to shout out, "wee," but that would alert Dad to my less than stellar public display, and I'd have to stop. So I stuff my "This Little Piggy" finale down and concentrate on controlling the spin.
Something dark approaches, something in the form of someone. Darn, it's probably an old lady in need of a cart, and I'm blocking them all.
"Sorry, one sec," I shout.
But as I attempt to slow down, and attempt means to do it very slow so I don't wipeout and land on my face, I realize it isn't an old person with the patience ofâ¦well, an old person. It looks like a young guy.
"Take your time." And his voice sounds cute.
Surprised and totally mortified that I look like a dweeb, I stop too abruptly and end up jerking forward. I reach my hands out to prevent permanent damage to my face and go down on my knee pads, right at his feet.
I look up and hope something witty will surface from my brain so I can kinda redeem myself.
He's totally my age, maybe a bit older, sportin' a wild afro that looks super soft, and a single dimple in his left cheek, beside a shy smile. Dark brown eyes to go with dark brown skin, and I'm suddenly counting down the days until I'm sixteen and I can date.
And that's when I realize my hands have landed, not on the ground, but on him.
On his faded, soft-from-too-many-washings jeans.
On both sides of his privates.
CHAPTER THREE
Â
Â
Ohmigod. I'm cupping his junk.
I jump up
"Which was the hardest case you solved?" I ask Dad, as he steps and I roll out of Big Y to his car. Who names a grocery store Big Y? Then again, what's up with Piggly Wiggly?
"I'm not a detective. I don't solve cases. I just research and write about them."
But I notice the twinkle in his eye when he says "solve."
"Come on, Dad. If you hadn't worked those clues in Georgia, the husband would've totally gotten away with her murder."
Dad made the police look like Deputy Dewey, and my life suddenly became Scream 5. Okay, maybe not exactly. It's not like I had a crazy boyfriend with mommy issues slicing and dicing my friends, thank goodness. But the end of the school year was something we both anticipated, and we didn't wait until August, like usual, to move.
"So which was the hardest?"
Dad opens the hatch of his Subaru Forrester. "Georgia."
I knew it. I hand him the bag of eggs and bread. "What about the craziest?"
"Is this a new game?"
"Yes. There's only so many times you can say, 'I spy with my little eye�'"
He chuckles and pushes the bag of cereal, chips, and frozen waffles beside the eggs. "The weirdestâ¦"
"Not weird. Crazy, as in evil or sadistic."
He gives me a long stare. He hates when I talk about the crazies. Like if I mention it enough I'll become one. I just can't help it. The criminal mind fascinates me, and just because I'm not a legal adult doesn't mean I can't handle it. Nothing scares me. Not the dark, or spiders, or even clowns. Well, maybe knife wielding maniacs in hockey masks, but since I've only met one, and it was on my TV screen, I don't count it as a true fear.
"Only one percent of murders are committed by serial killers. It's rare."
On second thought, it is a bit scary how well Dad knows me.
"It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again." I use my special Buffalo Bill voice.
An older woman passes us and visibly scowls at me. At least she knows her films.
Dad shakes his head. "What have I told you about reciting horror movies in public?"
I lift the last bag out of the cart and push it into the back of the car. "Not to do it?"
He shuts the hatch. "Well, it's nice to know you're at least listening. Do you know where this goes?"
I grab the cart and direct it toward the place where carts gather, beneath the sign that states: Return Carts Here. It's not rocket science, Dad.
Deciding this is an awesome spot for a gold medal spin, I lean on my back wheels and take off. Feet in and out, around and around until the store and parking lot are a blur. I want to shout out, "wee," but that would alert Dad to my less than stellar public display, and I'd have to stop. So I stuff my "This Little Piggy" finale down and concentrate on controlling the spin.
Something dark approaches, something in the form of someone. Darn, it's probably an old lady in need of a cart, and I'm blocking them all.
"Sorry, one sec," I shout.
But as I attempt to slow down, and attempt means to do it very slow so I don't wipeout and land on my face, I realize it isn't an old person with the patience ofâ¦well, an old person. It looks like a young guy.
"Take your time." And his voice sounds cute.
Surprised and totally mortified that I look like a dweeb, I stop too abruptly and end up jerking forward. I reach my hands out to prevent permanent damage to my face and go down on my knee pads, right at his feet.
I look up and hope something witty will surface from my brain so I can kinda redeem myself.
He's totally my age, maybe a bit older, sportin' a wild afro that looks super soft, and a single dimple in his left cheek, beside a shy smile. Dark brown eyes to go with dark brown skin, and I'm suddenly counting down the days until I'm sixteen and I can date.
And that's when I realize my hands have landed, not on the ground, but on him.
On his faded, soft-from-too-many-washings jeans.
On both sides of his privates.
CHAPTER THREE
Â
Â
Ohmigod. I'm cupping his junk.
I jump up
Similar Books
The Cottage Next Door
Georgia Bockoven
Another Brooklyn
Jacqueline Woodson
Caroline and the Duke: A Regency Short Story
Sabrina Darby
The Subtle Knife
Philip Pullman
Waking Hearts
Elizabeth Hunter
Rain Dance
Joy DeKok
Bad Haircut
Tom Perrotta
It Happened One Christmas
Kaitlin O'Riley
Once Upon a Summer
Janette Oke
Savannah Reid 12 - Fat Free and Fatal
G. A. McKevett