A Bad Day for Sunshine (Sunshine Vicram #1)(17)

His statement startled her.

“You’re just going to let her go?” Gary asked, appalled.

Mr. Jacobs was getting tired of him if his change in attitude were any indication. “Gary, if I weren’t married to your sister—”

“I know. I know.” The man walked off with a dismissive wave.

But Auri was way more interested in why the principal thought she saw the culprit—a.k.a. Lynelle Amaia—steal the carving. Why he seemed to know she did.

The bell rang before the principal could say anything else, and students flooded the hallway.

“May I go to class now?” she asked him, determined not to be late again.

He gave her a thoughtful gaze, then nodded.

She found her second classroom much easier than the first. Or so she’d thought.

She entered and handed the teacher her schedule as the other kids filed in only to have the teacher point to the paper. “You want the next classroom. Room 47. This is 45.”

When a mocking giggle hit her, she turned and saw one of the girls from her first period, one of Lynelle’s friends. At least they didn’t have this class together.

Auri walked out of that classroom and into the next just as the bell rang. Once again, she handed her schedule to the teacher as the entire class looked on. The instructor, an older man with graying auburn hair and weathered skin, wore a red-and-gold hoodie and matching sweatpants.

“Happy New Year, Coach,” a student said as he passed.

“Marks. You’re late.”

“Sorry.” The student hurried to his seat, probably hoping he wouldn’t get sent to the office for being tardy.

The coach initialed her schedule and handed her a social studies book. “Welcome to Del Sol, Auri.”

Surprised he knew her nickname, Auri glanced up.

“Ah yes, I know your mom. She told me you’d be starting here. I promised to keep an eye on you. Not too close, though, eh?” He winked, and Auri couldn’t help but grin at him.

Friendly faces had been hard to come by of late. At least, she’d thought so until she turned and saw the girl. The blonde who was startlingly happy to see her in first period. She waved again with the same amount of enthusiasm and wiggled in her seat. That was one exuberant girl.

Auri gave a hesitant wave back and went to the only empty seat in the classroom, but not before noticing the poet, Cruz, in the back row. She groaned. Not aloud or anything, but in her mind.

She let her gaze flit past him, because he was staring at her. A nervous energy prickled down her spine. At least he no longer looked angry. Small miracles.

The coach took roll, then proceeded with the lesson. “Okay, we talked before break about the social implications of economy and class, but I want us to shift focus a bit.” The coach grabbed a stack of papers off his desk. “Before we left for break, I paired you up. Since you were gone, De los Santos, I’ll put you with Auri. How’s that sound?”

The coach’s gaze landed on Auri, and she nodded. What else could she do? She had no idea who De los Santos was, so she hardly had an opinion.

“That okay with you?” He looked past her toward the back row, where he stopped on the poet, and her heart tried to jump out of her chest when she realized who she’d been partnered with. Cruz De los Santos. This was not happening.

He’d had his head down and didn’t bother to lift it when he looked up at the coach from underneath impossibly long lashes and gave a single nod.

“Good deal. Here are your questions.” He handed a stack of papers to the first student in each row to pass back. “I’ll give you a few minutes at the end of class to partner up and figure out a time when you can meet outside the classroom.”

“But, Coach,” the tardy kid, a stocky athlete with hazelnut hair, whined. “What about practice?”

“Marks, no amount of practice is going to help your jump shot. I think you can squeeze this in.”

The class erupted in laughter. Well, most of the class. Cruz De los Santos was busy eyeing Auri from underneath those killer lashes.

Trying to ignore him, she took the paper and scanned the questions. The basic gist was to get a family history, a fact that caused the teensiest bristle to quake through her.

“This will be due next week, so get on it.”

The coach went into his lesson for the day while Auri fought the urge to look over her shoulder. She sank down in her seat and studied the dynamics of the room instead. And the more class went on, the more she saw a strange phenomenon.

The other students seemed to partially ignore Cruz and partially revere him. When they cracked a joke, they’d look at him as though gauging his reaction. When they asked a question, they’d glance back to see if he would . . . what? Back them up?

The girls, Auri could understand. There was no denying the fact that the guy was hot. But the boys? That she found odd.

Then again, she had bigger worries than the student body’s fascination with the poet. She’d have to talk to him. Face-to-face. One-on-one. Mano a mano.

Either way, every time she thought her day couldn’t get any worse, she’d been proven wrong. She decided to quit thinking altogether. To become a zombie. Zombies didn’t sweat the small stuff. She could do that.





5


Multiple complaints of a man covered in

green paint running down Main Street