A Bad Day for Sunshine (Sunshine Vicram #1)(9)
“Sweet. Less trouble she can get into.”
She returned the pen and narrowed her gaze on him. “It’s bizarre how much we think alike. The accusations stem from a certain raid on a certain New Year’s Eve party at the lake.”
“Oh, snap. They think she called us?”
“They do.”
He snorted. “Like anybody needed to call. Don’t they know the secret annual New Year’s Eve party at the lake is the least secret event in this town?”
“Kind of like Mrs. Sorenson’s breast augmentation.”
He laughed out loud, then sobered, his expression wilting a little. “Those aren’t real?”
Sun consoled him with a pat on his head. She knew he’d take it hard.
“Poor kid,” he said, switching back to Auri. “She’s so great. Are you sure she’s really yours?”
“I hope so. She borrows my clothes.”
She thought back longingly to an amazing burgundy sweater that had never been the same after Auri wore it on a field trip to the zoo in Albuquerque. Something about a boy named Fred and a monkey named Tidbit.
She snapped out of it when she realized all work had come to a complete standstill and her staff was gathering around the coffeepot. She leaned closer to Quince. “Should I address the troops?”
“Price is still out on a call. And besides, you have a visitor.” He gestured toward what she assumed was her office.
“Already? I just got here.”
“Yeah, well.” He cringed, his face lined with sympathy. “Proceed with caution. She’s been waiting for twenty minutes.”
“And you kept me standing outside chatting for ten of them?” When he offered her a noncommittal shrug, she dropped her head, dread leaching into her pores. “Christ on a cracker.”
“Good luck,” he said like a manic cheerleader after one too many energy drinks. Then he abandoned her in her time of need to join the other cowards hovering around the coffeepot.
With a withering moan, she lifted her box and headed toward her office to meet her fate.
3
Faculty parking only.
Violators will be given a pop quiz.
—SIGN AT DEL SOL HIGH SCHOOL
“Aurora?”
Auri had just taken a hit off her inhaler. She put it away and smiled at the administrative assistant behind the counter. “That’s me.” She didn’t bother giving the woman her nickname. She doubted they’d talk often.
“Ah yes.” Corrine Amaia, if her nameplate was to be believed, gathered a few papers and handed them to her one at a time. “Okay, the top one is your locker number and combination. Put that somewhere safe.”
“Gotcha.” Auri took the paper and stuffed it into her binder.
“This is the handbook with the school song and dress codes and such.”
“Thanks.”
“And this one is your schedule.”
Auri brightened, excited to see what her classes were. The usual suspects, of course, but she’d been hoping for a couple of electives her private school hadn’t offered.
Trying not to look overly enthusiastic, she took the paper and perused it. She had the state requirements, as expected—English, history, geometry, physical science, and social studies—along with visual arts and American Sign Language.
“Nice,” she said, more than pleased. She’d requested three electives, but had only really wanted ASL.
Her old school, a private school in Santa Fe, which also happened to be the home of the New Mexico School for the Deaf, didn’t have ASL as an elective, a fact that astounded her. It was only one of several reasons Auri had agreed to transfer here.
Corrine finally stopped long enough to get a good look at the new recruit. “Aren’t you lovely,” she said, her tone part surprise and part matter-of-fact.
“Oh,” Auri said, embarrassed. “Thank you.”
“My daughter, Lynelle, is a freshman, too, if you need someone to show you around. Help you find your classes.”
“I had an offer over break, but thanks so much.”
“Of course. Let me know if you have any questions.”
Auri nodded and headed out for her first day at Del Sol High. She glanced around for the girl she’d met at the party, then walked to the vending machines by the front office. They’d made plans to meet there, but the deputies came and everyone scattered. She hoped the girl, who was a freshman as well, a redhead as well, and new as well—though not quite as new as Auri—didn’t forget. But that scenario was looking likelier and likelier.
She waited until first bell, but the girl was a no-show. She could hardly blame her. Auri was now officially an outcast. A pariah. A persona non grata, if the glares of hostility were any indication. Squelching her disappointment, she decided to get on with her day.
As she searched for her first-period class, she got the occasional curious glance, and even the outright gawk—she blamed her coloring, which was odd even for a redhead—but if she had to put a number to it, she’d guesstimate that more than half the looks directed her way were full of a venomous kind of resentment.
Who knew denying high school kids the ability to get wasted was such a big deal? If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought she’d set fire to the football uniforms. While the players were still wearing them.