Time (Laws of Physics #3)(78)

1. Sneak peek of Penny’s upcoming book, Beard With Me

2. Penny’s Booklist





Sneak Peek: Beard With Me, Winston Brothers Book #5.5





Coming September 2019





“Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.”

Charles M. Schulz, Charlie Brown / Peanuts





Scarlet





May 2004





Caution tape barred the way to the chorus room. Swallowing air, my attention moved from the yellow tape to the hall beyond it, to a white poster board next to the door. The sign had been set on an easel and read, WET PAINT – DO NOT ENTER.

“No. No, no, no,” I said to the sign, my eyes darting again to the yellow tape.

I gripped the paper sack holding my lunch as a quiet sound of despair tumbled forth. Heart galloping, pits sweating, my tongue tasted sour with dread.

Officially, I wasn’t allowed to eat in the chorus room. No one was. But early on in my freshman year, I’d snuck inside and hid myself between two rows of chairs, careful to dash inside before Mrs. McClure arrived for her lesson planning hour. I’d become quite skilled at leaving unnoticed after the bell rang for fourth period, when her students meandered in.

This had worked for the last (almost) two years, but it obviously wouldn’t work today. Making matters worse, this was the last month of school before summer break. There was no sneaky way to find a place to sit in the lunchroom when I’d spent the whole year not eating in the lunchroom.

Tugging on the recently repaired strap of my very, very old backpack—some might even consider it an antique—I stuffed the food inside, harsh movements made clumsy by the swelling frustration in my chest. But then I paused, taking a slow, deep breath, and telling my shaking hands and thundering heart to calm down.

“How does the ocean say hello to the beach?” I asked myself, quietly supplying the answer, “Gives it a little wave.”

The stupid joke helped loosen my throat and I cracked a small smile, laughing lightly at the present predicament and scolding myself.

Don’t be stupid. This is no big deal. Whatever.

The first fourteen—soon to be fifteen—years of life had taught me many valuable lessons. One of the most important was that the magnitude of disappointment was directly proportional to the magnitude of expectations. I’d known this for a while, but the concept had finally solidified in my mind this year during physics class when we’d learned about Newton’s third law: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Right?

Well, it applied to life and hopes and dreams and expectations, too.

First mistake was coming to rely upon the chorus room. Second mistake was allowing myself to look forward to this moment all weekend. Eating lunch in a quiet, air-conditioned place was a luxury. Free of people, free of bugs, free of people who behaved like bugs. Now I had nowhere to eat my lunch that wasn’t free of bug-people.

“Come on now, Scarlet. You know better,” murmuring to myself, I rolled my eyes and stiffened my spine. “It could be worse. It could be the first month of school.”

My crack of a smile widened, and I sighed, thankful it wasn’t the first month of school as I turned to the tricky zipper of my bag. I needed to be careful. If it was unzipped past a certain point, it wouldn’t re-zip and I’d go the rest of the day with my books and papers falling all over the place.

Plus, I’d have to find a new zipper to sew inside and that would be difficult. Blythe Tanner, who was usually my source for clothes and such items in return for help with can and glass recycling, wasn’t speaking to me ever since my dad threatened to disembowel her dad two months ago. Her father owned the junk yard and my father wanted to store stolen cars in his junk yard. Mr. Tanner—being not a criminal—refused.

A shiver raced down my spine and I promptly chased it—and thoughts of my father—away using a trick I’d picked up at ten years old: rephrase a situation as a scripted comedy TV show. Good old dad, always threatening disembowelments. What a character!

Yeah. I talked to myself a lot. I told myself a lot of jokes. I even had inside jokes . . . with myself. I guess folks needed to talk to someone, and it was mostly just me around for conversation. So, there you go.

Closing my eyes, I knelt on the ground and placed the bookbag carefully on the linoleum floor so I could gently tuck my food inside. With my eyes shut, sounds that were usually background noise sharpened and increased in volume. The rumble of students talking and eating became a roar, trays being set on tables, soda cans opening, laughter.

My stomach sunk, but only for half a second. Squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin, I immediately demanded that my stomach turn itself around and return to my middle. I did not have time for sinking stomachs, especially not over something so silly.

Lunch would be over in forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes is no big deal. I’ll figure it out. Pretending to fiddle with the front pocket of my bag, just in case a teacher happened by, I debated my options.

The lunchroom was not a possibility. Two choices awaited me within: try to sit with the other Iron Wraiths kids, or try to sit with anyone else, because there would be no empty tables. Green Valley was bursting at the seams, too many kids and too few seats.