The Missing Piece Read online

  Danielle stares at me as she answers, “I’m from San Diego, it’s not too far.”

  “I bet it’s nice being so close to home.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  A nail technician walks in. I look down from her face to her name tag, which reads ‘Stephanie’ in large bubble letters.

  “Hello, ladies. “She smiles brightly. She glances down at a little black book and her face scrunches up. “I’m going to start working on Viola Thunderbottom?”

  Danielle looks at me and wags her eyebrows, which only sends me into another fit of giggles. After I calm down and control my breathing, I say, “Hi. I’m Emily.”

  Stephanie’s eyebrows raise in an arch-like she’s not sure what’s going on. She nods her head and then claps her hands. “Right! Should we get started? Anna will be with you in a moment.”

  She motions for us to sit in the plush pink chairs pushed against the back wall as she starts filling the pedicure buckets with hot soapy water.

  “So what brings you in today?” She asks as the other nail technician walks into the room.

  “Well,” Danielle says. Her face beams as she starts imitating an Australian accent. “I just couldn’t miss flying in for my favorite ginger’s wedding, now could I?”

  She winks at me.

  “Oh my gosh! Your accent is just darling. Where are you from?”

  “Why from the Down Under of course!”

  Both of the nail technician's nod their heads, as if this is the only logical answer. Then Stephanie turns and looks at me. “When is the big day?”

  “Two days!” I squeal. “Can you believe it?” I smile despite myself. Danielle might seem a little kooky and out there, but her crazy, hare-brained nature might be just what I need. It’s like I have a little piece of Mads here with me in Los Angeles.

  A few hours later, we head back to Cyprus Hall.

  I pause when we reach Danielle’s door. She unlocks the door and pushes through, and then pokes her head back out when she realizes I haven’t followed her. “You coming?”

  Her room is exactly like mine; it’s ridiculously small and square, with the same mini-desk, mini-fridge, and mini-bed pushed against the walls. But just like my room, there is no bathroom.

  Unfortunately, we have to share that with the rest of the floor. And, unlike my bedroom, her things are unpacked and her walls are no longer bare and blinding white. Instead, the walls and ceiling are covered with band posters and pictures of her friends. Bright dangling beads hang from the closet door frame and twenty different kinds of shoes are lined neatly against the back wall.

  I shake my head in awe. “How long did it take you to do this?”

  I wish I could have a room like this, but I'm too much of a neat freak. I need clean walls and a clean desk, and I need to have everything in the proper place. If anything is even a hair off, I freak.

  “You like?” She chirps grabbing her ukulele from the wall, a huge smile on her face. “I flew in yesterday morning and have just been waiting for my friends to show up.”

  Danielle begins strumming a song on her ukulele as I walk around her room. I stop in front of a memo board covered in pictures and sticky notes. “Wait. Is that Iron Maiden you’re playing?”

  She strums a few more chords and then looks up. “Yeah, it is. Do you like them?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “They’re alright. My boyfriend listens to them all the time, so I know all the songs by heart.”

  “Sounds like he’s a cool guy.”

  I smile sheepishly. “Yeah, he is. Are these your friends?” I ask pointing to a picture of three girls and two guys laughing as they jump in a pile of fallen leaves.

  Danielle puts down her ukulele and walks over to me. “That’s Liam, Calliope, Sarah, Ian, and me.” She says, pointing at each person. “You’ll meet them tomorrow in homeroom.”

  My heart flips in my chest.

  Is she inviting me to sit with her tomorrow?

  “Well,” she continues, “ everyone, but Sarah. She graduated last year, but I’m sure you’ll meet her soon enough. She’s dating Ian. Liam and Calliope are dating, too.”

  “How long have you been friends?” I ask, walking over to Danielle’s bed and grabbing one of her throw pillows. “You all look so close.”

  “We are,” she says, following me. Her smile falters. “Well, we used to be—last year Sarah changed. She stopped hanging out with us, claiming she was always busy . . . anyway,” she pauses and clears her throat, “No use crying over spilled milk.”

  “It’s okay to miss your friend. I miss my best friend, too.”

  She looks at me, the corners of her mouth tipping up into a slight smile. “Yeah, well, maybe this year we’ll both make a new friend.”

  “Yeah,” I say, glancing at Danielle’s bright pink Hello Kitty alarm clock, and I’m surprised that it’s well past midnight. “I should probably get going. Sorry, I stayed so long.”

  Danielle bounces to her feet and throws her arms around me. “It was so nice meeting you! I’ll see you tomorrow in homeroom.”

  Five minutes later, I’m crouched outside my dorm room, a bent bobby pin in my hand and my phone propped against the wall playing a video with instructions on how to pick a lock.

  I debated asking Danielle if I could crash with her for the night, but 1. I just met her and 2. I don’t have any of my bedtime things so it would have been futile. Then I considered finding the resident assistant for the senior dorms, but I didn’t want to openly admit I disregarded curfew, even though I’m sure it won’t be enforced until tomorrow night when the semester officially begins.

  I groan in frustration as the third bobby pin snaps. “Hells Bells,” I mutter under my breath. This is not how I imagined I’d be spending the rest of my Saturday night.

  How did I forget to add my key to my lanyard?

  My fingers quickly swipe the rewind button on the screen and I pull another bobby pin out of the bottom of my purse. I watch the video through one more time completely before attempting to pick the lock again.

  Slowly, I insert my homemade lever into the bottom half of the lock and then wriggle it around until I find the direction the lock would turn if I had my key. Trying to keep my right hand steady, I press the other bobby pin on top, pushing it forward feeling for the locks.

  “You know,” a deep, smooth voice with a thick accent says behind me, startling me and making me drop my pins. I whirl around and gape at the breathtakingly beautiful boy standing behind me.

  Where is that accent from?

  He’s leaning against the wall, a slight smirk forming on his lips like he’s amused and he finds my current predicament hilarious. “You’re doing that wrong.”

  I glare at him. “You think you can do better? Be my guest.”

  He walks over to me slowly like he doesn’t have a care in the world. When he reaches me, he kneels on the ground beside me and then in one swift movement picks up the fallen bobby pins.

  “It’s all about the angle,” he says, placing the lever and hooks into the keyhole once more. He jiggles it around for a bit and then the door makes a satisfying popping noise as the lock gives way.

  Who the heck is this guy?

  I stare at him in disbelief. “Where did you come from?”

  He gives me a quizzical look and it’s only then that I realize I asked that aloud. My face flames and I avert my gaze. He stands up, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I just got in from LAX.”

  “Right, of course,” I say, standing up, too. “Um, so do you go here?”

  He eyes me suspiciously like he’s trying to discern how much he can let me know, before leaning in and whispering conspiratorially in my ear. “Nah, I’m just here to raid the dorms.”

  His ‘r’ and ‘a’ slurs together as he says the word raid and it’s as if I’ve been sitting in darkness this whole time and the light’s suddenly come on.

  SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!

  He’s British.

  M
y mind feels like a broken record, the way I imagine Princess Mia felt when she finds out she’s the Princess of Genovia.

  His lips continue to move, but I’m too fascinated by his beautiful accent to form cohesive sentences to respond. If I could get my mouth and brain to work, I would say something witty about Sherwood Forest and Robin Hood, but I don’t. Instead, I pinch my arm behind my back to keep from squealing; maybe Los Angeles isn’t so bad after all? I think I just found the perfect distraction.

  He clears his throat and waves his hand in front of my face. “Er, are you okay?”

  I feel like a complete idiot. I’m drooling over his accent, like a fool. But . . . is it even possible to resist a British accent?

  Wait, Mason.

  I shake my head, trying to remove Wonder Boy from my mind. I have a boyfriend. I have a BOYFRIEND, and yet, there’s something about this gorgeous boy that I can’t shake.

  Why do I find him so fascinating?

  When I don’t respond, he awkwardly glances around the hallway. “Uh, does Danielle live here?”

  My brain finally catches on to what he’s saying and I shout, way too enthusiastically. “Yes! Danielle lives in 315! We went to the spa today. I’m Emily. I just got here.” I smile broadly like I just achieved some great accomplishment.

  Hells Bells. Can I embarrass myself any further?

  The beautiful boy gives an amused grin, flashing me a mouth full of sparkling white teeth. His smile is beautiful—the right side of his mouth curves slightly and there's just a touch of an overbite. He has a dimple that pops out on his right cheek whenever he smiles, kind of like Mason's.

  Mason.

  Another reason I need to get back to my dorm, I have a boyfriend. Wonder Boy shouldn’t be making me this flustered.

  “Ian,” the beautiful boy says. “I live on the fourth floor.”

  I nod my head and point dumbly to my door. “I live here.”

  He gives me a bemused grin, quickly glancing down at the bent bobby pins still littering the floor. The realization that I’m making myself out to be an utter idiot fills me and my cheeks flush. I just need to make it to my dorm, shut the door and forget this ever happened.

  Ian slowly shifts down the hall, so he’s in front of Danielle’s door, and then does a series of raps, that could be mistaken as Morse Code, on Danielle’s door. “Well, I’ll see you around, Emily.”

  Em-a-lay. My heart flutters in my chest as he pronounces my name.

  Danielle’s door swings open, and within seconds they are chatting and laughing at each other's jokes, or most likely the dorky red-head who lives two doors down.

  I quickly scoop up the discarded bobby pins littering the floor, grab my purse and phone and then push my door open. As soon as I’m in my room I slide to the floor and wrap my arms around my knees, replaying my encounter with Ian over in my head; his sloppy, crooked smile, his incredible accent and the way it lifted my spirits. I’m not certain if Ian and Danielle are laughing at the crazy red-head, but one thing I know for sure is Ian is one boy I want to know.

  Chapter Three

  “Hey! Fire-crotch.”

  I glance over my shoulder. A man dressed like Spider-man is following me through Adam’s Park towards Baldwin Hill Academy. If I was back in Ohio there wouldn’t be a guy dressed as Spider-man following me, but I guess in Los Angeles anything is possible.

  “Slow down. Don’t you wanna be my Mary Jane?” He calls after me.

  I shudder and wish I had stopped by Danielle’s before leaving. She seems really nice and genuine, but after hearing her and Wonder Boy reunite, I’m not sure there’s any room left for me in their group. Besides, she was probably just being nice. I’m sure she didn’t really want me crashing her table in homeroom.

  And, the last thing I need to do is make a fool of myself on my first day.

  I pull my fingers tightly around my backpack straps and break into a sprint; I do not want to start the day getting cornered by some weirdo on my way to a new school in a new city.

  I suck in a breath, as a black gate with a large archway comes into view. The gate surrounds the campus, fencing it in. The name of the Academy is written in a fancy script at the top of the archway. Baldwin Hill Academy is unlike any school I’ve ever attended. How could my dad think I was ready to live on my own?

  The crosswalk signal flashes. Students cross the street, but I can't move. This school is three times the size of Cedar Heights High and I don’t know where any of my classes are.

  Did I even remember to put deodorant on this morning?

  I walk through my morning routine, once more, trying to convince myself that I have everything I need: map of the school, dorm key, a book to read . . . just in case.

  “You know, it won’t bite.”

  I jump. “Excuse me?”

  A man wearing a leather jacket, with a motorcycle helmet in his hand, stands behind me. “The school,” he says. “It’s really not as bad as it looks.”

  “Looks pretty terrifying from here.”

  His dark, curly hair bounces as he shakes his head and laughs. “Most of the teachers are harmless.”

  Then he crosses the street.

  I muster the courage to follow his lead. I guess this is happening, even if I’m not ready.

  The academy is huge and crowded with buildings. Colorful flowers, trees and man-made waterfalls leading to little streams cover the walkways, creating paths to each building. Palm trees line the cobblestone path and a statue of the school’s mascot, Thor, sits where the paths intersect.

  I enter my building for homeroom. The first floor is crowded with students as I try to push my way through to my classroom. The school smells faintly of dry erase markers, new books, mint gum, and lemon-scented cleaner. The white walls are covered with inspirational posters, fliers for future classes and display cases for the school's various sports teams.

  I stop in front of a display for field hockey and glance at my orientation packet, double-checking the room number for homeroom, when someone slams into my shoulder and knocks it out of my hand.

  “Hey watch it!” I say, but when I look up whoever bumped into me is long gone. Rubbing my shoulder, I pick up my packet and find an opening in the crowd. I begin to shuffle along with the other students, looking for room 309.

  The classroom is big with seven circular tables, a wooden desk, and the latest Macintosh computer. Most of the chairs are filled with students gossiping to their friends or sharing stories and inside jokes from their summer vacations. I stop in the doorway, trying to muster the courage to walk in.

  Students brush past me, walking in different directions to meet up with friends. My stomach clenches. If I sit by myself I could be labeled as a loner, and if I sit next to the wrong person I could be labeled as a freak, a geek, a slut or a prep.

  I’m startled when I hear someone calling my name. I scan the room and see Danielle sitting in the far back corner with her group of friends. She’s waving me over and pointing to the seat next to her. My stomach feels tight.

  Would she have walked to school with me if I hadn’t chickened out and asked her?

  My legs feel like lead as I make my way towards her table, but all of my insecurities and doubts wash away as I see Danielle’s warm, beaming face.

  “Where were you this morning? I stopped by your room before heading to school at 7:15, but no one was there.”

  “Sorry,” I say as I drop my bag to the floor and take the seat next to Danielle. “I left earlier than planned this morning. Thanks for saving me a spot.”

  There are two more people sitting at the table, a boy and a girl I recognize from the photograph on Danielle’s memo board. I’m nervous, again, and start playing with a piece of fringe on my mini skirt.

  What if they don’t like me? What if this is all just a joke? Ha Ha, let’s pick on the new kid.

  “This is Emily.” Danielle says, smiling at her friends. “The girl I was telling you about.”

  A lanky guy with messy I j
ust got out of bed and I don’t care hair looks up from doodling in his notebook.

  “Liam,” he says. “And, this is Calliope.” He nods to the girl sitting next to him. She’s tall, blonde, and beautiful. She has gorgeously tanned-skin, wavy blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes. She looks like she could be a runway model.

  She looks up from Liam’s drawing and smiles. “My friends call me Callie.”

  “That’s pretty,” I say, now wrapping the fringe around my finger. Homeroom hasn’t technically started and the teacher isn’t here yet, so I pull out my phone and send Mads a quick text:

  Me: Hey. Miss you!

  Mads: Me too. You suck, come home . . . please.

  Me: Getting on the next flight.

  Mads: You better. Punk.

  I smirk. I really wish it was that simple to get home. Danielle cranes her neck glancing around homeroom, “The only person we’re missing is Ian.”

  I glance up at the mention of his name . . . Wonder Boy?

  “Uh . . . I think I met him last night.” Danielle looks at me and raises her eyebrow clearly asking when since I spent the day with her. “In the hallway.”

  “English accent and a devilish grin?”

  I nod my head, trying to keep my cool. So he did have an accent.

  And, as if he heard the mention of his name, Ian walks through the door. He is wearing the most ridiculous cow patterned pants—they’re white with black splotches and flare away from his legs—and a black t-shirt with the words ‘Kiss me I’m British’ above the Union Jack. His hair isn’t long like Mason’s, but it isn’t a crew cut either. It’s the kind of hair you want to run your fingers through and play with.

  Perfect hair.

  Ian is a little chubbier than Mason, but I can tell he works out. He is tall, like really tall, and this startles me. He towers over the majority of the students as he makes his way to our table. I avert my gaze.

  How did I not notice he’s a whole foot taller than me?

  Wonder Boy drops his bag, grabs a chair from the table behind us and wedges it between Danielle and I. Then he flashes me the kind of smile that makes your heart want to stop, and slowly says, “Emily.”