Stealing Parker by Miranda Kenneally Read Free Book Online Page A

knowing.
    Brian Hoffman. Who are you?

defcon 1
49 days until i turn 18
    My Monday thus far:
    1.Ride bike to school. Store bike at racks. Notice Brian’s red truck. Casually peek in windows for clues as to who he is. A fruit punch Gatorade sits in the center console along with a heap of coins. He has two bumper stickers: one is for the Braves, the other reads coexist and is covered by all these symbols that I recognize from Brother John’s PowerPoint presentation on devil worshipping signs. Based on this evidence, I have determined Brian and I are meant to be together. I love Gatorade! I use money! The Braves were my team once. I believe in coexisting. Totally meant to be together! (Kidding, kidding.)
    2.Inside Hundred Oaks before first period, I make a point of walking by Coach Burns’s office near the gym. No sign of Brian. Unfortunately I hear Coach Burns talking on his phone. His sweet nothings are gag-worthy. “Yes, baby. I love you, sweet plum.” Sweet plum? Really?
    3.Daydream during advanced US history. Does Brian have an apartment? I picture myself tangled up in his crumpled sheets, our legs knotted. The idea scares me a little because I’ve never gotten naked with anybody. I close my eyes, thinking of him in the buff, and accidently let out a moan. The entire class looks at me.
    Silence.
    Crickets.
    Embarrassment.
    “Slut,” Laura hisses under her breath.
    Prude , I think, remembering what Tate said at church.
    “Hey, hey! I’m trying to learn here,” Sam says, slipping a pencil behind his ear. “Some of us think about more than the opposite sex.”
    “No one believes that, Sam,” Mr. Davis says, rubbing his eyes.
    4.I walk by Coach Burns’s office between classes. Where is Brian? He must be the only coach/teacher who doesn’t actually come to school. Gar . This time Coach Burns has two guys in his office and is yelling at them for horsing around in the locker room. Apparently one guy stole the other’s clothes and tried to flush them down the toilet, which explains why the other is wearing only boxers with pine trees on them. I remember those boring underpants from the Pajama Party Prom.
    •••
    At lunchtime, I’m sitting in the cafeteria, checking over Drew’s algebra, when Corndog plops down next to me.
    “Can I see your calc homework?” he asks. “I want to make sure I got the third word problem right.”
    A month ago, I would’ve said “hells to the no,” but valedictorian is in the bag and Corndog got stuck in second place because he bombed that horrific chemistry pop quiz back in October. Ha! Our school announced the valedictorian and salutatorian in January, so I’m not studying for three hours a night anymore.
    “Which problem was that again?” I ask.
    Corndog reads from his book. “A cup is in the shape of a truncated cone with a radius of 4 centimeters at the top and 2 centimeters at the bottom and a height of 6 centimeters. Water is being poured into the cup such that the height of the water in the cup is changing. Write an equation for volume of the water in the cup as a function of its height.”
    “That one was hard. My answer’s in my blue folder.” I nod at my backpack. He digs around inside, pulls out the folder, and brushes his brown hair away from his face.
    I erase Drew’s answer to number four and fill in the correct one. He hovers over my shoulder, watching.
    “Ohhh,” he says.
    “Are y’all cheating?” Corndog asks, peering at Drew’s homework.
    “No.” I feel myself blushing. “What do you think you’re doing?” I ask, pointing at my paper.
    “The only reason I couldn’t do this problem is ’cause I didn’t have a cup.” Corndog purses his lips, laughing.
    I set my pencil down. “Enlighten me.”
    “Don’t you have my cup? As manager of the baseball team, aren’t you in charge of our equipment?”
    Drew bursts out laughing.
    “I am not in charge of your cups or your dirty jockstraps.”
    “Tsk tsk. I’m going to report you to Coach