Teen Idol by Meg Cabot Read Free Book Online

glued to the guy. He couldn’t lift a hand to so much as smooth away a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes without causing half the people in my English class to catch their breath.
    The guy was
hot
. There was no getting around it. I didn’t blame Angelique for the tattoo one little bit.
    The only thing I couldn’t figure out was why she’d dumped him.
    Although I can’t say I noticed that Luke was much of a conversationalist. He barely spoke three words to me all morning. I couldn’t figure out if it was because he’s just by nature a quiet guy or if he was mad at me or something. Except that I hadn’t done anything that I knew of to make him mad. It wasn’t until, trailing after me to second period trig, I got a clue as to what the problem might be when he asked blearily, "Look, is there someplace around here I can get an espresso?"
    "Espresso?" Can I just say that
espresso
is not a word you hear a lot in Clayton? I tried to be nice about it though. "Well, there’s a Starbucks downtown."
    "You mean I gotta
drive
somewhere if I want to get a coffee?" Luke’s blue eyes—so gorgeous on screen but in real life (even when hidden behind glasses) even more impressive, like twin swimming pools, they were so blue—widened. "What is
with
this place?"
    "Well, nothing, really," I said. "I mean . . . it’s high school."
    Luke pretty much slept through trig and French. He didn’t start waking up, really, until around fourth period. Which was good, because that’s when I had Troubadours. Luke was going to have to be on his toes around Trina. Because if anyone was going to see through his "disguise," it was Trina.
    I warned him about her on our way to the music wing. The more time I spent around him, the less tongue-tied I was becoming.
    But that didn’t mean I was, you know, exactly
at ease
in his presence. Because I still hadn’t exactly figured him out. Which is weird, because I’m usually pretty good at that sort of thing.
    "If you really want to stick with this anonymity thing," I said to him, "you’re gonna totally have to watch your step around Trina, She’s got theatrical aspirations. And she has every episode of
Heaven Help Us
memorized, practically."
    Luke wasn’t even paying attention to me. He’d finally opened his eyes wide enough to spy the soda machine.
    "Caffeine!" he said, and practically threw himself on it. Then his face fell. "I don’t have any change!"
    I fished a dollar out of my jeans and handed it to him.
    "I’m serious, Luke," I said, as kids poured into the band room behind us. "Trina’s my best friend. I know what I’m talking about."
    I've never seen anyone drink an entire can of Coke without pausing for breath. But Luke Striker managed it. When he was done, he let out a gentle burp and tossed the empty can over his head—backward—at the nearby trash can.
    And made it.
    "No problem," he said in the most animated voice he’d used all morning.
    Then he smiled. And I felt my insides give a lurch. Not a good sign.
    After the soda, Luke perked up a lot. And when we entered the choir room, which is like this sunken pit of carpeted risers in slowly descending steps, he even visibly brightened at the sight of his reflection in the wall of mirrors on the far side of the room, where we’re supposed to watch ourselves breathe. Or at least, those of us whose views aren’t impeded by Karen Sue Walters’s hair.
    It was right then that Trina came in. I could tell she must have already heard about the new guy I was student guiding, since she looked all around the room and then, when her gaze fell on me and Luke, she got a very determined expression on her face and came barreling down the steps toward us, going, "So, Jen, aren’t you going to introduce me to your
new friend
?"
    "Trina," I said quickly. "Hi. This is Lucas Smith. Lucas, this is my friend Trina."
    It was at that point that Luke turned around and said to Trina, "Hi. You’re the actress, right?"
    Trina looked up at Luke—he