True Intentions Read online

  I finish washing my hair, quickly turn off the water, and jump out. I dry off and head to my bedroom, desperate to find something cute to wear to school today. It has to be something attractive, just in case he decides to do some explaining after all.

  After taking an eternity to pick an outfit, I rush downstairs for breakfast.

  "Hey there, Pea," my grandpa slurps out, in between two short sips of coffee.

  He's reading the morning paper's classified section, helping my mom with her house hunt. The classified section in Lake Arrowhead's newspaper is much smaller than back home.

  I stare blankly at the back of his paper until something on the front page catches my attention.

  My eyes widen in disbelief. The article "Hiker Reports Sexual Assault in Local Woods Monday" is in big, bold letters. My heart nearly stops.

  I try to not reach up and grab the paper out of his hands, but force myself to take a few slow, deep breaths and ask, "Grandpa, would I be able to look at the paper when you're finished?"

  "What section do you want, Pea?"

  "I can start with section A," I say nonchalantly Once again my act is priceless.

  "Sure thing," he says, and hands me the first section with the front-page article on the assault. It reads:

  A local 22-year-old female Lake Arrowhead resident reported to Police that she was sexually assaulted by a man, described to be a white male, between 18-35 years old on Monday morning. This attack occurred between the hours of 5:00 a.m. and 7:00 a.m. on a running path behind Three Dog Bakery on Highway 189. The victim, whose name has not been released by authorities, stated her assailant grabbed her from behind as she walked with her Golden Retriever. Lake Arrowhead Police are looking for witnesses or anyone with additional information.

  Once again, my heart almost stops.

  Is my mysterious classmate a rapist?

  Chapter Six - Overwhelmed

  A lump sits in the back of my throat. I want to puke. Could he really be a rapist?

  I didn't want to think of him that way. After all, he could practically get any girl to have sex with him.

  Why would he, of all people, need to rape?

  And if he is the rapist the police are looking for, then why did he send me away and not assault me?

  Was I close to becoming an eyewitness, or was I just not his "type"?

  Nothing makes sense, and now I may know too much.

  That brings up another question—as if I don't have enough already.

  Am I in any danger?

  I put down the paper. I've read enough.

  A thought about emailing Mallory and giving her the latest update on this morning's events to get a second opinion enters my mind, but I decide to wait until after school today. After I've had a chance to get Mr. Mysterious alone and see what he is willing to tell me. I really need to hear from him first.

  * * * * *

  The ride to school seems to take longer than yesterday. There isn't any added traffic or anything out of the ordinary, but I feel paranoid as if I might be followed down these winding roads of the mountain community. The idea of being all alone where no one could hear me scream puts a chill down my spine. I feel a strange yet unexplainable, eerie sense of danger, although I'm not sure why.

  I pull into a parking space in the back of the lot. All of the good parking spaces are already taken. I do a quick glance around. My engine sputters to a stop, and I leap out. I hastily grab my green backpack and lock the Jeep's door. I'm wearing my tall, chestnut, Sherpa boots over my skinny jeans and sporting a tight, pale green and tan, striped sweater. My mousy, brown hair is resting past my shoulders, instead of my typical ponytail.

  I walk as swiftly as humanly possible across the lot and turn the corner past an extended-cab, white Suburban. I stop mid-stride and stare at the male figure standing in front of me.

  "Hey Christmas," Jack exclaims, stepping out from behind the Suburban, practically causing me to crap in my pants.

  "Asshole" I curse under my breath. I glare with narrowed eyes, "You nearly scared the crap out of me. Don't you ever sneak up on me like that again, ever! "

  Jack starts to laugh. "What's wrong? Did you think I was a grizzly or something?"

  He snorts between breaths from laughing.

  "Actually, I thought you were the ugliest girl I've ever seen. That is why I was so scared," I say, trying to keep the mood light. Maybe then, he won't wonder why I am so paranoid today.

  "Ouch . . . that hurt, Christmas"

  I giggle then smile sheepishly. "So, why are you sneaking up on me to begin with?"

  "I thought you may want to sit with me and my friends at lunch. You can bring your friend, Sara," he offers in a cautious voice, almost anticipating my rejection.

  "Lunch . . . uh sure, that will work." I answer with the assumption Sara is willing to have lunch with me to begin with. I worry if she'll even be comfortable sitting with Jack and his group of guys. Especially since she drools so intensely over Jack.

  I walk with him toward the front doors of the school while wondering what Sara will think about the lunch invitation.

  "Cool. See you then," he says, waving bye. His demeanor is different. He's overly confident. He smiles at me one last time before running up ahead to the group of guys waiting by the doors.

  As I watch him, I try to regain focus.

  Oh . . . it finally hit me like being smacked with a two-by-four.

  It's obvious to me now. Jack may like me in the "more than a friend" kind of way.

  I go through all the signs in my mind and can't believe I'd never thought of it before. I believed he was just being nice. Now I worry I may have given the wrong impression.

  Great . . . . How am I going to get out of this one?!

  I sound like an arrogant, stuck-up, California Barbie girl—the same type of girl I have no desire to resemble.

  Have I taken time to consider maybe Jack is just a nice guy with no hidden agenda?

  As I contemplate theories on Jack's true intentions, I feel guilty for being so presumptuous about his feelings. Lake Arrowhead is already rubbing off on my personality. At this rate, I'll end up getting highlights in my hair by the end of this first week.

  I find my way to Sociology without incident, without crashing into anyone or getting lost in this rat maze of a high school. I go to the back of the class where I find an empty chair. Ginger is gossiping to some other girl, but I can't remember the girl's name from the class introductions yesterday. But I recognize the topic of interest—the victim who was sexually assaulted in the woods Monday morning.

  "It was Jessica Albert, a waitress at the lodge," Ginger whispers. "I heard she actually went to work yesterday after the assault. Can you believe it?"

  The other girl flips her hair over her shoulder after nodding in disgust, and then Ms. Gingritch starts her Sociology lecture, abruptly stopping their conversation. I try to focus on the lecture, but my mind keeps racing to what I will say to him when I get to English class. I rehearse the situation in vivid detail in my mind—over and over—while Ms. Gingritch talks about American social classes and educational influences. The bell rings loudly, and butterflies once again appear in my empty stomach.

  I walk to English, my heart racing in anticipation. I can feel my own heartbeat pulsing strongly in my ears. The closer I get to the classroom, the more my hand trembles. When I pull open the wood door, I see him sitting in his usual seat, looking out the window rather than in his English book.

  I approach slowly, trying to maintain my composure.

  Breathe, Ava, breathe.

  I sit in the seat in front of him and look at him for a reaction or acknowledgement of my existence.

  Nothing . . . .

  He doesn't move his eyes from whatever is so intriguing outside. In my world, he is what I find to be captivating. I don't care what's outside this classroom.

  "Hi," I whisper, my voice cracking uncontrollably. "I'm Ava O'Brian; I don't think we have officially met yet."


  He turns his jaw ever so slightly, and his amazing, teal blue eyes instantly meet mine. His response shocks me. I didn't prepare myself for this.

  "I know who you are!" he growls, and then turns back to looking out the window.

  Is he serious? Is he going to be a complete jerk to me?

  This is bullshit!

  I feel my already racing heart kick it up a notch or two.

  "Well, I don't know who you are?" I snap back defensively.

  His face turns once again—all the way this time—and I can see he seems to be getting angrier with each passing second. I feel my chair vibrate slightly as he exhales sharply.

  "What exactly do you want from me?" he hisses. He slants his head forward in a

  "no" gesture. His facial muscles appear extremely tense while words flow out of his mouth.

  I see the veins in his neck distend as if he's holding back from slapping me.

  A chill quivers down my spine.

  "What do I want?" I ask.

  I try to think of what I do want from him . . . . Maybe not such a good idea.

  "I want to know why you're so mad at me and why you stopped me this morning and asked me to 'trust' you. That's all that I want."

  He raises his eyebrows like he's intrigued but not willing to go there.

  "I don't owe you an explanation for anything. Just be grateful I sent you back, and let's leave it at that."

  Still nervous, I look down. I can see out the corner of my eye, he has his hands clenched tightly enough to make his knuckles turn white. He immediately looks away from me again, not giving any other explanation.

  His coldness and unfriendly persona are exceptionally intimidating. Part of me wants to yell back, tell him he owes me an explanation, and then start questioning him.

  I'm dying to know if he is the rapist. But I don't have the guts, so I just sit back in my seat and glare at his agitated, angelic, porcelain face.

  I consider letting the discussion drop and cutting my losses.

  Then an idea hits me.

  Maybe a change in approach is what I need.

  "Look," I say, attempting with all my strength to slow down my words and carefully control my anger. "I assume that whatever reason you didn't want me to go any further on my run was for my own benefit. I'll give you that. All I am asking is why?"

  He doesn't mirror my new, calm approach in the least bit.

  He spins around and faces me, leaning as forward as far as he can lean with his body remaining in the seat.

  " You can assume anything you want. I honestly don't care. I saved your life, whether you care to know or not. So, just do me a favor. Be grateful for my lack of judgment and drop it, okay. Or maybe next time, I'll change my mind." He finishes the sentence with an inexplicable look of frustration in his eyes. Without warning or another word, he grabs his backpack and heads toward the front of the class without giving me a second to respond.

  Saved my life?

  Surprise flickers across my face, which is now red from his words. I'm so mad I can feel the disabling tears burning in my eyes. I force myself to hold them back while I listen to what he is saying to the teacher.

  "Mr. Whitmore, can I go see the school nurse? I am not feeling so well," he alleges.

  "Certainly, Mr. Perry, let me give you a pass."

  And with that comment, he heads out the door . . . and I'm left in my seat, fuming.

  At least I have a partial name, Perry. My mysterious classmate has a name to go with his stupid, angelic face. It is finally time to question Sara about him, but I can't ask at lunch today. Especially if we're eating with Jack and his friends. That may be way too awkward.

  After I leave English, I run into Sara in the hallway and tell her about Jack's offer for lunch.

  "Jack Roberts?" she asks. She looks overly excited. She blinks rapidly as her eyes grow big.

  "What's that face for?" I ask. "What am I missing?"

  "I didn't realize Jack even knows who I am. That's all."

  She blushes as the words leave her mouth. The blood floods her cheeks, changing them to from an apricot to a ruby red. I can't help but laugh.

  "You really like him don't you?" I demand. My lips crease upward to form a smile. "I thought you used to have a crush on him, not currently do!"

  "Okay, you caught me. I said I used to have a crush on him. I thought I was over it, but maybe I'm not. Please, do not ever tell him! I would die of embarrassment if he knew," She widens her eyes, begging for reassurance.

  "Sara, do you honestly think I'd throw you under the bus?" I blurt out.

  My comment instantly brings a smile to her face.

  "No, I don't, or I would've kicked your butt when you smashed into me yesterday," she jokes, using her best, badass voice.

  "Speaking of smashing into people," I interrupt, using this opportunity to bring up Mr. Mysterious. "I bumped into a guy in my English class."

  I decide to lie, using this opportunity to get as much information about him as possible. I feel guilty about lying, but also know I can't be honest about what happened this morning—not yet.

  "I got his last name, Perry, but for the life of me, I can't remember what he told me his first name was . . . ."

  "Samuel Perry," she gasps. "How could you honestly forget Sam Perry's name?!

  I've only known you two days, and you have yet to cease to amaze me."

  "So you know him?"

  "I doubt there would be any girl at this school, much less in the entire universe, that wouldn't know of Sam Perry," Sara confides.

  Okay, point taken.

  "So what's his deal?" I question. I want to dig deeper.

  Sara glances at her watch. "We're going to be late for third hour; I'll tell you all about him on our way to lunch."

  "Deal." I head toward my third-hour Chemistry class. It's ironic since its definitely some type of "chemistry" I feel toward this strange boy—Samuel Perry—

  whoever he is.

  * * * * *

  Chemistry class drags on to the point that I'm beginning to think time has ceased as we know it. When the bell finally does ring, I eagerly rush out of my seat to meet up with Sara and learn more about Sam. I rush past the other students and wait impatiently at her locker. I'm sitting on a nearby bench when Sara arrives. She searches through her purse for lunch money.

  "Alright," she says, easily able to read the apprehension on my face. "Samuel Perry is pretty new here. He moved here with his parents and older sister sometime last summer. I think his sister might attend a local college like in L.A or somewhere else local. He seems shy for the most part—like a "loner." But I've seen him hanging out with some of the rebels—the bad boys—around here, on occasion. I know he skips school, and Michelle saw him cheating on a test before. Let's see . . . ."

  She pauses and looks up, trying to remember more gossip on Sam. "Oh yeah, I've also heard he has a police record, like for stealing or something. But that was from my dad, and he doesn't really care for Sam." She looks at me and clarifies. "Since my dad is the principal, he doesn't care for anyone who rocks the boat, if you know what I mean . .

  . ."

  I nod.

  "You mentioned all the girls know Sam. Does he date around much?" I ask, trying not to show any sign of the jealousy I'm starting to feel.

  I didn't want to imagine him dating girls or having a girlfriend. Well, except maybe for me.

  "Well, duh! He is pretty gorgeous." She states the obvious. "He is so dazzling, yet, believe it or not, I've never seen him date any girls from this school. He's been here for this entire year. Any girl here would go out with him. Maybe he's gay?" she concludes, giggling louder than usual.

  "We can think that. It'd be the easiest theory for our self-esteems," I joke.

  "So, did you talk to him?" she asks, prodding for answers of her own.

  How do I explain this one?

  "Well, I did briefly. Just a super quick introduction. He wasn't feeling well, so he went to see the school nurse."


  I want to confide more, to tell her about this morning and his reaction to my introduction, but I'm still not sure what to make of it, so I decide I really don't want anyone, including Sara, to know.

  "Alright, enough about him . . . . Let's go meet Jack for lunch," I add, changing the subject. Sara grabs my arm as I'm getting off the bench.

  "Ava, I want you to know . . . if you like Jack, that's totally cool with me. I'm okay with that."

  "Actually, we're honestly just friends. But thanks for the offer," I reply, smiling as big as my lips allow. "He's all yours." And with that comment, I wink at her, and we head to meet Jack and his posse.

  Chapter Seven - Instincts

  I've already forgotten about my encounter with Sam Perry by the time I reached my Jeep. The rest of my day has gone better than expected. I introduced Sara to Jack and watched her eyes light up. She must think she's in debt to me for that simple gesture 'cause she said thank you a million times. She even asked me to hang out after school on Wednesday, so she could show me around Lake Arrowhead. I accepted her offer to be my tour guide. Plus, I need to be social and make friends.

  Sara seems to have the same type of personality as my mom, Cheryl. Both are sweet and caring. That is what makes my mom a great nurse. She always cares about everyone no matter what. And Sara has taken me under her wing. She has helped me get to class, sat with me at lunch, and even though she has a crush on Jack, she's willing to let me have him.

  I originally thought Mom was selfish for dragging me from the only home I've known and moving us to California. But the more I think about the situation, the more I realize her true intentions.

  Looking back, I feel guilty for resenting my mom. She wants me to be happy. Just like Sara wants me to be happy with Jack, if it is what I truly want. I envy them and wish I could be more like that.

  I walk past the white Suburban and stop dead in my tracks. Sam is sitting on the hood of my Jeep, looking into the nearby forest.

  What the heck does he want from me now?

  Hasn't he been rude enough to me for one day?

  Although a single word hasn't left his mouth, I'm irritated. I can't stop fuming about his reaction to my introduction earlier.