In This Moment (In Plain Sight Book 3)
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Copyright © 2017 Amy Sparling
All rights reserved.
First Edition September 2017
Cover design by Beetiful Book Covers
Typography from Creative Fabrica
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems -except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews-without permission in writing from the author at admin@amysparling.com.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
About the Author
Chapter 1
“You don’t have to hold onto me,” Grandpa says, pushing my arm away. “I’ve walked this path a million times this summer,” he goes on, grumbling to himself as he takes an uneasy step forward.
I stay close to him, watching his feet amble over the grass, ready to catch him should he fall.
And then he stumbles. I grab his arm. “Grandpa! Go slower!”
He curses under his breath, then looks up at the bright autumn sky. He stops walking, and just stands here for a second. I’m still holding onto his arm, but he doesn’t shove me off.
“Clarissa,” he says after a moment. I think he’s going to mention the greenhouse, but he goes the opposite way. “You get yourself to the eye doctor once a year, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” I say. “I know.”
“Every year. Don’t skip it because you feel fine. You make sure you go.”
“I will.”
Grandpa is only sixty-five, but he has glaucoma. Apparently, he knew he had the beginning stages of it years ago, but he never went to the doctor until it got too bad. Glaucoma is an eye disease that slowly makes you go blind, but if the doctors catch it early enough, they can give you treatments to prolong your vision for several more years. Grandpa got the treatments too late.
He was still able to get around most of this summer, but his eyesight has been declining more and more. It’s worse in the sunlight, so even though we’re just walking from the daycare parking lot to the greenhouse at the back of the playground, he needs me to help stop him from falling.
“What’s she look like?” Grandpa says after I’ve maneuvered him a few steps closer to our masterpiece. She is what he calls the greenhouse.
“She’s glorious,” I say, tipping my head up to look at the beautiful ten foot by ten foot structure. “We did a great job.”
“You did a great job.” He pats me on the back. “Those kids are gonna be so happy.”
I grin. This whole summer project started because I got my heart broken, although I’d like to say it’s become more than that over the last few weeks.
After my jackass ex-boyfriend Shawn decided he didn’t like dating a girl who was as tall as me—literally, that’s what he said—I was understandably crushed. I wish he would have lied and said he didn’t like my personality or something. But no, he told the truth, which hurt more than anything.
Shawn was my first real boyfriend. As in, he asked me to be his girlfriend, and we went on dates and made out and I let him grab my boobs even though he wasn’t very good at it. I liked him though. I liked him a lot. We were exactly the same height, and he hated it. At five foot ten inches, I’m always the tallest girl anywhere I go. It’s something that’s always bothered me, but when Shawn asked me to be his girlfriend I thought it would all be okay.
Of course, I was stupid to think that.
After crying for twenty-four hours straight, I’d gone searching for something to take my mind off being heartbroken. I landed on a box of old black and white photographs from my grandparent’s younger years. My grandma was a beautiful woman with a heart shaped face and a smile that made you want to smile back. I only know these things from photographs. She died when I was three, so I have no memories of her at all.
Shortly after, Grandpa moved in with me and Mom so he wouldn’t have to live alone. Since my own dad died when I was also a baby, Grandpa is the closest thing to a father that I’ve ever had.
I was going through the old photos when I saw a stack of them that pictured Grandma showing kids around a greenhouse. It’s was small and rickety even back then, but the kids looked unbelievably happy to be in there among the fresh flowers and exotic plants.
I’d asked Grandpa about the photos and he told me that greenhouse was Grandma’s favorite thing. She spent her entire life working at the daycare that she owned next to the high school. After she’d retired, she’d sold the place to someone else, but it’s still a daycare.
I realized that greenhouse was still there at the back of the playground, covered in overgrown weeds and slowly rotting to the ground. I decided I wanted to rebuild it in my grandma’s memory.
Anything to get my mind off this heartache.
Mrs. Bradley is the new owner, and since I work there during the summers, she was happy to let me build the greenhouse back again. She said the kids would love it, and she even gave me the money to buy the materials.
Grandpa did all the hard work, like building the frame and cutting the material with his huge bandsaw, but I put it all together with him, doing more and more of the work as his eyesight slowly faded away. This is our masterpiece, and now it’s finally done.
Grandpa puts a hand on the green paneled wall. “She’s a beaut,” he says, but his eyes are squinted so much I know he probably can’t see it at all.
“Thanks for all your help,” I say as I admire the little house. It’s now ready for pots and bags of mulch, and soon we can plant flowers and it’ll be inspiring these kids just like it did when my grandma worked here.
Grandpa throws an arm over my shoulder. “I’ll let you guide me back to the car,” he says, sounding somewhat resigned. “I’m so proud of you, Clarissa. Your grandmother would be too.”
*
Despite my best efforts in choosing a soft, mellow tune on my phone, when the alarm goes off at six-thirty in the freaking morning, that sound is what nightmares are made of. I groan and roll out of bed, wondering how the hell I’ve survived so many yea
rs of school before now.
Only two more left, and today is the first day of my junior year of high school.
Blah!
I spent most of my summer being heartbroken, and yet it still went by too fast. Rolling my eyes, I throw on some jeans, a new pair of running shoes, and a purple tank top. Then I grab a sweater because even though it’s a million degrees outside in this Texas heat, usually the classrooms are freezing.
Mom smiles at me from the kitchen, where she’s eating a bowl of cereal. She’s not tall. She’s just average height. I got all my tall genes from my dad. “Hi, baby,” she says. “Haven’t seen you this yearly in months.”
She laughs at her joke. I don’t know what I’ll do when I graduate and have to get a real job working all year long. Summer breaks are amazing and everyone should get them.
I grab some toast and head out the door in just enough time to catch the bus. The stupid thing is five minutes earlier than it was last year. On the ride to school, I study my new schedule. They changed things up this year. Now we all have a fifteen minute homeroom class at the start of the day before our real classes begin. It sounds stupid, but oh well. The homeroom class is supposed to be where they make the morning announcements and the teacher will pass out any important papers. We are all put in classes based on last names, so as a Vale, I’m at the end of the alphabet.
My best friend Livi Garner will be in another homeroom, and to our epic dismay when we discussed schedules the other day, we have no freaking classes together. Not even lunch. She’s first lunch and I’m second lunch, so at most, we’ll see each other before and after school for just a few minutes.
This year is already total crap.
Livi waits for me in the bus drop off lot. Her long golden hair has been curled in big waves that fall around her shoulders. Her makeup is also on point, and I wonder how the girl wakes up so early to get all dolled up each day. Unlike some people, she doesn’t just do this for the first day of school. She does it every day. It’s sort of inspiring.
“Hey,” she says, joining me in the walk to hell’s gates, err, I mean school.
“Blahhhh,” I say back. She laughs.
“Your greenhouse looks awesome.”
I glance to the right, where you can barely see the daycare which is next to the high school. A little green square hovers in the distance in the land between the two buildings.
“I’m pretty excited for it,” I say.
“Okay don’t freak out, but look at me,” Livi says, her voice suddenly alarmed.
Of course that makes me look over. “Don’t!” she repeats, grabbing my arm. “Look at me! And laugh like I’m telling a hilarious joke.”
I try to smile, but it’s too late. I’ve accidently seen Shawn in the crowd of students. He’s looking gorgeous as always, his amber hair gelled back, his bright green eyes smiling right at—ugh—Mindy.
I can’t help but watch as she slides her stupid arm around his back and he does the same, loping a long arm over her petite shoulders.
Mindy is very tan, very cute, with long brown hair that has blue tips. She’s like a hot gothic girl, and if I’m recalling correctly, she’s also totally rich. I’ve never hung out in her friend group, but she has parties with her other rich friends a lot.
None of that bothers me, though. The very clear and present fact is that my ex left me for a girl who is very short. I bet he loves the way he can throw his arm around her shoulders and look down at her like she’s some stupid tiny princess. He hated when I wore anything other than flipflops or flats because he didn’t want me looking taller than he was.
It’s not like I can help how tall my freaking bones want to grow.
“Rissa, stop it,” Livi hisses in my ear. Her fingers dig into my arm and she steers me down a side hallway, doing her best friend duty to pull me away from staring at my stupid ex.
I sigh and lean my back against the cool painted brick wall. “Thanks.”
“I got you,” she says. Livi is also short. It never bothered me until now. Now I hate every short girl ever. Okay, maybe not my best friend, but the rest of them.
“You stay strong,” she says, unaware of my evil thoughts against short girls. “This is a new school year and we’re going to rock it. Don’t worry about that asshole and his stupid new girlfriend.”
I force a smile. “You’re right. I won’t.”
We break off when the bell rings and head to our homeroom classes. Mine is in a room in the art hallway, and the teacher, Mrs. Lin, is this older woman with extra thick glasses. She teaches a class on art history, so it’s like the most boring art class there is. You don’t make anything in here, you just learn. Luckily, I’m just here for homeroom.
Mrs. Lin stands at the door, smiling as we enter. “Your name is on your assigned seat,” she says to everyone who walks in. I head to the row with the few other V last names and find Vale written on a post-it note on the desk that’s supposed to be mine.
Only the asshole with Voss written on his post-it note is already sitting in the chair behind me, his big stupid feet laid out on my chair as if it’s his own personal ottoman.
He doesn’t even notice me stop in front of my desk and stare at him. He’s a jock, a soccer player by the looks of his stupid black hoodie with the soccer team logo on it. He’s chatting with two other equally stupid soccer players who are sitting in the next row.
I clear my throat.
He doesn’t even look over.
“Excuse you,” I say, loud enough to get his attention. “Your feet are on my chair.”
His eyes meet mine. They’re a bright blue, and would match his short brown hair nicely if he wasn’t a stupid jock douche. Shawn was a jock, a baseball player to be exact, and because of him I now hate not only every short girl, but every jock as well.
“What’s the magic word?” he says. He gives me this stupid smirk like he’s stupid enough to think I’m going to ask him nicely to move his feet off my chair. And to make matters worse, his stupid friends laugh like this is all some funny game. I’m tired of playing games with guys.
I sling my backpack off my shoulders, and swoop it down, using it to knock his feet off my chair in one quick motion. “The magic word is get the fuck off my desk,” I say.
And then I sit down, ignoring the laughter from his idiot friends.
Chapter 2
Damn.
I watch the girl drop into her seat, her brown hair swishing in place behind her. Shoulders back, she stares straight ahead like she doesn’t give one single shit about what she just did. That’s kind of hot.
For some reason, my mind flashes to my mom, and something she said not too long ago.
“One of these days, some girl is going to give you back some of the shit you dish out,” she’d said.
It was after some blonde chick on the softball team had approached my mom at her late night shift at the local Wal-Mart and told her I was mean. Mom always thinks it’s cool when my school friends talk to her at work, but this time she was annoyed.
Maybe she was right though. Maybe some girls won’t put up with my shit.
I admire the back of her head for a few seconds, and then lean forward, trying to think of something to say. I’m about to tap her shoulder when the teacher slams the classroom door closed and walks to the front of the class.
“The bell has rung,” she says. “That means all talking will cease and all eyes will look forward.”
Geez. I’m glad I only have this class for fifteen minutes every day.
The teacher, whatever her name is, explains about homeroom this year. She says we will report to her class promptly and we won’t speak because fifteen minutes isn’t very long and we need to get all of the valuable information the school wants to tell us each day.
I chuckle under my breath because the only thing valuable the school could tell me is when the holidays are. A dark feeling falls over me as I realize that days off from school used to be the greatest thing ever. Now, I actually don’t
mind being here eight hours a day, and longer on game days. Home has become a place I’d rather not be, at least without Mom there. Dad’s drinking problem has gone from annoying to downright pissing me off lately. And there’s nothing I can do. Mom tells me to let it go. She says just let him do his thing and stay out of his way. So long as Dad is still going to work every day, still bringing home the paychecks we need to survive, then we’re fine.
I say fuck that. Mom shouldn’t have to put up with his drunken bullshit every night before she goes to work. She works the night shift, and she sleeps during the day. But now she barely sleeps at all if Dad is home, because all he does is drink, yell, and be a bastard.
She says he’s harmless because he’s just an angry drunk, not a violent one. But we both know there’s a line here. And should my dad ever cross it, I will too.
The girl in front of me stares straight ahead, taking notes in a pink spiral. She doesn’t look over at anyone and she doesn’t talk. She must be one of those types that follows the rules.
I lean back in my chair while the teacher goes on and on about school expectations and all that other shit. I stare at the girl in front of me. Why haven’t I seen her before? Robert Cullen High isn’t that big of a place. Maybe she’s new.
Maybe I should offer to walk her to her next class. I glance over and see my teammates Beau and TJ, both looking bored as hell. If they see me try to talk up this girl, they’ll give me hell for it.
I decide to keep my mouth shut.
*
After soccer practice, TJ and Beau ask if I wanna hit up the Lone Star Diner for some burgers. As much as I’d love one of those damn burgers, with extra cheese and curly fries, I say no.
I have car insurance, a cell phone bill, and gas to put in my truck, all of which I have to pay for myself. I worked my ass off all summer, mowing lawns and delivering pizzas, and that money has to last. Unlike my dickhead friends, my parents don’t have any cash to spare for me. We all pay for ourselves at my house, and since soccer takes up most of my time once school starts, I’ll be lucky if I work two or three nights a week at Magic Mark’s Pizza.