Page 21 of The Rebel (Covington Prep: The Girls We Love #7)

“Hey, buddy...how was—?” I stopped as I saw it wasn’t Ollie at all, but Valencia standing by the mantelpiece above the gas fire, seemingly rearranging the photo frames.

“Oh, hi,” she mumbled. “Sorry, it fell down.” And obviously needing to explain further, she carried on, “I was just looking at these photos of your Dad.”

I stepped closer, running my finger over the photo of me, Dad and Ollie lined up in our ski gear at the Alpine Ski Resort. It was just before he got really sick. Her cheeks flushed, a pretty shade of pink.

“Uh, I didn’t know who was home,” she squeaked, looking apologetic as she checked the stand on the back of the frame.

“I am,” I rasped, coughing to clear my throat. “Mom’s out tonight. At her trivia night. She left lasagna for dinner.”

“Aw, is that the one she goes to with Mom?” she said. “I wonder how they’ll go without her. She's always bragging she’s the smartest in the team.”

“No way?” I said, “Mom says she answers most of the questions.”

“According to Mom, she’s a genius on the sport questions,” she said.

“Well, Mom reckons she’s a geography expert,” I said. “Apparently she knows all the countries and their capital cities.”

“Wow...who even needs to know that?” Valencia said.

“I know,” I said with a shrug, both of us laughing, mocking our mothers in a fun way.

As if she just realized she was still holding the photo, Valencia reached up and put it back onto the shelf carefully. “I remember your Dad really liked skiing and sledding,” she said in a small voice, flashing me a shy smile. “He used to take me sledding with you and Paris sometimes.”

I nodded, a memory I’d forgotten, but she was right. When we were about ten or eleven and Ollie was four or five, Dad would take us all to Chestnut Ridge. That was before Paris got serious about his tennis and was still allowed to do frivolous things like sledding.

“He was funny,” Valencia said softly, straightening the frame that didn’t need straightening.

My chest rolled and my eyes misted— he was funny, Valencia had said, and I wondered if that was her most prominent memory of him—a man who liked sledding and was funny.

I knew he liked sledding, of course I did, and I knew he was funny, but it was nice to be reminded of that.

Ollie’s arrival was announced with him barging through the front door and his guitar case clattering against the wall. I left Valencia by the fireplace as I went to give him a hand, or so I thought. But, she was right behind me.

“Hi Valencia,” Ollie acknowledged her without giving me a glance.

“I didn’t know you played the guitar,” she said.

“Yep,” he said with a proud grin. Live your dreams, Dad had said, and like every sixth grader, Ollie was having his five minutes of wanting to be in a band. It was his second instrument after a short-lived stint with the piano, which he deemed too much trouble because it wasn’t portable.

“Cool,” Valencia said.

On that, Ollie held out his hand for a fist bump, and Valencia obliged.

“Have you got homework?” I cut in. Yeah, I was a little frustrated by this easy connection they seemed to have. “You can get started on it before dinner.”

“Okay,” Ollie said.

“Hey Ollie,” Valencia said, seeming to disregard me. “I’ve got to go and feed Volley. Do you wanna come?”

Ollie looked to me for permission, his eyes beaming as bright as Sirius in a January night sky. “Can I, Jade?”

“Homework first,” I said in a definitive voice.

Oliver’s face dropped and he nodded, ready to obey, but Valencia butted in, either not hearing me, or not caring. “Hey, we won’t be long. And dinner’s not ready yet, is it?”

“You didn’t feed Volley already?” I queried.

“No. Not yet,” she declared.

“But you’ve been home? I thought you drove to school?” I said, determined to catch her out, my sarcasm heavy. “In your Mom’s car?”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t miss a beat. “Oh yeah. My friend was running late, so I took her car. Otherwise I would’ve been late.”

With a flick of her head, she urged Ollie toward the door, leaving me to mumble and scowl as Ollie dropped his schoolbag in triumph, gleefully heading out, undermining any authority I thought I had.

I called out after them, “Don’t be too long,” but the slam of the door indicated my words were unheard.

I double checked the temperature on the oven and pulled out the ingredients for the salad, emptying a bag of leaves into a bowl and adding tomatoes, red onion, cheese and carrots.

I poured in the dressing and tossed it a little too vigorously, with half of the lettuce falling onto the counter.

With no one around to see, I picked it up and threw it back in, my irritation high that Ollie had joined Valencia.

Like, she’d blatantly ignored me. Homework first was always Mom’s rule, games and phone time and friends, second.

I picked up his schoolbag and took it into the kitchen so he could get started on it when he returned.

I must have checked my watch and the lasagna a hundred times in the seventeen minutes they were away. I tried to act calm when they came in, loudly chattering away about sledding. I put an immediate stop to that.

“Homework, Oliver Sinclair,” I commanded, pointing to his folders that I’d laid out on the breakfast bar. Ollie perched himself up on the high stool and sighed heavily.

“I only have a bit. I finished most of it in class.”

Valencia grinned, removing a satchel from over her shoulder. Art pads were poking out of it.

“Hey, show me your drawings,” Ollie said, ignoring the books in front of him.

“Maybe later,” she said, giving him a wink. “Better do your homework first.”

I didn’t like her smirk or her condescending tone and intervened instantly. “What drawings?”

“Vali’s got a whole book of drawings she did in Florida,” Ollie said with a newfound confidence. “I want to see them.”

I didn’t like the way he called her Vali, like it was a cute little nickname.

“Do your homework first, Ollie,” Valencia said softly, but it was like she was mocking me.

Ollie cleared his throat and sat up tall on his stool. “Jade?”

“What?” I peered into the oven again, getting a waft of heat on my face.

“Can we go sledding after dinner?” He then jabbered away without taking a breath. “If I get all my homework done and help with the dishes, can we please go sledding. The hill is so good out there. We can go and be back before Mom gets home. Can we please, please, please?”

“No!” I answered emphatically. Mom didn’t let Ollie sled on school nights, and he knew that.

Ollie tutted and sighed and hmmphed all at the same time. “You’re so mean,” he said, picking up a pencil and muttering, “See, I told you.”

I had my hands in the oven mitts, about to pull out the steaming hot lasagna dish. “Huh?” I looked up to see Ollie and Valencia smiling at each other.

“I told you he’d say no,” Ollie smirked at her. Valencia nodded back in agreement.

“It’s a school night,” I retaliated in exasperation. “Oliver knows he isn’t allowed. It’s Mom’s rules.”

“But what if I finish my homework? Could we, Jade?” Ollie pleaded.

I shook my head, resting the dish on the stove top.

“Hey! I could take him,” Valencia injected herself back into the debate. “It’s a great night for sledding.”

I inserted the spoon into the dish and stuttered a reply as if performing two tasks at the same time was beyond me. “O-Ol, n-n-no, he know, knows...”

“This is one of the best sledding days,” Valencia stated. “And Oak Brook Hill has lights. We could go straight after dinner, just stay for an hour or so. I’ll watch him.”

“Can we please, Jade?” Ollie begged again. “Look, I’m nearly done with this.” He pointed to his worksheet where he’d written a couple of lines. “And I’ll do the washing up.”

“Ollieeeee,” I seethed, his defiance matching Valencia’s, both of them ganging up against me. “Like you don’t remember what happened last time you two went sledding,” I added in sarcasm.

Oliver’s downturned mouth got to me and to appease him, I said, “Hey, you can come snow tubing with us on the weekend, okay?”

Ollie’s eyes popped and his head bobbed up and down almost comically. “Yep. Okay then. But promise?”

“Yes, promise,” I said, pleased I’d managed to keep control, though Valencia stirring him up hadn’t helped. “Now, set the table and let’s eat.”

Ollie, thankfully, did as he was told, closing up his book and laying out three placemats and cutlery.

Valencia asked what she could do and Ollie gave her the job of carrying the water jug and glasses.

I started to dish up for Ollie and me, but was too afraid I’d offend Valencia by either putting too much or too little on her plate.

Silly how I needed to pluck up courage to ask that simple question. I directed Ollie to carry his plate over and to dish up his own portion of salad. Meanwhile, Valencia had followed him, awaiting her own plate.

“Uh...say when,” I said as I scooped a medium size spoonful onto her plate.

“When,” she said.

“Is that enough?” I asked. Compared to my plate, it was minuscule.

“Yes, it looks good.”

“Make sure you take some salad,” I said.

Valencia rolled her eyes. “Are you always this bossy?”

I was about to protest, but Ollie piped up from the table. “Can’t you tell? Yes, he is.” And they both giggled.

I shook my head at their juvenile jesting. “Someone has to be the adult,” I mumbled, bringing my own plate to the table.

Oliver instigated the thanks, reaching out his hands. My heart jittered and my palm seemed to seep sweat as I held Valencia’s hand.

“I’m thankful for the sledding hill and wish I was sledding now,” Ollie said.

Valencia loosened her grip with me, affirming that my sweaty palm was gross, and piped up, “I’m thankful for the snow and the sledding hill too.”

They both giggled again, partners in crime, deliberating goading me.

“I’m thankful for this delicious meal Mom took the time to make and leave for us,” I said in an uppity, English accent, hoping it would make them see how mature I was and how childish they were.

Their sniggers stopped and maybe in shame, Ollie pronounced, “Yeah, thank you Mom.” And he pulled his hand away with an extra loud, “Amen.”

“Amen,” Valencia and I answered at the same time, but I don’t know if it was my imagination or wishful thinking but as she drew her hand away, I swear she gave it a squeeze.