Page 35 of The Rebel (Covington Prep: The Girls We Love #7)

Valencia declined coming to dinner with my grandparents.

She thanked Mom for the invitation but said it was a special family celebration.

Mom said she was part of our family, which sent me into a spin.

I needed Mr. and Mrs. Reid to come home as soon as possible because I couldn’t even consider a relationship with Valencia while she was living in our house. You know, rules .

But knowing that Valencia felt the same way about me, that the electrifying chills I got from gazing into her eyes weren’t all in my head, gave me hope.

But we both knew it was necessary to keep things in the friend zone for now, keep distance.

(I probably should have been thankful that Gramma and Pops had packed a bag and gotten to their car so quickly.)

As it was, I hardly saw her all week.

At assembly, I looked for her face in the crowd as Hannah and I presented our talk on stage.

She was sitting with her friend Jazmyn, a few rows back from Gabby, which indicated things weren’t good between them.

With her detention and volunteering at the blind center, and my soccer and Victoria cracking the whip on Yearbook Club duties, we seemed to miss each other.

Benji and I had a ton of work to do. You’d think selecting a few photos and writing a summary of the season would be fairly straightforward, but no.

The photos had to be vetted by at least a hundred people before being accepted, and the deadline was looming.

On Friday, a bunch of us had been invited to Hannah’s host family’s house for dinner, so I hoped Victoria would give us some slack and leave the photo editing until next week.

Alas, no. Unfortunately for me, or rather fortunately for Benji, he had a dental appointment, leaving me to finish up.

I told Benji he owed me one, because I was already over it.

Chances are we’d flick through our yearbooks once, get them signed by our classmates, then leave them on a bookshelf collecting dust.

Typically, Victoria left before me, saying she had to get ready for Hannah’s party. As if I didn’t need to go home and shower, too.

Satisfied with my work, and hoping I never had to see a soccer photo again, I made my way to the parking lot.

Only a few cars were left this late on a Friday afternoon.

My heart stopped as I recognized Mrs. Reid’s blue SUV over in the far corner.

I hadn’t seen it all week, presuming that Valencia was back on good terms with her friend.

Valencia had been given a week of detention, which I thought had ended on Wednesday or Thursday.

Though it was possible it was extended for her no-show.

Still, to be doing detention this late sucked, and my curiosity got the better of me.

Heck, I’d barely seen her all week and she was staying down the hallway in my house!

I retraced my steps back into the school building and climbed the stairs to the art department, heading straight for Miss Creighton’s room. When I turned the door handle, it was locked, but there was a light coming from the supply room beyond.

I checked the other rooms, all closed and in the dark, and came back to Miss Creighton’s room. I knocked loudly.

“Jade?” Miss Creighton appeared from down the hallway. “Do you want something?”

“Uh, I wondered if Valencia was still here,” I said.

“Valencia? No.”

“She’s not doing detention?”

“Her detention finished yesterday,” Miss Creighton said.

“Oh, her car’s in the parking lot. I thought she might be here. Sorry,” I said.

Miss Creighton had reached the door, scowling at the light shining through. Bending down, she selected a key from the lanyard hanging around her neck and unlocked the door. “Nobody should be in here,” she muttered.

I’m not sure why I followed her, maybe as some sort of protector in case there was something amiss.

Miss Creighton gasped. “What are you doing here?”

I stretched my head above Miss Creighton’s, shocked to see Valencia hunched over a desk, dozens of plastic shapes and paint and glitter and string on the table top.

“Miss Creighton,” Valencia said, but it was when her eyes met mine that she pushed back her chair and stood.

“You’re making the icicles?”

Valencia grimaced, like she was awaiting a telling-off. With blue and silver glitter clinging to her hands, she wiped them on the white apron she was wearing over her uniform.

Miss Creighton’s face softened as we both looked up at the dozens of strings of icicles hanging across the room.

“The Craft Club girls have been away at sophomore camp all week,” Miss Creighton fingered the delicate shards, sparkling in the dim light.

“Yeah. I thought I’d...help out.” Valencia picked up a ball of string. “I’m nearly done. I promise I’ll clean up.”

“This is an awful lot of work you’ve done,” Miss Creighton said, her eyelids fluttering. “But it is getting late.”

“I’ve just got two more to do,” Valencia said. “I’ll be real quick.”

“I have an appointment,” Miss Creighton said, checking her watch. “Can I trust you to lock the room when you leave? I do have to dash.”

“I’ll stay and help,” I piped up, realizing I’d been a mute bystander in all this, still digesting what Miss Creighton had alluded to—that Valencia had single handedly made all these icicles, hundreds of the things.

It explained why she’d barely been at home.

“Thank you, Jade. I appreciate that,” Miss Creighton said before disappearing.

Valencia had already sat down, picking up a brush.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding all week?”

She flashed a smile, but her face straightened as she focused her attention to one icicle. “I haven’t been hiding.”

“You haven’t been around much.”

“You guys have had a lot going on,” she said, “And I didn’t want to...”

“To what?” I raised my eyebrows, flirting with her, but I couldn’t help it.

Valencia kept her composure. “To crowd you. You guys needed space as a family. I’m glad your grandparents are back in your life. And Dani looks more relaxed.”

“Yeah, she is. And I’m glad to have Gramma and Pops back. They’re coming back this weekend,” I said. “It’s Dad’s birthday on Sunday.”

“Aww, that’s sweet. That’s really sweet,” she said, fiddling with some spots of glitter. “You’ll all watch the game together? Or aren’t your team playing this week?”

“Yes, they are,” I said, totally impressed that she had remembered that. “And you’ll be up for it, right?”

Valencia just smiled, but I’d noticed she hadn’t returned my Man City t-shirt. I didn’t want to assume that it meant anything. Maybe she was slack with her laundry.

“Hey,” I said, unable to keep a silly grin from spreading across my face. Hope does that to you. “What about you? What’s happening? Did you make up with Gabby?”

Valencia shook her head.

“No? Why not?”

“Gabby and Scott have become this tight little unit. Kelsey’s calling them Gabbott, but Jazmyn reckons they should be called Scabby.” She gave a wry smile. “I do have other friends you know, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

I watched as she cut a length of string and proceeded to thread the icicles onto it. Suddenly my heart was palpitating like I was hyped up on caffeinated energy drinks. “What if I do worry about you?”

Valencia shot me a sideways glance, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth worrying about.” I pulled out the chair beside her and sat down, my legs trembling and about to give way.

It was probably the most unromantic, impersonal, sterile way in the history of mankind of declaring one’s thoughts.

But when your heart is beating frantically and your head is spinning, it’s hard to be cool, calm and composed.

Valencia didn’t miss a beat with her icicles, meticulously threading them onto the line, seemingly unaffected by my attempt at expressing my true feelings. Well, I was her brother’s friend and she was staying at our house and we both knew it wasn’t appropriate.

“Can you help me hang this up?” she asked, holding a looped end up for me to attach to the rail next to the rows of icicles. She walked across the room and stepped up onto a stepladder, reaching up to hook her end on the other side. She wobbled a little on the second-to-top step and I dashed over.

“You okay up there?”

“Uh huh,” she said, catching her balance. “I got this.” She straightened up, admiring the icicle strings, glimmering and glistening in the dim light. She put her hands in the apron pocket and said, “And I got you...”

Before I knew what was happening, she was smiling devilishly and shaking the glitter container, covering me in fragments of silver decoration.

I waved my hand, trying to block the sparkling particles from my hair and eyes. She whooped in laughter and I caught her wrist, wrenching the glitter from her, my intention payback.

“You got me? I got you!” I cried and, well aware that she was teetering on the stepladder, I scooped her into my arms, not willing to risk a fall. She wrapped herself around me and I gently placed her on the floor, the container now firmly in my grasp.

I held it over her. “Ready?” I teased, but glitter was stuck to my lips and I ran my tongue over them to try to remove the pesky particles.

“Wait,” she said, holding up a finger. “Let me.” Gently, she wiped her index finger over my lips, her tender touch sending a shiver up my spine and my heart doing somersaults.

It was happening naturally, no plan. Amidst icicles and glitter, our eyes met and her lashes fluttered, and a wild and reckless impulse took over and before I knew it, I’d pocketed the glitter and was angling my lips to meet hers.

For a moment I thought my aim was going to be off target, seeming like an eternity before contact was made.

But when our lips joined, there was no denying the sweet connection, all awareness of the outside world fading.

Nerves gave way to a boldness as my hands swept around her waist, a perfect fit as I pulled her closer, lips locked and sharing each other’s air.

With blood racing through my veins, I heard a deep groan lodge in my throat, registering that Valencia’s fingers were feathering the nape of my neck.

I had a sudden panic that I was weakening at the knees, that I couldn’t hold her up and we were going to come crashing down.

Maybe she sensed it, because she draped her arms further around my shoulders.

I steadied us by moving my hands to her hips.

Our lips never faltered.

Our hearts beating in sync.

Time standing still.

My chest was close to bursting as we pulled back, her smile matching mine.

“What happened to ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea’ ...?” she teased.

“Huh?” I frowned at her like I had no clue what she was referring to.

“Who’s the rebel now?” She pressed hard against my chest. “ Huh? ”

“Hardly a rebel,” I said, running my fingers through her hair, flicking away specks of glitter. “More like living my life to the fullest. That’s what Dad told us. Live your best life.” I tucked a strand behind her ear and kissed the spot below her lobe and whispered, “Are you okay with that?”

Her soft intake of breath indicated she was more than okay with it. She tilted her neck as I trailed kisses along it, across her jaw, my lips hovering over hers.

“Life is short, Dad said to live your dreams,” I said. “And I think you’re mine, Valencia Reid.”

“You just might be mine too, Jade Sinclair,” she said with a giggle.

“Well, here’s to living our best lives,” I said, the softness of her lips the beginning of that dream.