I wrapped my arms around him. “Thanks, Daddy.”
We headed out and Daddy drove the four miles to Chamberlain High. The school was undergoing a renovation, expanding because Fredericksburg would be including a freshman class next year, adding to the existing model of tenth through twelfth grades at Chamberlain High. I understood that this was in line with a lot of high schools across the country transitioning from the traditional elementary, junior high, high school model, to the elementary, middle school, high school curriculum. A year from now my old junior high would be called a middle school, and be made up of sixth through eighth graders, instead of seventh through ninth. I remembered when they announced the timing of all the changes that I’d been a little miffed that my class had been the one shorted out of the extra year of high school and stuck one more year in junior high. Heading to high school just felt so mature.
Daddy pulled up to a line of cars parked alongside the drop-off lane leading to the high school. There was a big banner there that read WELCOME, CLASS OF 1987!
My stomach bubbled with nerves and anticipation. My sophomore class would be made up of the graduates of three separate junior highs around the district. I wondered how I’d adjust to all those new kids. At least I had my two best friends at my side. It’d been Britta Cummings, Sara Radcliff, and me since kindergarten. We always looked out for one another.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Daddy glance at me. “Don’t worry, buttercup, high school isn’t any different from junior high except that the building is bigger and there’s more homework.”
I turned hopeful eyes on him. Was it as easy as that?
“Hey,” he said, pulling to stop at the curb and reaching over to cup my face. “You’re gonna do great. It’s your first day, and you look beautiful, so just go have some fun. There’ll be plenty of time to figure it all out later.”
He always knew what to say. “Thanks, Daddy,” I said, leaning in to give him a big hug before taking a deep breath and getting out of the car.
Walking toward the entrance, I looked around for Britta and Sara. We’d agreed to meet by the oak tree to the left of the front entrance.
“Look out!” I heard someone call, and I turned my head just as something very hard thudded into my back. I cried out and stumbled, feeling myself losing my balance as if in slow motion, but at the last second an arm reached out and caught me around the middle.
“Mind if I have this dance?” a mirthful voice said as my new school supplies slipped out of my hands and clattered to the sidewalk.
I pushed my hair out of my eyes and turned slightly to stare up into the most beautiful face I’d ever seen. The boy who’d caught me before I could sprawl to the pavement hovered above me, wearing a smile and an intriguing glint in his bright blue eyes. His hair was light blond, nearly platinum, with no wave, and contrasted beautifully against his darkly tanned skin. He had broad shoulders, and, from the way he was bent over me, I suspected he was several inches taller than my five foot seven inch frame. The rest of his features were square, chiseled, and perfect.
“You okay?” he asked me.
I opened my mouth but no words came out. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He continued to hold me like that, his arm cradling me in a sort of dancer’s dip while I held on to his biceps. His very firm, well-defined biceps.
“Uh…yes,” I finally managed. “I’m good.”
He pulled me toward him as he stood the pair of us up straight, and he took his time letting me out of his embrace. I heard footsteps running toward us, and only when two other boys arrived did his arms release me.
“Oh, man! I’m really sorry! Did that hurt?” said one of the boys. He was also tall, with very neatly combed brown hair and a polo shirt with the collar turned up.
“I’m fine,” I said, rubbing a sore spot on my back. The boy who’d saved me leaned down and picked up a football, and I realized that’d been the thing that’d hit me.
“I’m really sorry,” repeated the guy with the brown hair, and I had to give him credit. He looked very sorry, and also a little worried. “Please don’t turn me in.”
I smiled to let him know it was all right. “It’s fine,” I repeated. “Besides, I don’t even know your name, so I can’t actually turn you in.”
The anxiety furrowing his brow lessened and he grinned back at me. “I’m Jamie,” he said offering me his hand.
I took it. “Amber.”
The boy with the blond hair and blue eyes nudged Jamie in the shoulder and offered his own hand.
“Spence,” he said. “The guy who didn’t hit you with the football.”
I laughed, taking his hand. My midsection fluttered at the feel of his touch. My God, he was gorgeous. He idly tossed the football to Jamie and said, “I’ll catch up with you guys in a minute.”
It was a not so subtle hint, and I felt my cheeks heat.