Perfectly Imperfect Read online

  “Thanks.” I give him a fake salute that would make my father roll his eyes.

  “Here’s your revised schedule.” Miss Delilah holds out a sheet of paper. “And a late pass.”

  I take them both and thank her. As soon as I leave the office, I find the nearest trashcan and toss the map into it. I head to the second floor and come to a skidding stop. There, a few feet away, stands Isabelle. She’s hunched over in front of an open locker that’s decorated like a shrine. Papers, pictures, and small stuffed animals are scattered around her feet. She momentarily stops rummaging through the locker and rests her head against the door.

  She appears… sad? I hesitate but then approach. She can’t tattle on me and expect me to feel sorry for her. “You told the principal on me. What are you, five?”

  She whips around and glares at me. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Don’t be mad at me because you’re a lunatic who tries to run people over. Really, you should be thanking me.” She shoves a couple items into her backpack so fast I can’t tell what they are and then proceeds to shove all the stuff on the floor into the locker as quickly as possible.

  I lean against the neighboring locker and cross my arms. “Thanking you? Oh, this is going to be good.”

  “Yes, thanking me.” She smiles sweetly—all the emotion from a moment ago is gone—and that single action steals my breath. “If I hadn’t told on you, you would’ve eventually run someone over and killed them.” She slams the locker closed, and a white carnation falls to the floor. “And if you’d killed someone, you’d have gone to jail. I saved you from rotting away in prison.” Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she adds, “You’re welcome.” Then she walks away in the opposite direction.

  I move to go after her but notice a book lying on the floor. I scoop it up and read the title. Holy Bible. I whip my head around. Did anyone else see the title? Can they guess by looking? Do people even care about Bibles in schools in this part of the country? In my last school, a teacher was fired for giving a student a Bible and encouraging him to read it. He sued the district, but I moved before it was resolved.

  I jog to catch up with Isabelle. “Hey, you dropped this.”

  She eyes the Bible, as if unsure where it came from.

  “You really don’t strike me as a Bible thumper,” I say. Not that I’m complaining. It’s nice to know there’s someone else here who believes in God.

  “I’m not.” She snatches the book from my hand.

  “No?” I raise a brow, challenging her. “Then why are you carrying around a Bible?”

  “That’s really none of your business.”

  “People don’t carry around Bibles unless they’re trying to spread the good word.” I smirk.

  “Don’t be a jerk.”

  “Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven. Luke 6:37.”

  She takes a small step back. “You know scripture?”

  “I know a lot of things,” I say, pleased with how I’ve managed to shock her.

  “Except how to drive.”

  I let out a surprised laugh, and she responds with a smile—a genuine one that makes my heart race in a way I’ve never felt before.

  She hugs the Bible to her chest. “It’s my brother’s, okay?” Her voice dips with sadness and a hint of gratitude.

  “Oh. Okay.” A wave of disappointment hits me. I’m glad she’s thankful to me instead of screaming at me, but is she not a believer herself? Why didn’t she just tell me that in the first place? Is that locker back there her brother’s? I want to ask, but she speaks before I can.

  “I’d say this has been fun, but lying is a sin, so…” She shifts on her feet.

  “I believe lying about lying is a sin, too. Admit it, this has been more fun than you’ve had in a long time.”

  “You wish,” she mutters and then takes off down the hall again.

  I glance down at my schedule, then at the nearest classroom door. I’m in the right hallway. In a couple long strides, I’m by her side. “I am sorry about this morning,” I say, hoping she won’t blow me off completely. I don’t know anyone here except her, so I’m kind of at her mercy.

  “Thank you. Confessing sin is the first step toward redemption.” She takes a few more steps and then stops outside room 247. “I hope I didn’t get you into too much trouble with Principal Drake.”

  “Nah.” I wave my hand dismissively. “He just gave me a warning.”

  “Well, this is my class.”

  I look down at my schedule once more and grin. “Mine, too.”

  “No way.” She takes my schedule and studies it. “You’re seriously taking Senior Spanish?”

  “Yep.” And I’ve never been happier about anything.

  She thrusts my schedule back into my hand. Without another word, she yanks open the door and walks in. I follow.

  A tall, thin woman greets us. “Ah.” She claps her hands. “Señorita Carson. Bienvenido.”

  “Hola, Señorita Guzmán.” Isabelle hands over her late pass and sits at the only empty table.

  The teacher turns to me. Everything about her demeanor is vibrant, and she’s young, too, probably in her twenties. “And you must be my newest student. Grayson Alexander, yes? Principal Drake called to let me know you’d be joining us.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I hand her my late pass. The administration here doesn’t waste any time, do they?

  “Bienvenido.” She smiles. “Please, take a seat next to Señorita Carson.”

  This day is starting to get better. I make my way toward Isabelle, and only then do I notice how small the room is. Six tables dot the small space, each only large enough for two students. I drop my bag onto the floor and slide into the chair beside Isabelle.

  “All right.” Señorita Guzmán sits on top of her desk and crosses her legs. “Welcome to Senior Spanish. Let me repeat that—welcome to Senior Spanish.” She pauses for a brief moment. “This isn’t an English class, so today is the only day I will speak English. By now, you all should have basic conversational proficiency in the Spanish language, so starting tomorrow, the moment you walk into this room, I expect to hear only Spanish. Understood?”

  Everyone nods.

  “Bien. Now, because this is an advanced class, we are going to fully immerse ourselves in the Spanish language and culture.” She grabs a stack of papers and hops off the desk. “As you can see, I’ve seated you in pairs. Please say hello to your partners.” She hands each of us a paper.

  It’s written completely in Spanish. I read through it, and I can’t stop the smile from forming. Beside me, Isabelle drops her head onto her folded arms, and I hear a small groan. She may not like what this says, but I sure do.

  “This project”—Señorita Guzmán waves the paper in the air—“will be seventy-five percent of your final grade.”

  Isabelle lifts her head and smooths her hands over her hair. But she doesn’t look at me.

  “Together with your partner, you will pick a Spanish-speaking place—I don’t care if it’s a city or entire country—and you’ll present on it to the class at the end of the year.” She looks down at her notes. “The more creative, the better your grade. Be aware of the requirements, though. I expect everyone to prepare a meal unique to your chosen location. I’ve already reserved time in the culinary room for you to use if needed.”

  She returns to sit on top of her desk. “I’ve also reserved the gym so we can all practice a traditional Spanish dance.”

  A collective groan ripples through the room.

  Señorita Guzmán holds up her hand to silence us. “My goal with this project is to make you fall in love with the Spanish culture. To make you want to visit the place you research. To make us feel like we’re actually there.” She clears her throat. “So, I’ll have no complaining. We will all learn the dance. Each pair can put their own unique flair to it, but it will need to be performed during your presentation. No exceptions.”

  I’m
not a professional dancer, but I’m not terrible, either. I slice a look at Isabelle. And knowing she’s my partner? This is officially my favorite class.

  3

  ISABELLE

  AS SOON AS THE BELL rings to signal class is over, I’m out of the room and speed walking to Hannah’s locker. Thankfully, she’s there. “You are not going to believe what happened.”

  She hangs her backpack on the hook in her locker. “Yeah, I hope you have a good reason for skipping chorus.” She closes her locker and turns to look at me, arms crossed. “Cam spent the entire period staring at the door, waiting for you to show up.”

  “Wait. What? I have Senior Spanish first period.” I dig out my schedule to double check, just to be sure. “Chorus is fifth period.”

  “Not anymore. Didn’t you get the email yesterday? They moved chorus to first period. Something about a scheduling conflict.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yup”

  Great. That means I’m going to have to go back to the office to figure out what’s up with my schedule. “So, Cam is mad?”

  She shakes her head. “I think he’s more worried than anything.”

  I groan. Can this day get any worse? Walking beside Hannah, I triple check my schedule. “Okay, well, I have a study hall this period. I guess I’m going to see my guidance counselor.” I blow out a breath. My senior year is supposed to be perfect—easy schedule, classes with my boyfriend and best friend, all the fun stuff only seniors get to do—but nope. Instead, I almost get run over, I’m paired up with the guy who tried to kill me, and my schedule is a mess.

  “Have you seen Andrea yet today?” Hannah asks as we near the end of the hall.

  “No. Have you?”

  “No. I’m texting her now.” She pulls her phone from her back pocket.

  A flash of curly, black hair catches my attention. I smack Hannah’s arm. “There she is—Andrea!” I shout down the hallway, ignoring the dirty looks I get.

  Andrea stops, rises up on her tiptoes to see over the crowd, and then waves. She weaves through the throngs of people and stops in front of us.

  I throw my arms around her in a hug. “Oh, my goodness! It’s been forever since I’ve seen you! You have to tell me about your trip!”

  But Andrea doesn’t return the affection. I might as well be hugging a mannequin. She stands stiffly, arms at her sides. I release her, stepping back. What’s going on with her?

  Hannah steps in to hug Andrea. I don’t miss how Andrea hugs her back. A mix of emotions swirls inside of me. Did I do something to make her mad? Does Andrea like Hannah that much more than me? Is she tired of always making sure I’m okay? Does she think I’ll never be fun again without Brandon around?

  “Where have you been?” Hannah asks, stepping back.

  “Around.” Andrea shrugs. She doesn’t so much as glance in my direction. “My schedule is crazy this year. I’m trying to double up on some classes, hoping maybe I can graduate a semester early.”

  I nod. I can't let her behavior bug me too much. I know she’s struggling with the fact that she’s only a junior. Andrea should have been a senior with Hannah and me, but thanks to a nasty case of mono in ninth grade, she missed most of her freshman year and had to repeat it. The first bell rings, disrupting our impromptu reunion.

  “I’ll see you guys later, okay?” Andrea’s words fade as she walks away.

  I turn to Hannah. “Is it just me, or is she acting weird?”

  “She seemed fine to me.”

  Of course she did—Andrea didn’t snub Hannah—but I don’t have time to worry about it right now. Second period awaits. I slip my schedule into my back pocket. “Hey, if you see Cam, will you tell him what happened with my schedule?” I don’t need him mad at me on top of Andrea and everything else.

  “Of course.” She turns to the right.

  I’ve only taken a few steps in the other direction when I hear my name. I turn around.

  “You never told me what happened,” Hannah says.

  I laugh. “I’ll tell you later.”

  It can wait until I see her at lunch. Cam will be there, too, but he’ll be talking baseball with his friends, as usual. Hannah and I will have plenty of time to talk. Right now, I need to get my schedule straightened out. I step into the guidance office just as the bell rings.

  “Oh, hey, Isabelle.” Erica, the secretary, smiles. Then her smile fades, replaced with the one look I can’t stand—pity. She leans forward and softens her expression, as if that will somehow lessen the sting of her question. “How are you?”

  “Fine.” I don’t bother to hide the irritation in my tone. “I think my schedule is mixed up. Is Mr. Peters available?”

  “Yep. You can go right on in.” Erica jabs a thumb over her shoulder.

  “Thanks.” I step around her desk and make my way down the short hall to Mr. Peters’s office. His door is open, so I peek my head in. “Excuse me, Mr. Peters?”

  He looks up. “Come on in.” He waves me in and motions at one of the empty chairs. There are four of them, I guess in case parents come in. I’m more than thankful to handle my scheduling conflicts without my parents’ input. My mother—drunk, slurring, and belligerent—would create a whole different kind of conflict. “So, what brings you here this morning?”

  I slide my schedule across his desk. “Well, I’m supposed to have chorus fifth period, but I just found out it’s been moved to first period. When I have Senior Spanish.”

  He grabs his glasses from the corner of his desk and slips them on. He studies my schedule for a moment and then taps away at his keyboard. “Ah, I see what happened.” He takes his glasses off and returns them to their corner. “Mrs. Monroe had a scheduling conflict and can only be in the building in the morning, so we had to move chorus to first period.”

  My shoulders slump. “Okay, so what am I supposed to do? I was really looking forward to chorus this year.”

  He sighs. “I know. You should’ve received an email.”

  “I didn’t get anything.”

  “Well, you can drop Senior Spanish and take chorus if you want. But”—he folds his hands on top of the desk—“considering your college plans, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  Canyon College is my dream. With one of the best Spanish programs in the area, Canyon will more than prepare me for a future as an interpreter or maybe a bilingual tour guide. I need this extra Spanish class… But my friends are in chorus. I lean back in my seat and let out a huff. “So, I have to choose between my friends and my future.”

  “Senior Spanish will look much better on your college application,” Mr. Peters says.

  “Yeah, I know.” I sigh. Dropping Spanish would also mean dropping Grayson as a partner, and right now, that’s the biggest advantage. Sure, he’s more attractive than any guy in this building—Cam included—but he’s smug and arrogant and dangerous. Being around him won't be good for my future. I'll either get charged with assault or… No, that's stupid talk. I’m dating Cam. Steady, faithful, worrying Cam. The best thing I can do is stay away from Grayson Alexander. I don’t need his kind of disruption in my life; I’ve had enough disruption already.

  “Are you still singing in your church choir?” Mr. Peters asks, snapping me from my thoughts.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Then stay in Senior Spanish. You can list your church choir as an extracurricular activity.”

  He makes a good point.

  “But, it’s up to you.” Mr. Peters leans back in his chair.

  I’ve worked so hard the past three years. So what if there’s a slight blip in my schedule? It’s not the end of the world. I can still do everything I need to have a normal life—graduate, go to college, get a good job, marry Cam, and live a respectable Christian life. I take a deep breath. “Okay, I’m staying in Spanish.”

  I can keep Grayson at a distance. Why should I let some strange boy ruin my dreams?

  “I think that’s a smart decision. So, let’s see what
we can find for you to take during fifth period.” He goes back to his computer and starts tapping at his keyboard again.

  Twenty minutes later, I have a new schedule with Film as Literature during fifth period and a late pass. Before I can escape to class, Mr. Peters tilts his head and frowns—the universal sign for the question I hate so much.

  “How are you doing, Isabelle? Are you doing okay with everything? It hasn’t been that long since—”

  I hold up my hand to stop him. “I’m fine. Really.” I stand, hoping he gets the hint I don’t want a grief therapy session.

  “Right. Of course. Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

  “Thanks.” I leave and head to study hall. When I arrive, I give the monitor my pass and scan the room for an empty seat. In the back, Grayson waves. Of course he’s here. I quickly look away, praying I find another empty seat. No such luck. This is what I get for being late.

  I shuffle to the back of the room and take the seat next to Grayson. My body is tense, and every nerve is on edge. With his dark hair so messy and windblown, he looks like he just arrived from a modeling shoot. I close my eyes and inhale deeply—he smells of leather and soap and the ocean, which is nothing at all like Cam, who always smells of pine and parchment. I have to stop comparing those two. I picture Cam’s smiling face and focus all my attention on that, but Grayson shifts in his seat, and his arm bumps mine. A shiver wiggles up my spine.

  My eyes snap open. I jerk an inch to the left, away from Grayson. It’s not like I have any homework I can work on to distract myself. This is going to be the longest fifty minutes of my life.

  Grayson elbows me. “Hey, we should make it a date.”

  “What?” I can’t bring myself to look at him. Did he seriously just ask me out?

  “Our Spanish presentation.” He twists in his chair so he’s facing me. “Señorita Guzmán said we’ll get a better grade if we’re creative. So, I was thinking, we could do a skit. You and me on a date in our chosen location.”