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http://tinyurl.com/cytu9yv Any Other Night
http://tinyurl.com/cybyzgm The Wedding Cake Girl
http://tinyurl.com/a9mhf4q Girls Love Travis Walker
http://tinyurl.com/cytu9yv Any Other Night
http://tinyurl.com/cybyzgm The Wedding Cake Girl
http://tinyurl.com/a9mhf4q Girls Love Travis Walker
Girls Love Travis Walker
In Trouble
Only fifteen minutes since I’d entered the halls of Perdido High School and already the beady eye of authority was upon me. I hadn’t even done anything wrong.
Yet.
“Travis!” Ms. Valenzuela called out to me from the door of the guidance office. Although she was getting old, maybe into her early forties, she hadn’t let herself go. She had great legs, which were hidden today by her lime green pants.
“Yo.” I loped over and unleashed a grin that combined sincere remorse for my failings with my irresistible charm.
She pursed her lips. “Don’t start with me, Travis.”
I led the way to her office and took my usual chair while she sat at the desk across from me. “New picture,” I said, nodding to the updated photo of her two daughters. “Kelsi and … Julianne, right?”
She struggled to keep back a smile. “Yes, Travis. Those are their names.”
“Fifth and seventh grade, right?”
“Yes, Travis.” Now she was smiling for sure.
Maybe it was my blue-green eyes, or maybe my granite abs, but I could always get women to smile at me.
Ms. Valenzuela opened my folder. “Six more absences since your last visit to my office. Plus numerous missed homework assignments. You’re this close to suspension.” She held up her thumb and index finger a millimeter apart.
“I have to work, Ms. Val,” I said. “Gotta get ahead, you know.” I had a promising position as a bus boy at Jake’s Burgers.
“How many hours are you working these days?”
“As many as I can get, whenever I can get ‘em.”
“You can’t cut back?” She knew she couldn’t push me that hard. My family’s sudden move to Los Angeles in November of my junior year, coupled with my erratic attendance at Perdido High, had screwed up my graduation credits. With all my former classmates in college, I was starting my senior year, again, at age nineteen.
“I can’t get weekend shifts at Jake’s,” I told Ms.Val.
She didn’t like me working there, but she should just be glad I wasn’t following in the path of my father, who knocked over a convenience mart a year ago and ended up in prison for armed robbery. Mom had gone to visit him, but I refused. He could rot there for all I cared.
“You’ve got one school year left to graduate. I want to see you get that high school diploma, Travis. Or a GED at least.” Between her fingers, she rolled a pen. It was the cheap kind the school district bought that wrote for about five minutes before it crapped out on you.
“Yeah, well, we’re about to get evicted,” I said, “so that’s kind of rearranged my priorities.”
Only fifteen minutes since I’d entered the halls of Perdido High School and already the beady eye of authority was upon me. I hadn’t even done anything wrong.
Yet.
“Travis!” Ms. Valenzuela called out to me from the door of the guidance office. Although she was getting old, maybe into her early forties, she hadn’t let herself go. She had great legs, which were hidden today by her lime green pants.
“Yo.” I loped over and unleashed a grin that combined sincere remorse for my failings with my irresistible charm.
She pursed her lips. “Don’t start with me, Travis.”
I led the way to her office and took my usual chair while she sat at the desk across from me. “New picture,” I said, nodding to the updated photo of her two daughters. “Kelsi and … Julianne, right?”
She struggled to keep back a smile. “Yes, Travis. Those are their names.”
“Fifth and seventh grade, right?”
“Yes, Travis.” Now she was smiling for sure.
Maybe it was my blue-green eyes, or maybe my granite abs, but I could always get women to smile at me.
Ms. Valenzuela opened my folder. “Six more absences since your last visit to my office. Plus numerous missed homework assignments. You’re this close to suspension.” She held up her thumb and index finger a millimeter apart.
“I have to work, Ms. Val,” I said. “Gotta get ahead, you know.” I had a promising position as a bus boy at Jake’s Burgers.
“How many hours are you working these days?”
“As many as I can get, whenever I can get ‘em.”
“You can’t cut back?” She knew she couldn’t push me that hard. My family’s sudden move to Los Angeles in November of my junior year, coupled with my erratic attendance at Perdido High, had screwed up my graduation credits. With all my former classmates in college, I was starting my senior year, again, at age nineteen.
“I can’t get weekend shifts at Jake’s,” I told Ms.Val.
She didn’t like me working there, but she should just be glad I wasn’t following in the path of my father, who knocked over a convenience mart a year ago and ended up in prison for armed robbery. Mom had gone to visit him, but I refused. He could rot there for all I cared.
“You’ve got one school year left to graduate. I want to see you get that high school diploma, Travis. Or a GED at least.” Between her fingers, she rolled a pen. It was the cheap kind the school district bought that wrote for about five minutes before it crapped out on you.
“Yeah, well, we’re about to get evicted,” I said, “so that’s kind of rearranged my priorities.”
Any Other Night
Chapter 1
Any other night, I'd be down for driving my best friend Michael to the party, but tonight is different. Tonight is the Sweet Sixteen birthday party for Emily Wintraub.
Who I think I'm in love with.
Not that I actually know her, by the way—I've never actually spoken to her. But all of that's about to change.
I send Michael a text. i want to get there early.
Michael never gets to parties early. His answer comes back to me. why?
But then he remembers. u gonna talk to her tonite?
yeah
awesum—go for it dude. I'll meet u there
So I shower and wrestle with my hair to make it lie smooth, but it goes all wavy on me anyway, and put on a nice shirt and sports jacket and splash on some manly cologne. I take off in my prize possession—the hot, red BMW 3 series convertible that my folks gave me for my sixteenth birthday. I pull into the Malibu Breakers Club parking lot at exactly 8:05, thinking Sweet! I'm the first one here. I'll have her all to myself.
Cool and self-confident, I saunter down the steps to an area of beach where they've put up this canopy over a dance floor and tables set for dinner. The sight of Emily nearly knocks me over. She looks amazing, with this flower or something in her hair and this little dress that goes in and out in all the right places and stops mid-thigh, so I can scope out her legs.
I can't believe this. Even this early, she's surrounded. She's standing with Derek Masters, the six-foot-two-inch captain of the school basketball team. He wears his hair gelled and spiked, but it actually looks decent on him. I've heard he can sink a basketball from mid-court blindfolded.
Derek's got his hand on her back like he owns her or something. Not only that, but there's a freaking mob of kids hanging around them, all wanting to talk to her.
This was not part of my plan.
Any other night, I'd be down for driving my best friend Michael to the party, but tonight is different. Tonight is the Sweet Sixteen birthday party for Emily Wintraub.
Who I think I'm in love with.
Not that I actually know her, by the way—I've never actually spoken to her. But all of that's about to change.
I send Michael a text. i want to get there early.
Michael never gets to parties early. His answer comes back to me. why?
But then he remembers. u gonna talk to her tonite?
yeah
awesum—go for it dude. I'll meet u there
So I shower and wrestle with my hair to make it lie smooth, but it goes all wavy on me anyway, and put on a nice shirt and sports jacket and splash on some manly cologne. I take off in my prize possession—the hot, red BMW 3 series convertible that my folks gave me for my sixteenth birthday. I pull into the Malibu Breakers Club parking lot at exactly 8:05, thinking Sweet! I'm the first one here. I'll have her all to myself.
Cool and self-confident, I saunter down the steps to an area of beach where they've put up this canopy over a dance floor and tables set for dinner. The sight of Emily nearly knocks me over. She looks amazing, with this flower or something in her hair and this little dress that goes in and out in all the right places and stops mid-thigh, so I can scope out her legs.
I can't believe this. Even this early, she's surrounded. She's standing with Derek Masters, the six-foot-two-inch captain of the school basketball team. He wears his hair gelled and spiked, but it actually looks decent on him. I've heard he can sink a basketball from mid-court blindfolded.
Derek's got his hand on her back like he owns her or something. Not only that, but there's a freaking mob of kids hanging around them, all wanting to talk to her.
This was not part of my plan.
The Wedding Cake Girl
Chapter One
Mom stands at the kitchen counter in her pink apron that says "Sue's Wedding Cakery, Santa Margarita Island." She’s experimenting with a new frosting. The kitchen smells like a bank of fresh wild mint growing along a stream.
On my good days, I think of Mom as "The Caked Crusader," whose mission in life is to fill the world with perfect wedding cakes. On my bad days, I think more like my friend Zack who, after we saw the film Titanic, began calling Mom "The Iceberg."
"Why?" I had asked him.
"Because she's in your way."
He didn't have to remind me what happened to the Titanic.
I have to talk to her now. I've gotten special permission to attend an advanced oceanography class this summer at Beach City College, which is awesome, because I'm just a senior in high school. Or will be in September.
But the deadline to enroll is in three hours, at five o'clock. And Mom doesn’t know that. The $1700 tuition is due immediately upon acceptance, and she doesn't know that either. In fact, Mom doesn't even know this class exists. Every time I go to talk to her about it, I end up putting it off.
Like now.
I need to bring in the rest of the supplies, which I've just picked up at the freight barge. I run out to our van, parked in front of our house, and open the back. With its painted pink wedding cakes and its "Sue's Wedding Cakery" lettering, no one's ever going steal this vehicle. Even it weren't almost fifteen years old.
Sweat trickling down my neck, I tie my long coppery hair up into a knot. I yank on the biggest box, filled with bags of flour, and get it up in the air, my knees almost buckling beneath me.
"I got it, Alex."
It's Zack. My diving partner and best friend since I was six. He lifts the box from my hands and jerks his head toward a smaller one. "Take that."
I blink. Whatever happened to my old friend, the skinny kid with the stick legs and pencil arms? This new guy has sun-streaked hair, broad shoulders, and strong, muscled arms that make my heart swoon.
His Uncle Dizzy's old pickup truck, which Zack borrows whenever he can, is parked at the curb. "I was driving by and saw you, so I stopped to help."
I pull myself together. "Hey, I'm on top of this one!"
He grins down at me from his still surprising new height of six feet. "Yeah, yeah," he teases me. "You've proved how strong you are. Now chill and take the other box."
Mom stands at the kitchen counter in her pink apron that says "Sue's Wedding Cakery, Santa Margarita Island." She’s experimenting with a new frosting. The kitchen smells like a bank of fresh wild mint growing along a stream.
On my good days, I think of Mom as "The Caked Crusader," whose mission in life is to fill the world with perfect wedding cakes. On my bad days, I think more like my friend Zack who, after we saw the film Titanic, began calling Mom "The Iceberg."
"Why?" I had asked him.
"Because she's in your way."
He didn't have to remind me what happened to the Titanic.
I have to talk to her now. I've gotten special permission to attend an advanced oceanography class this summer at Beach City College, which is awesome, because I'm just a senior in high school. Or will be in September.
But the deadline to enroll is in three hours, at five o'clock. And Mom doesn’t know that. The $1700 tuition is due immediately upon acceptance, and she doesn't know that either. In fact, Mom doesn't even know this class exists. Every time I go to talk to her about it, I end up putting it off.
Like now.
I need to bring in the rest of the supplies, which I've just picked up at the freight barge. I run out to our van, parked in front of our house, and open the back. With its painted pink wedding cakes and its "Sue's Wedding Cakery" lettering, no one's ever going steal this vehicle. Even it weren't almost fifteen years old.
Sweat trickling down my neck, I tie my long coppery hair up into a knot. I yank on the biggest box, filled with bags of flour, and get it up in the air, my knees almost buckling beneath me.
"I got it, Alex."
It's Zack. My diving partner and best friend since I was six. He lifts the box from my hands and jerks his head toward a smaller one. "Take that."
I blink. Whatever happened to my old friend, the skinny kid with the stick legs and pencil arms? This new guy has sun-streaked hair, broad shoulders, and strong, muscled arms that make my heart swoon.
His Uncle Dizzy's old pickup truck, which Zack borrows whenever he can, is parked at the curb. "I was driving by and saw you, so I stopped to help."
I pull myself together. "Hey, I'm on top of this one!"
He grins down at me from his still surprising new height of six feet. "Yeah, yeah," he teases me. "You've proved how strong you are. Now chill and take the other box."