Free Cindy and the Prom King by Carol Culver Page A

too.”
    “You have sisters? Do they look like you with the amazing red hair?”
    Cindy laughed. “No, they’re blond and beautiful. I think you know them, Brie and Lauren.”
“Those girls are related to you?” He sounded incredulous. “Not really. Sort of. My father married their mother.”
    “Ah, I see. So you don’t rebel even though you would like to. I think you’re a very good girl.”
    Was that a compliment or was he thinking, You’re a very good girl, but good girls are boring and besides, you’re also a wimp of the first degree.
    When he left to play soccer a few minutes later, she put her head down on her loose-leaf binder and closed her eyes. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. She was drained. It was exhausting trying to act casual and tutorial when she just wanted to sit there and stare at him, listen to him talk, giggle, flirt, repeat some Italian phrases and talk about herself.
    She’d talked too much about herself. As for flirting and giggling, she didn’t know how to do those things. Besides, it was not part of the job description of a tutor. She was there to help him with his English grammar. But she usually forgot to listen for grammatical errors when he talked. He could have read the phone book and she would have hung on every word he spoke in his seductive accent. Maybe working at the spa was easier than tutoring after all. Less stressful.

seventeen
    1)For every action, there is an equal and opposite criticism.
2) Odd objects attract fire.
—Murphy’s Laws of Combat, Anonymous
    “My name is Newton Kavanaugh and I’m your new headmaster.” The man stood on the stage in the middle of the Michael P. and Emily C. Parsons Multi-Use Room, folded his arms across his chest and rocked back on the heels of his spit-polished black shoes. He surveyed the student body with the manner of a man speaking to his troops. One who was accustomed to being in command. He was not wearing a uniform, but somehow he gave the impression he was. In fact, he was wearing well-pressed gray slacks, a striped shirt and a blue blazer with brass buttons.
    “I’m a military man and proud of it. Always was, always will be. My father was a four-star general and I was an army brat. Of course I will never achieve his rank, and—ahem—at this point in my life, I have no need to. I served in Vietnam and retired with the rank of colonel. You can call me Colonel or Sir.” He gave a faint smile.
    Cindy realized he was the man who’d come into her math class that first day. It was hard to know if he was serious about calling him colonel. Cindy looked around. There was more shock than awe on the faces of the students.
    From somewhere behind her a boy’s voice muttered, “Oh jeez,” but Kavanaugh showed no sign of having heard it.
    To one side she saw Marco surrounded by members of the soccer team. At least she thought that’s who they were. They all wore the same striped jerseys and the same blank looks on their faces. As if they’d spent too much time heading the ball instead of passing and kicking.
    Cindy had learned a little about soccer. She’d read that studies showed there was no link between lower intelligence and a tendency to “head the ball,” but observing the team members at Manderley, she wondered about it. Marco was excluded of course. He was smart, he was sexy and he was also suave and she was looking forward to their next tutoring session more than she should. She planned to surprise him with a few new phrases she’d learned in Italian, though at the last minute she’d probably lose her nerve. She didn’t need to know Italian to help him perfect his English, which was already quite good. She just wanted to be able to say something in that beautiful, romantic language.
    Kavanaugh’s gaze shifted from the students to the row of teachers seated in front of him.
    “I was proud to represent my country,” he continued, “just as I know you are proud to represent Manderley School. After my military