Free Charlotte Cuts It Out by Kelly Barson Page B

practically nonstop. We’ll catch up on Monday. After all, if whatever she needs to talk about were really important, she’d come to the store.
    I am the queen of the deli/bakery, a dubious honor. Dad still can’t find anyone reliable to supervise, and Katie—whose cat is better—isn’t great on the counter by herself. By her own admission, she’s more of an assistant.
    Nina didn’t really quit, of course. (She’s fake-quit at least four times this year. And yes, there’s a pool for that, too.)She’s there sometimes, but we really need someone full-time; two people at the counter is best. I can only work after school and on weekends. If need be, Dad or Pops will fill in for me, but it’s not their thing. Needless to say, instead of hanging out with Lydia and getting the low-down on her meeting, I spend my weekend elbow-deep in deli meats, cold salads, doughnut batter, frosting, and sprinkles—not to mention Katie’s repetitive stories and pictures of her cat’s “hilarious” antics, which all look the same except for the various outfits (yes, she dresses up her cat), and Nina’s whining about being kicked in the ribs.
    My life’s a constant party.

seven

    32 days to the Winter Style Showcase
    On Monday, I get to school early, hoping to grab some time with Lydia. After tossing in my coat, grabbing my books, and doing a quick lip gloss check, I slam my locker, turn around, and come face to face with Reed. Clearly, early arrival has unexpected benefits. “Hey.”
    â€œHey.” He leans into the lockers. “I hear you want me.”
    I laugh out loud. I can’t help it. What a cliché! Even if it is sort of true, I’m not about to fall for that line. “Get over yourself.” I
tap, tap, tap
away in my turquoise sling-backs, hoping he follows.
    He does.
Yes!
    â€œI meant as a graphic designer for your showcase.” He acts offended. “What did you think I meant?”
    I give him a
don’t-play-with-me
look, and he smiles. He is so freaking adorable!
    â€œOkay, seriously.” He starts fast-talking. “I need the subcontracting. We don’t have our own showcase. Our grades are based on what we do for everyone else’s show.”
    â€œWell, we do need a graphic designer.” I’m in professional mode now. “How are your skills?”
    â€œThe best.”
    â€œYou’re in.”
    â€œDon’t you need to check with the rest of your team?”
    â€œOfficially, yes, but I’m not worried.”
    â€œCool,” he says. “I’ll put your name on my schedule. How do you spell it?”
    Good one. I haven’t told him my name. I decide to play his little game. “The standard way.” He smirks. He knows I’ve caught him, but I decide to let him off the hook. “Charlotte. Charlotte Pringle.”
    â€œI’ll do it right now, Charlotte Pringle,” he assures me.
    â€œPerfect.” I get the last word because we’re at the cos classroom door. I leave him standing in the hall.
Score
. I don’t care what the rest of the team thinks—as far as I’m concerned, Reed’s our graphic designer.
    Lydia’s not in class yet. I take out my phone to text her and see she beat me to it, an hour ago.
    I NEED to talk to you. Call me ASAP.
    Oh, no! We never hung out—or even talked—this weekend like we’d planned. Maybe something really is wrong. I press her pic in my favorites and wait for her to answer. Voice mail!
Ugh!
I hang up and call again. Again, voice mail. I text: Where are you? What’s wrong? I’m at school.
    The first bell rings. No Lydia. I turn around every few seconds, but only non-Lydia people are coming into class. I walk to the door and scan the hall. She’s not there. I go tothe window. I don’t see her Volkswagen, but since I can only see half of the parking lot, that’s not definitive. I