Girl Wonder by Alexa Martin Page B

trying out for the Secret Service?”
    â€œLight sensitivity,” I muttered. “Happens whenever I get migraines.”
    Mrs. Zacharias clucked her tongue. “You poor thing. You should be in bed.”
    I liked Mrs. Zacharias. She seemed kind and warm and wasn’t stuffy in the least—unlike Milton, who was wearing khaki pants, a blue oxford shirt, and a blazer with the Barclay crest. What was he trying to prove, anyway?
    Mom was looking at me like I was an alien species. “Since when do you get migraines, Charlotte?”
    â€œSince always,” I said, gritting my teeth.
    â€œBullshit,” James Henry coughed into his hand.
    â€œHere,” Mrs. Zacharias said, holding out a bottle of aspirin. “I always carry it around with me in case of emergencies. Gas-X too.”
    Now it was Milton’s turn to blush.
    To hide my smirk, I tapped out a couple of aspirin and tossed them down without water. Wasn’t aspirin supposed to be good for the heart? I just hoped it wouldn’t upset my stomach. I was not about to ask Mrs. Zacharias for her Gas-X.
    â€œCan I get anyone anything from the bar?” Dad asked. “A round of margaritas?”
    â€œI’d like a martini,” James Henry said in a British accent. “Shaken. Not stirred.”
    Everyone laughed. My brother. Wasn’t he just a riot?
    Right after Dad returned from the bar, the hostess approached with a stack of menus. “This way, please,” she said, leading us back to a large circular booth by the window. Scooting in, I got sandwiched between my brother and Milton—who smelled like minty shampoo.
    â€œSo really,” he whispered, “what’s the deal with the shades?”
    â€œSo really,” I whispered back, “what’s the deal with the uniform?”
    In a normal voice he said, “I’m in a service club. Every other Friday we visit a nursing home. We’re required to wear our uniforms. Our faculty adviser says it makes old folks feel important if you dress up for them.”
    Mom beamed at Milton. “How wonderful that you volunteer.”
    Mrs. Zacharias smiled proudly. “The residents just love him. Barclay places a strong emphasis on giving back to the community.”
    â€œWe’ve been impressed with the school so far,” Mom said.
    â€œHow do you like Shady Grove, Charlotte?” Mrs. Zacharias asked. “I have to say—some of the kids that go there look pretty tough.”
    â€œCharlotte’s in the gifted and talented program,” Dad said, sliding into the booth with drinks.
    Mom and James Henry exchanged glances.
    â€œIt’s a school within a school,” I mumbled, staring down at my hands. My nails were bitten to the quick.
    Thankfully, our waiter swung by just then, sparing me further humiliation. He set down our chips and salsa, and then told us the specials. Mom and Mrs. Zacharias both ordered the taco salad. My brother asked for the fajita special. “It’s my birthday,” he told our waiter. “Just in case you do free desserts.”
    Milton ordered the chicken enchiladas. “Go extra heavy on the hot sauce.”
    Dad ordered the chile relleno and another round of margaritas, even though the ones he’d just gotten were still mostly full.
    â€œI’ll have a tostada à la carta,” I said when it was my turn.
    â€œThat’s all you’re eating?” my mom asked.
    â€œI’m not that hungry.”
    Mrs. Zacharias smiled sympathetically. “Headaches can do that.”
    â€œAll this talk about headaches is giving me a headache,” my brother said.
    More laughter ensued.
    The waiter left, promising to return shortly with the margaritas. The grown-ups became immersed in talking about a recent political scandal. Milton accidently bumped me with his arm. I wondered if he worked out a lot. His muscles, while not bulky, were solid. James Henry pulled out one of the