Southbound Surrender by Raen Smith Page B

pass, and I panic. My breathing becomes irregular and I lean forward about to tell her to forget it when she whispers. Her voice barely brushes the air between us, and I listen. I listen real close because Piper’s whisper is like the sound of an angel.
    “I thought you’d never ask.”
    She parts her lips and pushes her hands against the floor, leaning in until she’s only inches from me. I wet my own lips before moving that last inch to meet the soft peach lips that have plagued my dreams for the last four nights. She tilts her head and closes her eyes. I lightly hold her jaw in my hand and move her face toward me until I press my lips onto hers. I taste all her peach and smoky glory. Our lips move against each other, and I swear fireworks are going off on top of our heads. It’s a moment of pure bliss exploding through my body, and I never want it to stop. I never want to be without Piper and these dynamic, peach lips.
    Then it happens. I feel a spark near my right nipple.
    Luella.
    I’m breathless while I press my lips feverishly against Piper’s and try to ignore the spark that begins to fade into complete blackness. She leans harder into me and my hand weaves through the back of her blonde locks.
    Suddenly, the door swings open and a blast of fresh air swirls between us. Piper snaps her head back and looks up. I turn around and follow her gaze up to Big Dave’s face.
    The relief I feel seeing Big Dave quickly disappears when Principal Watkins with his bald, shiny head steps out from behind him.
    “Cash?” Big Dave folds his arms across his chest. I can’t quite tell if his face is chalked with disappointment, shock, or pride. Maybe it’s all three.
    “Ms. Sullivan and Mr. Rowland, in my office, now.” Principal Watkins’ face is clear. It’s red and his hairy blonde eyebrows are furrowed down and his busy mustache is twitching, and I can’t help conjuring an image of Dr. Seuss’s Lorax in my head. He looks exactly like the Lorax. All he needs is an orange bodysuit.
    He’s mad. I mean, real furious with us and our closet debacle.
    But you know what?
    I don’t care because it was worth it.
    Everything about Piper Sullivan is worth it.

Chapter 5

    I’m the meat in a Piper and Big Dave sandwich with a Watkins pickle on the side. We’re sitting across from Principal Watkins in his office like three trouble-maker kids about to get slapped on the wrist with a ruler, a real holy and spiritual one. Except one of the kids is actually a parent who said with a glint of a smile, “I have no words for you.”
    We’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes. Waiting. The crucifix on the wall behind Principal Watkins looms over us all, judging and holding guilt above our heads, and I think that there are too many Jesuses suffering in this building. This place is depressing as hell with its gray cement walls, tortured Jesuses, and open-armed weeping angels. Everything is miserable except for the supply closet in the basement. Now that place, that twenty square feet of space is the beacon of hope.
    “Principal Watkins, may I please speak with you?” Flora the secretary pops her Kool-Aid red bob and cat glasses in the doorway.
    “Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” he grumbles as he walks past us. “This is not how I expected to spend the first day.”
    Piper’s finger starts tapping on the armrest just inches from mine, and she lets out a laborious exhale. I watch the clock inch along, nearing eleven-thirty and the lunch period, and I hope that Watkins gets his scolding done fast. I don’t want to miss any extra time I can spend with Piper.
    “So you like pink, huh?” Big Dave breaks the silence.
    “Yeah,” Piper says, still tapping the armrest.
    “Cancer,” I say as I turn toward her in slow realization. “That’s why you wear pink, isn’t it? Like an homage to breast cancer, but all cancer, all the time.”
    “Your son is quick,” Piper says to Big Dave.
    “At least you could’ve found a