Stones and Spark by Sibella Giorello Page B

board, realized she will no longer be ignored by all the guys if she gets a pair of boobs. This summer, she did. As Parsnip makes some futile wardrobe adjustments, Ellis is acting like some termite inspector, staring up at the gym's roof.
    Once again, I pounce on opportunity. “Tinsley, did Drew happen to say anything during tutoring?”
    “Tutoring?” DeMott looks surprised. “Tins, you're tutoring this girl? That's great.”
    She takes his arm, patting it flirtatiously. But her smile looks cryogenically frozen. “DeMott, honey. Would you do me just the biggest, grandest most wonderful favor in the whole wide world?”
    “Of course.”
    “Please go tell Stuart Morgan to be quiet?” She bats her eyes. “I really can't have him broadcasting across the parking lot. And I'll be right there after you.”
    “But I have to help Raleigh.”
    “No, that's okay,” I say.
    “You sure?” he asks.
    No, I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything tonight, except that having DeMott Fielding wearing his tuxedo while he searches for Drew and Tinsley hounds behind him in her lemony gown is not the help I need.
    “I'm fine,” I say. “But thanks. I appreciate the offer.”
    His blue-eyed gaze lingers on me. One second, two, three. Then he nods, as if some thought has come to him. He turns to leave.
    But Tinsley sinks her claws in deeper. Lifting her face to him, she puckers her glossed lips and says, “Kiss, kiss.”
    I could hurl right here, except for the fact that DeMott only pecks her forehead.
    She blinks, stunned.
    And then we both watch him walk away. DeMott's one of those guys who looks so comfortable when he walks, like he expects life to move at his speed, not the other way around. I feel so much better just looking at him. And I can't really say why.
    But from the corner of my eye I see a yellow flash, right before Tinsley spits out the words.
    “Just what in the hell do you think you're doing?”

CHAPTER TEN
    "I asked you a question," Tinsley says.
    Now that DeMott’s out of range, Tinsley's reverting to her true self. It's like seeing Barbie morph into a pit bull. I shift my gaze to DeMott’s back, a much-improved view.
    Tinsley reaches out, squeezing my arm. "Answer me!"
    I shake out of her grip. "I'm looking for Drew."
    She laughs coldly. "Do I look stupid to you?"
    "Actually—"
    "You know what's wrong with you?" she says, cutting me off. "You've got issues."
    " I've got issues?"
    "Raleigh, face the facts. Your real dad dumped you, your mom's crazy , and your only friend has run away. Again. And now look at you. Bless your heart, wearing sweats to the dance. You're having a public meltdown."
    Something runs down my spine, colder than the night wind. Colder than Tinsley's glacial smile. It’s true that my birth dad took off. I was four. My mom had to get a job, Helen and I went into cheap daycare, and we rode city busses because we couldn’t afford a car. But my clearest memory from those hard years is standing next to my mother in the grocery story. She was picking out collard greens—cheap green food—for our dinner. A song played overhead and she was singing to it. A man stopped to stare at her. He was very, very handsome and I felt ashamed of my mother, singing in public, picking over that stiff green food we hated eating. But the man didn’t leave. He kept watching her, looking at her like he knew her. More than that: he looked at her like he’d known her his whole life. Eight months later, that man, David Harmon, married my mom and we moved into his big house on Monument Avenue and never rode the city bus again. My birth dad took off. David Harmon is my real dad.
    And yet the cold feeling still sinks all the way into my bone marrow. I don't like Tinsley. But right now I need her help. So I strap on that fake smile I swore never to use, and which is already becoming a habit.
    "I’ll make you a deal, Tinsley. You tell me what Drew said during your tutoring session today, and I won't tell DeMott you're