Burning Britely

Published by Evernight Teen ® at Smashwords

www.evernightteen.com

Copyright© 2018 Deidre Huesmann

ISBN: 978-1-77339-780-1

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Melissa Hosack

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To my sister, Kimberly, as we endlessly pursue our creative passions. To my niece, Alanna, who knows an amazing book when she sees one and who has expanded my reading tastes. And to my dear friend, Elijah, who understands the battle.

BURNING BRITELY

Deidre Huesmann

Copyright © 2018

Chapter One

Jeff wanted to pull out his hair. No, he said, somehow managing to keep his voice even. Stop. What do your notes say?

Umm… Brenda sat cross-legged on his bed, her tongue between her lips. Her casual appearance was at odds with their surroundings.

Jeff’s room was neat, tidy, and labeled. His single bookshelf was stacked full of non-fiction texts and study guides. Beside it, a file cabinet held his notes, graded homework, and report cards dating five years back, all the way to sixth grade. No clothes on the floor. What few knickknacks he possessed were atop the bookshelf, with a trophy of his middle school spelling bee front and center. First place, of course. He’d placed second at state finals and hadn’t bothered keeping the ribbon.

Comparatively, Brenda’s curls were pulled into a messy bun atop her head. Her chipped, yellow-painted nails pressed against her chin. Though her clothes were designer, she wore a loose t-shirt barely hanging on to one shoulder and leggings that were a size too small.

In short, Jeff was beginning to regret bringing her into his sanctuary to study. He pointed at her papers. What do your notes say? he repeated.

Brenda sighed and picked one up. That reactions will be favorable thermodynamically if the products are comprised of lower Gibbs-free energy than the materials you start with.

Good. Jeff tapped her chemistry textbook with his pen. So, that means—

No.

He frowned and looked up. His thick glasses slipped, turning the top of her head into a blur. He pushed them back up. No … what?

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. Green eyes searched his face.

Jeff tried not to frown—his best friend always told him it made him look mean. He couldn’t see how. Not when most people, even girls his own age, were at least two inches taller than him. Jeff was short, wiry, and wore thick glasses that magnified his eyes. Hardly mean at all.

I don’t want to study, said Brenda.

He resisted the urge to throw his pen at the wall. Tried not to shout. Tried to keep his tone soft. Look. I get it’s been trying. We’ve been at this for two weeks. But you’re not grasping the material.

She slowly leaned forward. But wouldn’t it be more fun to do something else? She smiled; a weird mixture between sly and shy, like she wasn’t used to it.

Jeff puzzled that one out. Studying wasn’t exactly a thrilling hobby, but he liked it just fine. It was comfortable, soothing, and predictable. It also helped him toward his goal of graduating senior valedictorian. Sure, he was a junior now, but what was the point if he hadn’t hit the ground running? He knew the stats—even taking the seniors into account, his GPA was fifth highest in the school.

So he shrugged. Like what?

Like this.

She kissed him.

Jeff blinked. Was it rude to have your eyes open while kissing? It wasn’t like Brenda was his first, but his last had been pre-pubescent and with a trusted friend, an unspoken contract to kiss and never tell, just so they could say they’d done it. Ergo, it wasn’t like he knew all the rules. He was pretty sure he needed to focus on her lips—but that was unpleasant. He was also pretty sure closed-mouth kisses weren’t supposed to be wet.

Jeff sat back and wiped his mouth.

Brenda’s eyes widened. Her jaw dropped.

He rubbed his mouth with his palm. Seriously wet. What the hell…

I… Brenda stammered for a moment. Was I that bad?

Jeff’s gaze shifted. To the floor, to the wall, to the posters of the Periodic Table of Elements and basic laws of physics. Who knows, he muttered.

Is it my breath? She cupped a hand in front of her mouth and puffed into it. Jeff couldn’t stop staring at her jangling rainbow bracelets and bright yellow scrunchie. Her appearance was so sloppy. Too bright. Too cheerful. Too weird. I brushed my teeth, I didn’t eat any onions or garlic—

He sighed. Look…

—and I made sure all I had after dinner was gum. Is it that? You don’t like spearmint? No, it can’t be. Everyone likes spearmint—

Even if you…

I have regular bubblegum! Brenda leaped off his bed and snatched her backpack from the floor. She rummaged through, her face flushed, strands of hair clinging to her sweat-dampened forehead.

A nervous sweater, thought Jeff. Great.

Brenda continued babbling. If that’s more acceptable, just give me a minute—

It’s not that!

She froze, arm buried in the bag like a monster had her in mid-swallow. Tension threaded the air between them, weaving and tightening until he could hardly stand it. Something had to snap—but he didn’t want to be the one to do it.

Jeff lowered his voice. It’s not your breath. I just didn’t feel anything. Other than slimy lips. He knew better than to say that, though, no matter how awkward the moment.

Brenda kept her eyes low. Red crept up her neck and mingled with her already bright cheeks.

What the hell is wrong with me? Jeff fought the urge to bury his hands in his hair. Brenda was a nice girl. Her reputation was fine, nothing neither sordid nor excellent about her. Her grades were B averages. Her face was symmetrical, her eyes were green, which was unusual enough to be interesting, and her hair was a perfectly plain brown. Sure, she was sloppy, but wasn’t that the point? To make things interesting? To have juxtaposition to even things out? Didn’t all the successful couples in literature operate on opposite ends of the poles?

Yet the kiss just felt like mashing flesh together. So … pointless.

Brenda blew out a harsh breath and stood. Papers and pens scattered to the floor. She kneeled, stuffing them into her backpack. I have to go.

Jeff watched her and wondered why he didn’t even feel a twinge of guilt. Annoyance, sure, though most of it was directed at himself. But in that moment, to him, she almost looked like a brat having a tantrum. We didn’t cover chapter seven.

She glared at him through wet eyes. I didn’t need help with chemistry, Jeffrey, she snapped. I just wanted to get close to you.

Fat lot of good that did. The words were out of his mouth before he thought.

Brenda let out a short growl and stomped to his door. You’re an asshole.

If I didn’t like it, I didn’t like it. His voice sounded flat, even to him. Jeff felt oddly detached, like he was watching more than participating in the conversation. Not my fault.

Screw you!

The door slammed behind her.

He shook his head and slid off the bed. Some of the fallen papers were his. As he gathered them up, he noticed his English essay and syllabus were missing. Great. I’ll have to find her tomorrow. He’d have just rewritten the paper if it weren’t due in the morning but wasting three days helping her with chemistry had put him right up to due date for a lot of his assignments. Two weeks’ worth of getting ahead—gone.

All for a girl more interested in making out than actual schoolwork.

Shuffling the papers, Jeff had to admit it wasn’t all her fault. If he’d helped instead of watching her pick everything up, he could have avoided the homework mix-up.

Someone knocked on his door. Jeff rolled his eyes. Go away.

The door opened. A whirlwind tore through, carrying a basket full of folded laundry that landed with a whump on his bed. What did you do to that poor girl? exclaimed the tornado.

Jeff grimaced. I’d hardly call her a ‘poor girl,’ Mom. He avoided eye contact and put his homework back in order. She made a move on me.

His mom blinked. Like him, her flat blue eyes looked larger behind a pair of thick glasses. Jeff had inherited his far-sightedness from her, as well as her fine blonde hair. Otherwise, they didn’t look anything alike. She was tall and round, where he took after his father with his small, wiry stature.

Made a move? His mom repeated his statement slowly.

Jeff folded his arms. He loved his mother, but she could be utterly oblivious. She kissed me.

His mom’s eyes widened. She looked like a stuffed owl. Oh—oh dear. That poor girl.

He frowned. What about your poor accosted son?

Did she stop when you asked her to?

Didn’t so much ask as do everything but tell her she was disgusting. More or less.

Then you were hardly accosted. Don’t be dramatic. Mom fanned herself and leaned against the wall. "But that poor girl…"

"I’m dramatic?"

I can only imagine what she thought. His mom continued as though he hadn’t spoken. Here’s a boy she has a good chance with, a cute and smart guy who can take care of her, and he treats her like she’s slime.

His eyes narrowed. Why do you think I treated her like slime?

You’re my son, she said matter-of-factly. I know you. Like how you look at people as equations instead of as personalities.

He grimaced again. Thanks. Not creepy at all, Mom.

She smiled. How’s this for creepy? You should get to bed. You don’t look well.

Chills wriggled up his spine. Stiffly, he said, I feel fine.

With a wink, she said, You always do. And I’m always right. Aren’t I, lil’ Jeffy?

He grabbed a pair of balled-up socks and tossed them at her, missing by inches. If she was offended, she didn’t show it, and that just incensed him more. Moms. Ugh. Whatever. I have an exam tomorrow, and I haven’t had time to study. Thanks to Brenda. Though he didn’t say it, the meaning cut through the air loud and clear.

Maybe it wasn’t Brenda’s fault, exactly. Jeff was fully aware of teenage hormones. Just because he was smart didn’t mean he was immune. It was just that making senior