Perfectly Imperfect

Cute Christian boyfriend? Check!

Classes I need to take so I can get into my dream college? Check!

Healthy relationship with God? Check!

A place in my church’s choir? Check!

Two best friends to share it all with? Check!

Dirty family secrets safely hidden behind the picture-perfect façade I’ve built? Check!

Everything is exactly as it should be for a perfect senior year. Now, if only my best friend would pick up the pace.

“If you walk any slower, we’re going to be late.” I glance back at Hannah. She’s shuffling her feet, doing everything in her power to avoid entering the massive brick building. We’re mere steps from the front entrance of Lakewood Valley High, and I’m seconds away from grabbing her collar and dragging her inside. I stop and tap my foot impatiently.

Hannah catches up to me. “Jeez, what is your problem this morning?”

“Nothing, I—” A revving motor cuts off my words, and I twist around to see what’s going on.

“Hey, watch out!” someone shouts.

A motorcycle zips past me so fast, I stumble backward and trip over Hannah’s feet. My scream blends with the backfire and turns into a cough as the breeze from the bike’s speed blows my hair into my mouth.

“Oh, my gosh! Isabelle, are you okay?” Hannah rests her hand on my arm, her eyes filled with concern.

My heart races. Adrenaline spikes through my veins. Getting run over is not how I want to start my senior year. I take a deep breath. “Yeah, I think so.” I take a quick mental inventory of all my limbs—nothing feels broken. I glance down at my body—nothing is bleeding. “I’m fine,” I say to reassure us both.

The motorcycle comes to a stop near the bike rack. The rider, dressed in all black from his leather jacket to his boots, swings a long leg over the seat, removes his helmet, and hangs it from the handlebar. Then, as if he’s the star of some cheesy romcom, he shakes his head, and his dark hair falls across his forehead like it was grown just for this moment. He drags his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. Green eyes, rich and lush as fresh cut grass, peek out at the crowd forming around him.

He’s tall, almost six feet I would guess, muscular, and hotter than any guy this school has ever seen. Is he a student? He’s in the student parking lot and wearing a backpack, so I assume he’s a student, but he could easily pass for a first-year teacher.

Hannah’s hand tightens around my arm. “Whoa,” she says—half whisper, half moan.

My thoughts exactly. But I don’t care how attractive he is—he nearly ran me over. He isn’t going to get away with it. I march up to him. “You’re not allowed to park there.”

He turns toward me, his gaze rolling down the length of my body. I stand perfectly still, despite the frantic racing of my heart.

He raises a single brow and points to the sign above the bike rack. “According to that, this is exactly where I’m supposed to park.” His voice is deep and smooth.

“That’s for bicycles. Not motorcycles.” I cross my arms, but the shudder I’m trying to suppress breaks free anyway, and my body trembles. He’s barely said a dozen words, but each one is spoken as if he’s stroking velvet—his voice simultaneously grating and satisfying.

“Are you the parking police?” he asks.

“No, I’m the girl you almost ran over.”

A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “Most people move out of the way when they hear a vehicle coming.”

I grit my teeth. “Most people don’t drive on the sidewalk.”

He takes a few steps toward me, and my heart attempts a violent prison break from my ribcage. And then he smiles—a full blown, bright-white, teeth-showing, dimple-laden smile. “Guess we both learned something new today, huh?”

Who does this guy think he is? He can’t run me over and then expect me to fall for his charm and perfect smile. This isn’t one of the romcoms I love to watch. Before I can formulate a response, he turns and walks away. What just happened? Did I imagine my near-death experience? All around me, students are talking and laughing and filing into the building as if some hottie on a motorcycle didn’t just about mow me down. Hannah’s the only person who seems to even know I exist.

With a sigh, I head back to my friend. “Can you believe him?” My tone is full of indignation.

“Was he flirting with you?”

“What? No.” I shake my head.

“It looked like he was flirting with you.”

I roll my eyes. “He wasn’t flirting.” Was he? “Even if he was, it doesn’t matter. I’m dating Cam, remember?”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums with total disbelief. “It’s a shame. Biker Boy is hot.” As we meander toward the main entrance, Hannah loops her arm through mine. “Did he apologize at least?”

I frown. “No.”

Inside, the buzz of excitement surrounding a new school year fills the halls. I can’t seem to get into the spirit, though. For the first time in my life, I’m on my own. Hannah’s the absolute best friend I could ever have, but she isn’t a Carson. There are things even best friends don’t know about each other, things that take a literal lifetime to learn. Grief presses in on me, but I refuse to let it crush me. Not here. Not now.

It’s a fight I can’t win, not when everything reminds me of him. Every face I see is a memory of life before, life with him. Deep down, I know they’re all looking at me, judging me, trying to figure out if I’m okay, and deciding I’m not. Poor Isabelle. How could they think anything else? My steps slow as the weight of it all settles heavy on my heart. How can I do this without him?

“There you are.” Cam squeezes between me and Hannah and drapes his arm around my shoulders. “I thought you were going to wait for me in the student parking lot.”

Shoot. “Yeah, sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. But don’t forget about me again, okay?” His tone is playful, but he can’t disguise his hurt feelings. At least he doesn’t ask how I’m doing. I’m tired of hearing that question and even more tired of answering with lies and fake smiles.

“It’s not her fault,” Hannah says. “She was almost run over.”

“What?” Cam says a little too loudly. He takes my hand and pulls me out of the crowd so we’re standing near a wall of lockers. “You were almost run over? Like, by a car?”

I shoot Hannah a why-did-you-have-to-say-anything look. Cam is a notorious worrier. Anytime anything upsets me, he morphs into hyper-attentive mode. We’ve been dating for almost ten months. The past four months have been rough, to say the least, but things are settling down. He’s finally starting to trust me when I say I’m okay, even if I don’t trust myself.

“No, a motorcycle,” Hannah answers for me.

“It’s no big deal. I’m fine, okay?” I squeeze Cam’s hand and smile reassuringly.

“Are you sure?” He studies me as if he doesn’t believe me. His dark brown eyes narrow, and his lips purse in concentration.

“Yes.” I nod and smile even harder. If I can convince people I’m not drowning in grief, then I should be able to convince Cam the incident with the motorcycle didn’t rattle me.

“Oh, goody. It’s the Jesus freak and her friends,” Brittany LaCroix says in a sing song voice. “Move. You’re in my way.”

I scowl, ready to say something equally snarky, but Cam pulls me away.

“Don’t,” he warns. “Pray for her. She needs it.” He says the last part loud enough for Brittany to hear, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

I heave out a frustrated breath. Cam’s the pastor’s son, and he does his earthly father—and our heavenly Father—proud every day with his grace and forgiveness. Me? I’m working to be as good as Cam, but some days are harder than others. Thankfully, God put Cam in my life to help me on my path. But Cam has no idea how awful Brit truly is, or how she singlehandedly ruined my life. If he did, he wouldn’t constantly tell me to let it go.

Cam rests his hands on my shoulders and bends his knees slightly, so he can peer into my eyes. “Don’t let her get to you. You’re above that.”

“I know.”

“Good. I’ll see you in chorus, right?”

I nod again. He stares a moment longer, and then he leaves. Normally, I love it when Cam looks at me like that, with concern and adoration, but this morning it’s unsettling. Nothing feels right this morning.

When Cam’s out of earshot, I turn to Hannah. “Did you have to tell him?”

She side-eyes me. “What’s the big deal?”

“You know how he worries.”

“Yeah, but you can’t lie to him. He’s going to find out eventually.” She turns the corner and maneuvers through the crowded senior hallway that’s adorned with flyers, motivational posters, and reminders to “make the most of your last year.”

Ugly green lockers line both walls, and my steps falter as I pass the locker decorated with flowers, posters, and ribbons that match our school colors. Behind the metal door is a haphazard, overflowing collection of stuffed animals and letters and pictures—a veritable shrine to a fallen student. Brandon Carson. My brother. I swallow the urge to cry and struggle to keep up with Hannah.

“Keeping it a secret isn’t lying,” I call after her.

“It’s just as bad,” she calls over her shoulder.

I grumble under my breath. She’s right. Lying and keeping secrets is never a good thing. My parents are living proof. I won’t turn out like them, too afraid of reality to address it. Maybe that’s why I got so mad at the motorcycle maniac. It wasn’t my responsibility to move out of his way. It was his responsibility to follow the rules of the road, to drive safely, to make sure he didn’t harm anyone. What if he does something like that again and actually hurts someone? Could I live with the knowledge that I knew what he was capable of and did nothing? He needs to be stopped. And I’m going to be the one to stop him.

“I’m here to see Principal Drake.” I hitch my backpack higher on my shoulder. Another year. Another new school. Another boring meeting with a principal who'll tell me all about my academic record—as if I don’t already know what classes I’ve taken or how many schools I’ve attended.

“Oh, yes.” The secretary smiles. “Principal Drake is currently with another student, but he should be finished any moment. Have a seat, and he’ll be right with you.”

“Thanks.” I lower myself into a stiff, cushioned chair. Blowing out a breath, I survey what I hope to be the last principal’s office waiting room of my high school career. The bulletin board to my right contains flyers for upcoming social events, club meetings, and play tryouts—all the stuff I’ve spent years avoiding because I know I won’t be in any one place long enough to join. All the stuff I wish I’d had the chance to do… student council, soccer, Spanish club. This school certainly has a lot of options, more than any other school I’ve attended. This office, though—I scan the room again, just to be sure. Yep, this office is exactly like every other high school administration office I’ve ever been in. I yawn and stretch my legs out in front of me.

A moment later, a tall man with thick glasses and a head full of dark hair comes out of the back office, followed by a female student.

“Thank you, Principal Drake.”

I straighten, my body suddenly on high alert. I know that voice.

“You’re welcome, Isabelle. I appreciate you stopping in.”

Sure enough, the girl from this morning steps out from behind Principal Drake. So, her name is Isabelle, huh? I’ll have to remember that. She tosses a glance at me, keeps walking, then stops to do a double take. Her long, reddishbrown hair frames her heartshaped face. Freckles dust her nose and cheeks, highlighting her fair complexion. I wait for her to scold me again, but she doesn’t. Giving me a smug smile, she leaves without uttering a word. Well, that’s disappointing.

“You must be Grayson Alexander.” Principal Drake extends his hand. “Nice to officially meet you.” His blue buttonup shirt stretches painfully across his thick midsection. I sure hope none of those buttons pop off during our meeting and take out my eye.

I stand and shake his hand. “You, too.”

“Come on back.”

I follow him into his office. He walks around behind his desk, sits, and nods at the empty chair across from him. “Please, sit.” When I do, he clears his throat and flips open a folder. “It says here you were a straight A student at your previous school.” He looks up at me as if he’s waiting for an answer.

“Yes, sir,” I say.

His desk is impeccably clean and organized. Even his pens are sorted by color and brand into various holders. “You weren’t involved in any sports or extracurricular activities.” He pauses. “You’ve taken three full years of Spanish?”

“Yes, sir.”

Looking up again, he grins. “has created a Senior Spanish class for students who have taken at least two years of Spanish and want to pursue fluency in the language. She has room for one more student. Would you be interested?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Sitting up straight, I slide my palms along the wooden armrests. Spanish is a cake class, and it will be an easy A.

He flips the folder closed, leans back in his chair, and folds his hands on his protruding stomach.

“I’ll have Miss Delilah adjust your schedule, so you can take Senior Spanish.”

“Thank you.” So far, this is the only good thing going for me today.

He picks up the phone and instructs the secretary to alter my schedule. When he’s finished, he turns his attention back to me. “Now, I know you’ve been to a lot of schools, and your records show you’ve never had any behavioral issues.” He clears his throat again and leans forward. “I hope that will be the case here, too.”

“Of course.”

“Good. Then that little incident on the sidewalk this morning was just a fluke, right?” He raises his eyebrows and gives me a stern look.

I tilt my head in momentary confusion. The sidewalk? And then it clicks—almost hitting Isabelle. I cringe. “Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“I take student safety very seriously.” He opens his top drawer and pulls out a folded map of the school. He hands it to me. “All motorized vehicles must be parked in the designated student parking lot.”

“Will do.” I clutch the map tightly. I cannot believe she told on me!

“Very well, then. You’re already late to class, so I won’t keep you any longer.” Principal Drake stands and escorts me out of his office. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to stop back in.”

“Thanks.” I give him a fake salute that would make my father roll his eyes.

“Here’s your revised schedule.” Miss Delilah holds out a sheet of paper. “And a late pass.”

I take them both and thank her. As soon as I leave the office, I find the nearest trashcan and toss the map into it. I head to the second floor and come to a skidding stop. There, a few feet away, stands Isabelle. She’s hunched over in front of an open locker that’s decorated like a shrine. Papers, pictures, and small stuffed animals are scattered around her feet. She momentarily stops rummaging through the locker and rests her head against the door.

She appears…sad? I hesitate but then approach. She can’t tattle on me and expect me to feel sorry for her. “You told the principal on me. What are you, five?”

She whips around and glares at me. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Don’t be mad at me because you’re a lunatic who tries to run people over. Really, you should be thanking me.” She shoves a couple items into her backpack so fast I can’t tell what they are and then proceeds to shove all the stuff on the floor into the locker as quickly as possible.

I lean against the neighboring locker and cross my arms. “Thanking you? Oh, this is going to be good.”

“Yes, thanking me.” She smiles sweetly—all the emotion from a moment ago is gone—and that single action steals my breath. “If I hadn’t told on you, you would’ve eventually run someone over and killed them.” She slams the locker closed, and a white carnation falls to the floor. “And if you’d killed someone, you’d have gone to jail. I saved you from rotting away in prison.” Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she adds, “You’re welcome.” Then she walks away in the opposite direction.

I move to go after her but notice a book lying on the floor. I scoop it up and read the title. Holy Bible. I whip my head around. Did anyone else see the title? Can they guess by looking? Do people even care about Bibles in schools in this part of the country? In my last school, a teacher was fired for giving a student a Bible and encouraging him to read it. He sued the district, but I moved before it was resolved.

I jog to catch up with Isabelle. “Hey, you dropped this.”

She eyes the Bible, as if unsure where it came from.

“You really don’t strike me as a Bible thumper,” I say. Not that I’m complaining. It’s nice to know there’s someone else here who believes in God.

“I’m not.” She snatches the book from my hand.

“No?” I raise a brow, challenging her. “Then why are you carrying around a Bible?”

“That’s really none of your business.”

“People don’t carry around Bibles unless they’re trying to spread the good word.” I smirk.

“Don’t be a jerk.”

“Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven. Luke 6:37.”

She takes a small step back. “You know scripture?”

“I know a lot of things,” I say, pleased with how I’ve managed to shock her.

“Except how to drive.”

I let out a surprised laugh, and she responds with a smile—a genuine one that makes my heart race in a way I’ve never felt before.

She hugs the Bible to her chest. “It’s my brother’s, okay?” Her voice dips with sadness and a hint of gratitude.

“Oh. Okay.” A wave of disappointment hits me. I’m glad she’s thankful to me instead of screaming at me, but is she not a believer herself? Why didn’t she just tell me that in the first place? Is that locker back there her brother’s? I want to ask, but she speaks before I can.

“I’d say this has been fun, but lying is a sin, so…” She shifts on her feet.

“I believe lying about lying is a sin, too. Admit it, this has been more fun than you’ve had in a long time.”

“You wish,” she mutters and then takes off down the hall again.

I glance down at my schedule then at the nearest classroom door. I’m in the right hallway. In a couple long strides, I’m by her side.

“I am sorry about this morning,” I say, hoping she won’t blow me off completely. I don’t know anyone here except her, so I’m kind of at her mercy.

“Thank you. Confessing sin is the first step toward redemption.” She takes a few more steps and then stops outside room 247. “I hope I didn’t get you into too much trouble with Principal Drake.”

“Nah.” I wave my hand dismissively. “He just gave me a warning.”

“Well, this is my class.”

I look down at my schedule once more and grin. “Mine, too.”

“No way.” She takes my schedule and studies it. “You’re seriously taking Senior Spanish?”

“Yep.” And I’ve never been happier about anything.

She thrusts my schedule back into my hand. Without another word, she yanks open the door and walks in. I follow.

A tall, thin woman greets us. “Ah.” She claps her hands. “ Carson. Bienvenido.”

“Hola, .” Isabelle hands over her late pass and sits at the only empty table.

The teacher turns to me. Everything about her demeanor is vibrant, and she’s young, too, probably in her twenties. “And you must be my newest student. Grayson Alexander, yes? Principal Drake called to let me know you’d be joining us.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I hand her my late pass. The administration here doesn’t waste any time, do they?

“Bienvenido.” She smiles. “Please, take a seat next to Carson.”

This day is starting to get better. I make my way toward Isabelle, and only then that I notice how small the room is. Six tables dot the small space, each only large enough for two students. I drop my bag onto the floor and slide into the chair beside Isabelle.

“All right.” sits on top of her desk and crosses her legs. “Welcome to Senior Spanish. Let me repeat that—welcome to Senior Spanish.” She pauses for a brief moment. “This isn’t an English class, so today is the only day I will speak English. By now, you all should have basic conversational proficiency in the Spanish language, so starting tomorrow, the moment you walk into this room, I expect to hear only Spanish. Understood?”

Everyone nods.

“Bien. Now, because this is an advanced class, we are going to fully immerse ourselves in the Spanish language and culture.” She grabs a stack of papers and hops off the desk. “As you can see, I’ve seated you in pairs. Please say hello to your partners.” She hands each of us a paper.

It’s written completely in Spanish. I read through it, and I can’t stop the smile from forming. Beside me, Isabelle drops her head onto her folded arms, and I hear a small groan. She may not like what this says, but I sure do.

“This project”— waves the paper in the air—“will be seventy-five percent of your final grade.”

Isabelle lifts her head and smooths her hands over her hair. But she doesn’t look at me.

“Together with your partner, you will pick a Spanishspeaking place—I don’t care if it’s a city or entire country—and you’ll present it to the class at the end of the year.” She looks down at her notes. “The more creative, the better your grade. Be aware of the requirements, though. I expect everyone to prepare a meal unique to your chosen location. I’ve already reserved time in the culinary room for you to use if needed.”

She returns to sit on top of her desk. “I’ve also reserved the gym so we can all practice a traditional Spanish dance.”

A collective groan ripples through the room.

holds up her hand to silence us. “My goal with this project is to make you fall in love with the Spanish culture. To make you want to visit the place you research. To make us feel like we’re actually there.” She clears her throat. “So, I’ll have no complaining. We will all learn the dance. Each pair can put their own unique flair to it, but it will need to be performed during your presentation. No exceptions.”

I’m not a professional dancer, but I’m not terrible, either. I slice a look at Isabelle. And knowing she’s my partner? This is officially my favorite class.