Authors: Emily Evans
Whenever-kobo
WHENEVER
A Time Travel Romance
By
Emily Evans
Whenever
Copyright August 2013 by Emily Evans
Formatted by
IRONHORSE Formatting
Kobo Edition
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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[1. Fiction. 2. Romance. 3. Young Adult. 4. Time Travel]
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Jennifer & Gail at MJG Literary. I value the support.
Thanks to Tracy Seybold for the edit. I appreciate it.
Thanks to Ailsa Campbell for the proofread.
Thanks to Michelle for the copy edit.
Thanks to Joellen for the push.
Thanks to Megan, Barbie, Stacy, Teresa, and Veronica for listening.
Thanks for the location descriptions, Darlene and Heather.
Thanks for the lesson, Rachel.
Thanks to Hayley for the name.
Thanks for the title help, Aunt Bettie and Uncle Rudy.
Thanks! You’re awesome: Brennan, Joseph, Mishann, Wayne, Jeff, Trevor, & Dad.
Thanks for the brainstorming, Mom.
Table of Contents
TRALLWYN HIGH DRAGON SCOOP
Got plans Saturday? How about watching the Academic Decathlon being held here at THS?
No?
We’re hosting Trallwyn Prep. Don’t you want to see our seniors (Hayley, Rhys, & Austin) kick some privileged Trallwyn Prep butts?
Not really?
Well, here’s a little extra incentive. Trallwyn Prep’s bringing a prince. That’s right, Dragons! Practice those curtseys, because the Prince of Ireland is coming to Trallwyn, Texas.
Date: September 13
th
Time: 3 p.m.
Place: THS Auditorium
Trallwyn High Seniors:
Hayley Ainslie McLaren, Austin Tyler Johnson & Rhys Zukowski
Face off against Trallwyn Prep’s senior team:
Lisette Chloe Evreux & Christian Wentworth
Special Guest: Prince Callum Morrigan Cétchathach
Moderated by Special Guest: Sean Cétchathach
“When the limo gets here, go down and greet the prince,” Austin said, reminding me of my one duty, like we hadn’t rehearsed three times this week.
“I know.” I raised my voice to be heard over the students lining up to our right. When Mom and Dad had dropped me off an hour before, I’d thought the ten local deputies managing the crowd were overkill, but the number of academic decathlon onlookers had increased to the size of a Friday night football crowd. Any more showed up and we’d have to move the event from the auditorium to the stadium.
Austin checked the time on his cell phone. “Trallwyn Prep should have been here by now. Rhys and I should be showing them to their seats.” He stared at the locked entry to the school commons. “Who’s got the keys?”
Rhys jiggled the handle, and his eyes glinted like he planned to force the lock. I pointed to the principal, who was encouraging three particularly eager freshman girls to stay behind the ropes. “He’s coming.”
The principal shook his head at the freshmen’s matching pink T-shirts, which showed a blown-up image of the prince’s face. Using his cane, he depressed the ropes in front of them as if testing their strength. He’d had several students move the posts around and run more lines as the crowd grew. He seemed entirely too interested in the ropes. I bet we’d see ropes at more functions in the future, if not in the hallways.
After giving the containment rope one more jab, the principal moved over to us. He tapped the ground at my feet with his cane. “You know what to do when the prince gets here, right, Hayley?”
I nodded. “Say
hi
. Offer the prince a drink. Show him to a seat.”
The principal arched a bushy black eyebrow. “And?”
I held up the bouquet of yellow roses mixed with two silk bluebonnets. I tightened my fingers on the Texas-flag colored paper they were wrapped in, and my face heated. “And give him flowers.”
Rhys snickered. “He’s still a dude, right?”
The principal snapped his walking stick against his palm. “It’s common practice to present royalty with flowers.”
A competitive light flickered in Austin’s pale blue eyes. “Why Hayley again?”
“Because she’s a girl,” Rhys said. “Do you want to give the dude flowers?”
A curse preceded Austin’s, “No.”
Standing between the jock Austin and bad boy Rhys, I felt pretty girly. I breathed in the yellow roses. “
Is
it because I’m a girl?”
“Stop questioning everything.” The principal gestured at Austin’s cowboy boots. “Austin’s too—”
Austin hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and tilted his chin.
The principal didn’t finish his sentence and looked at Rhys. “And Rhys is too—”
Rhys stared back at him with hardness in his green eyes and a slight frown.
“Too…” The principal shuddered and didn’t finish that sentence either. “Just do it, Hayley. This decathlon’s mostly a press stunt, but some very important people will be here.”
One of the freshman girls shouted, “I see something.”
A town car pulled up in front of the school. The crowd hushed and a tall blond guy got out.
One of the freshman girls said, with sharp disappointment, “Not him.” She pointed to the picture on her T-shirt. “Prince Callum has dark hair.”
Her friend popped her bubble gum, and spoke through the pink strands. “That’s Christian Wentworth. The senator’s son.”
The other girl made an “o” with her mouth and leaned into the ropes to get a better look at the first of Trallwyn Prep’s competitors to arrive.
Christian strode straight up to the crowd. Leaning in to shake hands, he focused mainly on the girls, which was easy because the audience mainly consisted of girls.
Austin blew out a breath and rolled his shoulders. “Christian’s working the crowds. They’re totally going to root for him at the event. We should do that.”
A lean girl our age ducked under the rope, struggling with a large tote, and came over to us. “Sorry. I thought I was supposed to wait over there.” She blew her blonde curls out of her face. “I’m Lisette from Trallwyn Prep.” Her tote read,
Evreux Restaurants
and had a picture of a small dining table in front of the Eiffel Tower. “I’m one of the six. The six hurricane babies competing at the decathlon today.” She put the bag at her feet, offered her hand, and we all shook it.
Her words were scattered, but we all knew what she meant. This decathlon event was billed as Trallwyn High versus Trallwyn Prep, but it was really a publicity stunt for the visiting prince of Ireland. The Irish royal family had special ties to Trallwyn, Texas. Seventeen years ago, the Queen had been put on early, maternity bed rest during a royal tour of America. Specifically, she’d been on a promotion stop in Texas at the time. To add to the drama, she went into labor the week Hurricane Doris blew through. So the first Irish prince of the new Cétchathach dynasty had ironically been born on American soil. Seventeen years later, a group of us, who were also born that week at Trallwyn Hospital, got invited to this event. The press release nicknamed us the Hurricane Six for purposes of the media coverage, though we weren’t the only babies born that week.
One of the freshmen screamed, “I see him.”
Sun sparkled off a black limo led by two motorcycle cops with flashing lights. The motorcade crawled off Quinn Street and onto the private drive in front of our school.
“We better get moving.” The principal unlocked the door and held it open, letting a gust of air-conditioning blow out. “Start getting set up. You’ll meet the prince inside.”
Lisette lifted her tote and moved for the entrance.
“Let me get that,” Austin said, taking the straps from her.
I moved to follow them, and the principal said, “Not you, Hayley.” He put the back of his hand to his flushed forehead. “You’re supposed to greet the prince. Say hi, offer him some water.” He nodded to Austin, who was shouldering Lisette’s tote. “Carry his attaché case.”
Rhys snorted. “Handmaiden.” He pointed to three freshman girls who were diving under the rope. They ran toward the limo. “You’ve got competition.”
The principal made a strangled noise and struck out down the sidewalk. Rhys went inside, ignoring the fact that he was supposed to escort Christian, and let the door shut behind him.
“Hurry up, Hayley,” the principal said over his shoulder.
The limo stilled and the freshman girls threw themselves against it like sticky-hand toys. One placed her lips on the blacked-out back window and yelled, “Welcome to Texas, Prince Callum.” Her lipstick smeared on the glass with each syllable.
Her curvier friend raised her T-shirt and pressed her Victoria’s Secret bra against another window.
The third girl scrambled onto the trunk and laid out flat on top of the car. She positioned her phone over the moon roof.
The cops didn’t move from their bikes. I guess they didn’t see the freshmen as much of a threat.
The passenger door opened and a tall lean man wearing a dark suit, sunglasses and an earpiece got out. He held out his arms. “Back away from the car.” He had a heavy Irish accent and his firm words made the first girl back up a step and the second lower her T-shirt. “Neither Prince Callum nor his cousin Sean will exit the vehicle until everyone is at least ten meters away.”
The principal raised his cane and rapped on the shoe of the freshman on the roof. “Get off there.” She didn’t move. The principal said, “Anyone not behind those ropes in the next minute will not get in to today’s event.”
The moon roof girl shimmied down and ran to her friends. They backed away, their arms linked, the middle girl visibly shaking. “Prince Callum.” Her voice came out half-whisper half-plea.
The principal muttered below his breath and kept an eye on them until they were corralled with the other spectators.
I shot off a text to my parents.
Crowds getting big. Better hurry.
They’d done a fast-food run after dropping me off. We ate lunch before we left, but my parents liked to keep my brothers occupied. Limiting the time the hyper-active ten-year old twins James and Van had to wait in a line was always a good idea.
The principal eyed my phone and held out his hand. “Not during school.”
Technically we weren’t even in the school yet. I tightened my grip. He tapped his cane, and I handed it over as the back door of the limo opened.
The crowd got louder and a shorter man dressed the same as the bodyguard came out and moved into position, flanking the open car door.
A platinum blond guy, about my age, slid out next. Sean Cétchathach, the cousin who’d moderate the Q&A portion of the event.