Pure Red Read Online Free Page A

feel compelled to catch a glimpse of the butt’s owner, so I inch closer. Then closer.
    We’re almost standing side by side now. Without turning my head, I check out the rest of the goods. He has spiky blond hair and is wearing cargo pants and an orange (energy, power, and strength) Ron Jon T-shirt. Orange, the color of basketballs, Mars, and jack-o’-lanterns, cannot survive without red. He looks about my age. I hope. And he’s tall, too, over six feet. Bonus! Kids never come here alone, though. With my luck, he’s the son of Mrs. Murble.
    He’s not moving. I wonder if he’s interested in the painting in general or just the lady in the bikini. But who am I to talk? I’m staring at his butt.
    “What do you think of this painting?” Cute Butt asks. He speaks! Sexy voice, too.
    I can’t praise Dad’s work. Isn’t that bragging? I return the question. “What do you think?”
    He cocks his head to the side like he’s thinking. Really thinking. “I love the realism and use of shading. They bring out the lady’s emotions.”
    Interesting viewpoint. I would’ve commented on Dad’s brilli ant use of colors; all the reviewers usually do.
    “Yeah, this is my favorite of Dad’s paintings.” Oops, did I say that aloud?
    “Jacques Bernard is your dad?” Cute Butt’s emerald-green eyes double in size. He stares at me with the same amount of intensity that he stared at the painting. I feel the heat rise to my face like a 100-watt light bulb overpowering a small room. If you look closely, the lamp has a caution sticker on the top of the base— Bulb not to exceed 60 watts . I hope I don’t explode.
    “Um, yeah.” I back up a bit.
    “Graham Hadley. Nice to me you.” He holds out his hand. Phew, he didn’t say Murble.
    I extend my hand, uncurl my fingers, and watch as a handful of crumbs fall to the ground like confetti. Most of them land on Graham’s black-and-white-checked Vans.
    “Happy Birthday?” I laugh, nervously.
    Graham grins. “Are those cracker crumbs?”
    “Yup.” I squat down to try and scoop up as much as I can.
    “Working on some kind of multimedia project?” he asks.
    He can’t be serious. But he kneels down to help me save the poor old crumbs. He’s collecting the few that still cling to his shoes. I look at his face. It’s unchanged. He is serious. Oh, now I feel bad.
    “Not exactly.” I bite my lip.
    “Oh, it’s more secretive than that.” He winks.
    “Right. I’m Cassia, by the way.” We both stand up and I hold out my hand. Graham combines his crumbs with mine. I really don’t know what to do with them, so I shove them into my pocket.
    “Cassia. Cool name. So original.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Do you go to Dolphin High? I think I’ve seen you before,” Graham says.
    He’s seen little old me before? “Yeah. I’m going to be a junior.”
    “Me too.”
    I can’t believe I’ve never noticed a guy this cute at school, one who actually knows a thing or two about art. Sure, my school social events are limited, but I’m still surprised that I haven’t even gawked at him before.
    “Thanks for you help,” I say.
    Graham arches his back. He’s broad and muscular, making my knees quiver. “My pleasure, Lady in Red.”
    Me in my red tank top and now flushed-red face? Or the painting?
    I cannot move. I cannot speak. I reach out my hand to grab a chair, anything for support, but there’s nothing there so I clutch the air that stands between us.
    “Can you introduce me to your dad?” Graham asks.
    Figures. I finally meet a hot guy, and he wants to meet my dad.

fertile green
    I walk Graham over to Dad. He stands there, mouth hanging open, like Dad’s a superhero. We’re talking about the guy who sticks his finger in the tub of hummus and sings sappy French love songs in the shower. But Graham shakes Dad’s hand, stares at him, and tells him how he’s always admired his work. So while I was watching Scooby Doo and playing with my Polly Pockets, Graham was soaking in