A coming of age love story of betrayal, suspense, and ultimate renewal
Barnes & Noble.com
Raised in a small Pennsylvania town, Jill and Blake seem the unlikeliest match of all. He is a star athlete, but as an oversized football lineman, he is self-conscious about his weight. She’s a thrill seeking acrobat and gymnast, a tomboy who prefers computers to boys. Allison, on the other hand, seems to have it all: beauty, brains, talent, and ambition, but epileptic seizures scramble her life and her vulnerabilities. All three are affected by a treachery breathtaking in its audacity and shattering in its impact. Can any love withstand a betrayal perfectly fashioned to destroy it? Pocket Piece Cameo is a coming of age story that tests the limits of love’s resilience, of loyalty to a promise, of the distance that love can travel, and the worst that it can recover from.
Soon he had her laughing over the contrast of his coming to Penn: from being the largest member of his small class at Hanover, usually too large to sit comfortably at his school desk, to being the smallest lineman on the Penn starting lineup.
Later he walked her to the lobby of her high rise dorm, and she thanked him for dinner and the interview.
“May I see you, again?” he asked.
“You mean socially, as a date?”
“But I don’t date. You know from our discussions the reason why.”
“I do. But I was hoping you’d make an exception.”
“I…I’m sorry,” she said, immediately regretting the words.
He smiled, nodded, lowered his eyes shyly, and turned to go.
“On the other hand,” she said hastily, just as he reached the door. He stopped and turned back, his smile hopeful. “On the other hand,” she repeated, her tone more composed, “we could see each other as friends, continue our discussions.”
He stepped forward a pace as though ready to agree, but then he paused, and the light in his composure seemed to dim.
“Allison,” he said softly, “you’re beautiful and you take my breath away. I couldn’t pretend otherwise. And I wouldn’t want to take you out under false pretenses. Thanks for tonight.”
He was through the second set of glass doors before she realized that her jaw had gone slack and that her face was reddening. She watched his figure become indistinct in the night, then she was through the doors herself, calling his name once, then again, louder.
She saw him stop, turn, and walk back to her. This was crazy what she was doing. What would she say to him?
“I enjoyed our discussion tonight,” she said, as though his just previous declaration had not occurred. “And I would like to see you again.”
“I’d like that too,” he said, playing his part perfectly by not adding anything or asking for explanations.
“What is good for you?” she asked, now that she felt safe to proceed.
“How about Saturday night? Dinner out?”
“I can’t this weekend, but I can the next.”
“That’s good for me as well, since we have Columbia at home.”
They set a time, exchanged phone numbers, and then he was off again, walking east under the big arching pipe sculpture that was near her dorm. She stood and watched him go, his form receding, still feeling amazed, wondering at the outcome of things now set in motion. Fortunately, he did not look back and see her standing there, puzzling over her feelings. She watched him stride up the incline of the Locust Walk foot bridge over Thirty-eighth Street, reach its summit, then disappear down the other side.