All through class I try to think of something to say so Aubrey won’t hunt me down at lunch. It’s not that I don’t like him, but if he’s trying to make friends, I’m not the best person to start off with. I remember he asked about acting and sports, so as soon as class is over, I tell him, “Some guys back in elementary school played tag football on the field at lunch. I bet they do that here.”
“I’m not really into football.”
“Oh. Um, well, they probably play pickup basketball games over—”
“Naw,” he cuts me off. “I’m not that into that.”
“Okay. There’s probably like a drama club or something that maybe meets at lunch.”
“Drama isn’t my thing. But boy, if there’s a debate team? That I would be all over.”
“Debate?” The only thing I know about debating is when there’s an election and Mama and Gee will watch the candidates debate the issues. It’s super boring.
“Yeah! I was really into that in Chicago. We went to competitions and stuff.”
“Oh, um . . .” I try to remember the word Aubrey used. “That’s swack.”
Aubrey’s mouth pinches like he’s trying to hold back a laugh, so I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten the word wrong, but he doesn’t say anything, just looks at me. I want to ask him what he sees when he looks at me, but that would be a really dumb thing to ask, so I don’t. He stares so long, I think maybe I accidentally disappeared.
A girl from elementary, Beth Hashimoto, bumps into me with her backpack, like I’m not even there, making me stumble forward.
Aubrey puts his arm up to brace me so I don’t fall.
Beth adjusts her backpack, and I think for a second she might say sorry, or hi, or to watch out, but she just fixes her hair behind her ears, looks right through me, and continues down the hall. I watch her for a moment and then realize Aubrey is still staring at me.
I’m going to be late to my next class, but it seems wrong to walk away without either of us saying anything, so finally I say, “What?”
He gets that big old grin of his, making even his eyes look like they’re laughing. “Hah! Made you talk! And it’s sway!”
This boy is a goofball with a capital G. And shaking my head, I march off to class.
It’s not until I’m sitting in my next class that I realize I didn’t make sure he sits with someone else at lunch instead of me.
So of course he shows up in my spot again. I probably should’ve sat somewhere else, but this is a good spot, and it’s mine, and I did sort of wonder if he’d come over even after I gave him some hints on where else he could sit.
And as soon as he settles in with his lunch, he starts up with questions.
“What do you think the deal is with Astrid’s ghosts? Like how many are there, and where do they come from?” he asks. “Do you think she’s secretly a vampire and the ghosts are people she drained?”
“Oh, I never thought of that. Maybe that’s why she’s immortal! That would be so cool if she was a vampire!” I shove grapes into my mouth to keep more words from coming out. I almost used as many exclamation points as Aubrey, and that is not how I like to talk.
“We should write an origin story. You can write it, and I’ll do the drawings!”
I’m shocked by Aubrey’s suggestion. It seems like such a . . . friend thing to do together, and we aren’t friends.
“Maybe,” I say.
On the way to English, Aubrey talks so loud that people turn to look at us and I want to disappear. I don’t understand why his volume is always set so high.
Mr. Humphries starts talking about themes in the books we’ll be reading and how friendship is a common one. Aubrey says right out loud, “Like us, right, Jenae?” and my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
Maybe he loves attention, but I sure don’t, and so once I’m done with sixth period, I hustle out of class and jam down the street, because I don’t want a repeat of yesterday with Aubrey calling my name and throwing all sorts of attention my way. My shoulders are up near my ears, and I keep expecting to hear him yelling, but thankfully, he doesn’t.
When I get home, Malcolm is on the couch attached to his knee-bender machine. It’s not really called that, but that’s what it does. It moves his leg slowly up and down, bending his knee over and over. I hate seeing him using it, like he can’t move his leg by himself.
He has earbuds in and is bobbing his head to a song, so I just wave at him. He gives me a half smile, and I head to my room.
Before I start homework, I take out my phone and look at Astrid Dane’s number. I wish I could really call her. On the show, Astrid has a cell phone but she never calls anybody, she just uses it to google stuff and take selfies. She’s sort of addicted to selfies.
I hold my phone out and take a selfie. My first one. The vest I made is hanging in my closet. I grab it and put it on, then sling my clock bag over my shoulder and take some more, acting like I’m cool like Astrid, and that’s when my door opens.
“Dude,” Malcolm says, “you are seriously tripping.”
Right behind Malcolm is Aubrey.
No way. No way is this flaming-hot-Cheeto-hair boy up here in my room.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, letting my bag slide off my shoulder and onto the floor. “How do you know where I live?”
Aubrey’s so fair, it’s easy to see the blush exploding all over his face like a bucket of red paint got tipped over his head. It makes his freckles stand out even more. “I sort of . . . followed you?” He glances over at Malcolm, and I’m sure Aubrey’s thinking that following a girl home is at the top of things her big brother might beat him up for.
He followed me? That’s creepy. I look over at Malcolm, and right at that moment, I wouldn’t mind if Malcolm did beat Aubrey up. Not one bit.
Malcolm’s eyes go cold, and he looks back and forth between me and Aubrey. “Hold up, you do know this dude, right?” Malcolm asks me, and I only hesitate a second before nodding.
“He’s cool?” Malcolm asks, and at first I don’t answer, because I don’t know if Aubrey is cool or not, but with a sigh, I nod again.
“All right, then,” Malcolm says. He turns to Aubrey. “’Cause following a girl home, dude? Following anybody home? Not cool. Not cool at all. You hear me? That’s some creeper mess. Haven’t you heard of Me Too?”
Aubrey nods fast, his eyes going extra wide. “It wasn’t like that. I swear!”
Malcolm looks at me again, and I give him a little smile, letting him know I’m okay. “Cool.” He turns and crutches away. “Leave your door open,” he throws over his shoulder, and my cheeks burn.
As soon as Malcolm is out of earshot, Aubrey starts talking really fast at me. “I wasn’t following at first! You were just going the same way I was going, and it was sort of fun once I knew you didn’t know I was behind you.”
I stare stonily at him, and his smile slips a little.
“I was being a spy, you know? Like Astrid?”
If he thought mentioning Astrid Dane was going to make me think this was okay, he’s absolutely wrong. “You can’t just follow people.”