“Mr. Galante,” she chirps. “Kindly relieve yourself of Miss Sinclair and come to my desk.”
Fuck.
Sweedish is a young, blonde hottie, but she’s strict as hell. Stricter than she has to be, just to let us know she has a PhD and means business. When I get to her desk, her gaze flies up and down me as her pink lips flatten.
“We need a new desk for LaShaun Kinsey, your classmate whose desk is squeaking in a way that I find most displeasing. I’ll let you walk to the athletic wing and fetch one from the supply closet. Closet C. Whatever you do,” she adds primly, “don’t hit yourself again in the eye. That looks awful.”
I let out a breath and nod. “Okay, Dr. Sweedish.”
“Oh, and from this point forward,” she calls after me, “keep your hands and your body to yourself, or you’ll be written up.”
I stop for a second in the hall and rub my temple. Fuck, my eye is throbbing. Hell of a time to get asked to haul a desk halfway across the school. But I know it’s my fault, sort of. Last week, Sweedish passed me in the hall when Lana Greene had her arms around my neck. Maybe around my waist; I don’t remember. Lana’s always like that, and it doesn’t mean a thing to her. But I guess Sweedish thinks I’m—what? Threatening the chastity of the student body? Like there is any.
I shake my head as I start walking. I’m probably the only guy in this school who isn’t prowling for pussy. Not for lack of wanting. Just—there are reasons.
Of course, now that I’m thinking of pussy, those reasons seems less convincing. Especially when I start thinking of her again: Elise O’Hara. She was so damn fast this morning, I didn’t really even get a chance to enjoy the view. Not even her face, which was turned toward me and away so quickly, I’m not even sure it happened.
I do remember the stuffed bear, though.
Maybe she was embarrassed? I haven’t had a stuffed animal since like first grade.
I close my black eye about halfway to the athletic wing because the sunlight streaming through the horizontal windows hurts. Everything looks weird with only one eye.
Thinking about the black eye gets me thinking about last night, and that makes me feel weird and sort of drifty. I don’t like the drifty feeling. And so, again, I try to think about Elise O’Hara. Elise and her stuffed bear.
I think about the first time I ever saw her, on my first day at MM—the first day of last year, my junior year. She was wearing a dress and some kind of strappy sandals, walking right in front of me as I headed to the office to check in. And I could smell her. It’s so fucking weird. So animal. But that’s what caught my attention, and then her body did, and later I found out her name when we had history together.
I didn’t see her much in that class because as a “G,” I was at the front of a row of desks, and as an “O,” she was always behind me. But I could hear her when she answered questions.
Thinking of that sultry voice—something hits me. This summer, when I was catering a thing, I followed this girl up some stairs, into a bedroom—and it was her. Holy shit, that was Elise O’Hara. I stop mid-stride, stunned at the realization.
It makes sense, though. I rub my forehead, remembering how good this girl smelled at the wedding reception. She was beautiful and smart…like I remember I felt like I should protect her, but also, I could tell she wasn’t weak. I close my eyes, imagining her mouth and cheeks as she stood by those bookshelves. It was her.
I was right behind her, kneeling behind a wooden board thing, when I heard some Mafioso give my dad a stern warning. My dad who shouldn’t have been there at all.
I pack that part away and replay how I felt with her back pressed to my chest. Then I shake my head. All this shit is pretty weird. I’ve never thought about anybody this much, especially some girl I don’t really know.
I try to push her out of my head, and to help, I look for colors, like my old school told us to do. Check if there is any blue, or green, or red, or gray around, and find all of that color. It helps calm you down.
I’m feeling better as I swing a left into the hall that leads to the athletic wing. I’ve still got Elise on my mind, but sort of in the background.
Until I hear her voice.
Sheesh. I must not be— No. There it is again. That is her voice.
I stop to figure out where it’s coming from.
The hall is empty. I sweep my gaze down the dark purple tile, over the rows of gold athletic lockers. Mine’s not on this hall because of when I transferred in, but I don’t give a shit about what kind of locker I have.
“I said no, Bruce!”
Every atom in my body freezes as my eyes fix on the right side of the hall, where there’s a girls’ bathroom. I hear deep, male laughter. It’s the jeering kind, I realize as I step a little closer. “Just offering to help, since you helped me.”
“And me,” another male voice says.
I double check the restroom’s sign: Girls.
“I didn’t help you, no I didn’t. You two copied my test.” There’s a little breathless pause, and then her voice comes louder, harder. “Which, by the way, makes no sense because you’ll have to learn calculus at some point, but it’s also completely unfair to other people in the class who are struggling. Dr. Birkenmeyer scales our grades. You’re making other people’s grades worse when you get high scores like I do.”
Someone chuckles. “So then you’re part of the problem, too, Elise. Isn’t that how it works?”
“Well, no. Because I’m not cheating.”
“Not cheating, but sneaking around. What class are you skipping, O’Hara?”
“I don’t have a class.” She sighs, a little huff. “I’m an aide this period. For the assistant principal.”
“Does she know you’re in here?”
“No, but I’m sure she’d care much more that you two are.”
“We’ve got track. Coach Burns doesn’t give a shit.”
“This is the ladies’ room. You two should go.”
I step closer to the door as one guy chuckles. “What, you don’t like us in here? We both know you’re wet for Rainer.”
“Ewww, gross,” she says. “You two need to leave. Like right now. Really.” Her voice seems a pitch too high on that word.
“Or what?” I can fucking hear that asswipe leering.
And suddenly, I’m shoving through the bathroom door. I spot Elise between two porcelain sinks, holding that stuffed panda she dropped earlier this morning.
Bill Rainer and some prick I don’t know are right up on her, blocking her exit. Elise’s eyes are wide, her pretty mouth a small, alarmed “o.” Her eyes flare wider when her gaze collides with mine.
“Elise…” I say her name like we’re old friends as I stride toward her. I knock Rainer’s shoulder with mine, and the fucker has the sense to step aside.
“Hey.” My voice is soft—a cue. Our gazes lock again before I wrap a careful arm around her lower back. “Hey, E. Everything okay in here?”
I can see her puzzling things out. Then her eyes meet mine again, and her lips flatten. For just a second, she looks wounded, like a girl who’s asking for help. Then her whole face hardens, and she throws a glare over my shoulder.