I wonder how many sleepover requests I’ll get now that I’m “the girl who told off Ava Pryor.” Maybe it was a deterrent for others. Though, judging by the fact I’m now walking through the halls of Public with not just one, but three other people, I can’t deny that calling Ava a dick had some sort of quantum effect.
“So, where did you move here from?” Naomi, my first friend from the party, asks.
Abby laughs hard enough to spit out her iced latte. Her mom runs a coffee shop so we start every morning there. Even when I went to a different school, we both got up thirty minutes early to have our coffee talk time.
“You’ve known each other since fourth grade, when you moved here, Naomi,” Abby says. She and I glance at each other with crooked smiles while Naomi literally stops in her tracks.
“We had the same homeroom freshman year,” I add through a crooked smile. I shrug on the outside, but the truth is I only figured that out last night when I looked them both up in my freshman yearbook.
“I recognized her,” Lola brags, tipping her head back as she pours the crumbs from her granola packet into her mouth. It’s hard to tell whether she’s bluffing or not. Lola has a certain cockiness about her, an appealing kind. I don’t know her well enough yet, but when I do, I’ll tell her she looks just like the girl from Clueless.
“I have to check in with the office,” I announce at the sound of the first bell. I accept the awkward side-hug-squeeze from Abby. She’s pushing the envelope today on the dress code. It’s not so much the length of her shorts, but rather the words on her shirt. I’m pretty sure the asterisk filling in for the U between the F and CK isn’t going to slide by.
“We all have first lunch, so I’ll grab a table,” Naomi shouts over the rush of people between us. She’s maybe five-one, but she makes up for her small size with large volume.
Slightly bolstered by the fact I’ve somehow started my final year of high school with actual lunch plans rather than aimlessly wandering rows of tables with my tray, I push through the door without really noticing the body coming at it from the opposite side. If it weren’t a glass door, I might have pushed harder, but seeing the familiar deep blue wool and white leather sleeves of Lucas’s letterman jacket is like getting hit with a flashing red stop sign shrouded by flares.
“Sorry.” Damn it. Back to apologies.
I step back to let him through, but to my surprise, he does the same. I catch the short twitch his mouth makes in amusement. It wasn’t quite a laugh, but it was definitely light years from the scowl I got last night.
Not wanting him to change his mind, I push the glass forward and step through. He reaches to take the door’s weight just as my hand lets go, and his fingertips run along the tops of my knuckles. It’s nothing more than an accident, and I see the slight recoil in his arm when it happens. The effect on me, though, is exactly the opposite. I glow—flush with the shot of adrenaline and long-lost affection. I would swear he cut me, the leftover feeling along my hand is so strong.
“June!” Maggie Williams went to high school with my mom. Not here, ironically, but in Fort Wayne. Her and Mom are more Facebook friends than real friends, but Maggie’s always been nice. And it’s good to have a familiar face in the front office.
“Lucas! Wait!” she shouts, just before the glass door closes. I turn quickly to see whether he heard, hoping he escapes without her making some sort of embarrassing connection, like reminding him who I am even though we’re neighbors. But the good student and well-mannered guy that Lucas is wins the battle and he turns, cracking the doorway open to hear her out.
“Can you take June here to your first hour? She’s in your class.”
I’m pretty sure Lucas and I both vomit a little. There’s definitely a pregnant pause. The air is stagnant long enough for Maggie to blink twice with irritation and shake the paper she holds out for me to take. That little movement triggers my response, and I take my schedule from her hand.
“Sure,” Lucas says, flashing his classic tight-lipped smile. I know him well enough to recognize that’s the one he gives when he’s playing nice. He made that face when Tory D’Angelo won MVP at the eighth grade football banquet, and he made it again when his parents told him they were spending New Year’s three years ago camping at Yosemite, just the three of them. Those lips are air-tight right now, and that bend is going to break even the moment we step back into the hallway.
“Let me know if you need anything today, ’kay, hon?” Maggie’s already answering the attendance line, pen in hand and phone propped on her shoulder. Not that I could ask her to rewind life a hair or two and not mention the idea of Lucas showing me anywhere, but maybe if she weren’t swamped I could make up another question or two to stall and let him get away.
I suppose he’s doing a fine job of running away as it is, though. For every step he takes, I have to make two. I’m not that much shorter, so I know he’s pushing it. Our first hour is physics, the farthest building on campus, which means “I’ll be sweaty and breathless by the time my ass finds a seat in there.”
I said that part out loud. Shit.
“Not my problem,” Lucas says over his shoulder. His arms pump as if he’s a speed walker. He pushes open the double doors of the A building and flings them open enough to give me a chance to zip through behind him. He was probably rooting for them to close on my shoulders. All I can focus on are his leather sleeves and that it’s a little warm, now that we’re outside.
“You know, it’s like eighty, and humid,” I say, somehow halting my words before tacking on a bit about how stupid his jacket is. I also think he’s cute in it, which is fucking up my head right now. I’m both physically and emotionally hot, and I want to take it out on that jacket and the ego it represents. I’ve never even seen him play in a varsity game.
He doesn’t respond, and that’s probably for the best. Also, either I’m getting faster or he’s slowing down because the gap between us is tightening. Students rush past us, probably taking up all of the seats in our class, which is still a good four hundred yards away. I’m almost in sync with his steps when he turns and stops in the middle of the walkway.
“We don’t have to do this, you know.” He points at me then to himself. I have no idea what he means, and my expression must say so because he explains. “Pretend we have some bond or shit. You have your life, I have mine that I’ve built here. Just go to class, hang out with your friend, get your straight A’s or whatever.”
“Friends,” I cut in.
He shrugs and wrinkles his brow, annoyed.
“You said I should hang out with my friend, but I have friends, Lucas.” You used to be one of them.
“Sure. Just . . .” He pauses, his jaw stiffening the way it does when he’s frustrated. So many of his nuances are etched in my memory bank. With a slight shake to his head, he glances up and takes a deep breath, letting his shoulders quickly lift and fall. His gaze leaves the sky and lands back on me. “I’m just saying, it’s not like we really know each other now. That’s all.”
He turns and continues down the path, but I don’t bother to keep up. I let him get several feet ahead, far enough that the doors to the science building close behind him while I have many steps to go. I let him go in case I have to cry, but really, I’m just pissed. The clenched sensation in my gut makes me want to scream. My hand flattens along the bar for the double doors, but I stop before pushing and check my reflection in the tinted glass. I don’t want to look the way I feel. While I don’t really know people here very well, they know enough about me to put together the crush I once had on the guy who just walked into Physics. I’m already chasing him in there. I don’t need to look upset about it, too.