I study the gentle slope of her neck. The graceful tilt of her head. The intense hue of her eyes.
Hazel is too simple a description to describe her eyes. They’re a deep golden color with flecks of green, like the shade you’d see on some exotic animal.
She’s no bird. No, more like a lioness. Fierce. Unyielding. Uncompromising. Characteristics I never thought I’d find so attractive.
How did I miss all of this freshman year? Was I always such a spectacular idiot?
I knew she was intense. Back then, I probably viewed that as a negative trait, but now, watching her take command is sexy as fuck.
If Miss Duran was my teacher, I’d never miss a day of school.
When she finally looks up, when our eyes meet, my heart kicks in my chest again.
“Thanks for doing this, Gabby,” I whisper with all sincerity. This baby situation is pure insanity, but for some reason, knowing Gabby is here makes it less crazy.
And then I realize the crazy part.
I can count everyone I trust on one hand.
And yet… I trust her.
Except for this emergency, we haven’t really spoken in years, but I know down to my soul that she’ll do her best to help us figure out what’s going on and take care of Poppy.
A pink hue heats her cheeks, but she nods.
I want to say so many other things, except now’s not the time.
But maybe with all of this baby stuff going on, I’ll get a chance.
Because I need to make it up to her. One way or another.
12
GABBY
Technically, I’ve taken all of my English credits, but who wouldn’t want to take an extra British literature class? Plus, right now it’s a great distraction from worrying about Poppy.
We’re supposed to get the paternity results today or tomorrow, and I keep checking the website every five seconds.
I know it’s stupid to fall in love with that baby, except I can’t help myself. It’s not like she asked to be in this situation.
But I’m definitely worried I’m getting too attached.
If the baby isn’t my brother’s, he’ll probably throw a block party, I think morosely.
You’d think a crisis like this would make us closer, but Ben’s as distant as ever, barely bothering to make eye contact with me. I’d like to grab him by his dumb designer t-shirt and shake him silly until he tells me what’s wrong.
After checking the paternity website one more time, I drop my phone into my backpack and chide myself when my thoughts drift to Rider, as they’ve done more times than I’d like to admit in the last few days.
I don’t think about his apology, and I don’t let myself revel in the long looks he’s given me ever since.
Nope. I definitely don’t.
Those big gray eyes got me in trouble once, and I don’t plan to be a sucker a second time.
Except… he did seem sincere.
No, Gabby. Stay strong.
Our professor leans back against the windowsill and reads passages aloud from EM Forester’s A Room with a View, one of my favorite books. Even though I was little when I first saw the film and couldn’t grasp all of the nuances, I understood that at the heart was a really cool love story.
As I munch on a granola bar, Bree bumps my elbow and whispers, “I watched the movie this weekend. Did you know there was a full-frontal nude scene?”
“My foster mother covered my eyes when we got to that part. Took me ten years to finally see the dangly bits.”
Her shoulders shake with laughter, and I smile.
This unexpected friendship with Bree is the most surprising part about helping the football guys. I’ve seen her in class before this and I helped her with an essay once, but now that I’m so involved at her boyfriend’s house, it seems to have gotten me a cool new girlfriend.
I could use a few friends. It’s hard for me to meet people sometimes. I spent the bulk of high school babysitting for my aunt and being an awkward nerd. The one time I really took a chance socially and put myself out there was with Rider, so when he blew me off, I withdrew even more.
By the time sophomore year rolled around and I moved off campus with Ramona, I started dating Sean, who was a bigger homebody than me. After that, it was just easier to keep to myself than to try being friends with people who would eventually disappear or move away.
My attention returns to the professor, who reads, “‘If Miss Honeychurch ever takes to live as she plays, it will be very exciting both for us and for her.’”
I pause, that line hitting me in a way it never has before in all the times I’ve read the book.
Lucy Honeychurch is a prim and proper young English woman who refuses to give in to the advances of the free-spirited George Emerson, a man she met while on vacation in Italy, opting instead to get engaged to the very stuffy and condescending Cecil Vyse. That quote my professor recited refers to the fact Lucy plays incredibly emotional music on the piano but lives a buttoned-up, repressed life.
I used to think I wanted a George Emerson, someone who could get me to loosen up and enjoy life and take chances, but this book fails to tell you that taking chances and putting yourself out there doesn’t always work the way you think it will.
Sometimes taking chances gets you ghosted by the quarterback.
I cross my arms and whisper to Bree, “Is Cecil Vyse really so bad?”
She snorts, and we pretend to be engrossed in the lecture when our professor turns sharply our way.
“Daniel Day Lewis was pretty DILF-y in The Crucible,” I mumble once he returns to his notes. “I watched it over the summer. We shouldn’t judge him by his portrayal of Cecil. That role required him to be pompous and anemic.”
“You’re such a nerd.”
She has no idea. I wrote up a whole unit of lessons for that play, and I don’t even student-teach until next spring.
Being a nerd used to bother me. Now I view it as a badge of honor.
When class lets out, we stroll out to the courtyard. Sienna is walking by with some friends and does a double-take. “Gabby! Hey! Oh, my God, I never see you.” She rushes over and gives me a hug, almost knocking me down in the process.
No one is ever this excited to see me. My social life has turned into The Twilight Zone. I chuckle to myself.
She waves to her friends. “I’ll call you later, Destiny!” When she turns back to me, her face lights up. “How did your date go on Saturday night?”
“How have I not seen you all week?”
“I know, right?” A giggle escapes her. “Kinda met someone over the weekend.”
“And you’ve been hooking up ever since?” I say it as a joke, but her cheeks redden, and she nods wildly.
“Crazy, right? I mean, I eventually put my foot down and demanded we go to class, but otherwise, yeah.” She sighs deeply. “It just feels karmic. Like, I’ve put good vibes into the universe, and it’s finally coming back to me.”
I swear she’s speaking another language. I don’t understand exactly what she means, but I’m happy for her regardless. “That’s great. Is he a jock?” We’ve already established she loves football players.
Her eyes roll back in her head dramatically. “Yes. So many muscles!”