“So what do you have first period?”
Sofia unfolds her schedule and crinkles her nose. She holds the paper away from her body like it’s contaminated. “Physical Education.”
“Wow. That’s unfortunate. You’re gonna have to shower all over again.”
“And have wet hair all day.”
“The scheduling gods did not smile upon you.”
Sofia groans, leaning her head on my shoulder. “What about you?”
I pull out my schedule to double-check.
“AP English.”
“Oh good, you get to read about people killing each other for stupid reasons first thing every day.”
“Still better than gym.”
“Good point. Bummer that none of our classes overlap this semester.”
“Seriously. But we have newspaper. And first dibs on assignments now that we’re seniors. Do you still want sports? They better not give it to Chris just because he’s a guy—”
Sofia stops walking so fast I bump into her. We’ve reached the large windows that face the soccer field.
“What the hell.” Sofia doesn’t swear much, and the “hell” comes out on a sigh, like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.
Crows cover almost every inch of the field.
“Didn’t you notice them earlier?” I ask.
“A few here and there, like usual. Nothing like this.”
We pause at the windows, letting freshmen bump into us in their haste to beat second bell. Across the street is the football stadium, and I can make out small dark shapes filling the bleachers. The crows are in constant motion, taking off and landing, circling overhead. There must be thousands of them. And they’ve all decided to come here.
God knows why any creature would choose Auburn.
Especially one that can fly away.
Chapter Four
IT ISN’T UNTIL AFTER SECOND PERIOD that I have a chance to find my locker. It’s not in the senior hall. I follow numbers down, rounding the corner into the junior hallway.
Warm.
Warmer.
Hot.
Great. I get to spend senior year banished to the juniors’ hall. They must have run out of lockers for seniors. Which means no hanging out at the Senior Wall, which is literally just a wall that seniors alone get to stand at and lean against to talk between classes and yell at any lowerclassmen who get too close. Every year the senior class decorates the wall with a gigantic “CLASS OF” banner with the graduation year, and everyone writes curse words and smutty messages on it until the administration takes it down because it’s too vulgar. One class didn’t make it past homecoming.
All I really need out of senior year is a diploma, but I still feel a pang over missing out on another normal high school thing. I’ve already missed so much. Nights I’ve chosen to stay home because he was in a bad mood. Birthday parties I knew to never ask for.
I open my half-size locker and start to cram all my textbooks inside. I’m still trying to convince myself that Senior Wall is a dumb tradition anyway when someone grabs me from behind.
Well, doesn’t grab. Tickles. My ribs.
“What the hell!” I yell, spinning.
“Oh shit.” The hands are off and the person steps back. Liam McNamara is standing there, looking every bit like he knows he messed up. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were Lyla Jacobs.”
“Who?”
“Lyla. She’s a junior. Your hair looks a lot like hers. And she’s my cheerleader.”
“I didn’t know they were considered property.” I know what he means. Sofia’s been doing this for a few years. But I want to let him squirm.
“No, they’re not.” He runs his hand over the top of his head. “I’m really screwing this up.”
“Um, yeah,” I say. I know Liam. I know of Liam, I should say. We move in different social circles. Or rather, he moves in a circle and I’m more of a solitary dot.
Liam McNamara: fellow senior, student council vice president, member of the varsity football team. His superlative should be Most Likely to Score a Modeling Contract While Running for Congress. Liam has always had a lot of girlfriends and a lot of charm. But thanks to my home, I’ve seen the flip side of the charming coin, and it isn’t a prince.
“Lyla is the cheerleader, who I respect and do not consider property in any way, shape, or form, who is paired with me for the season. She’ll, like, decorate my locker and make me cookies and stuff.”
I don’t roll my eyes. I don’t. But it takes a long, conscious mental effort not to do so.
“Okay, well. It’s fine. You just startled me.”
“Yeah, I’m really sorry. Lyla is my friend. I swear I don’t go around touching strange girls. Not that you are strange, I just mean—”
“It’s okay, Liam. I’ll see ya around.”
“Well, actually, my locker is, uh—” He points to the bottom half-locker that’s under mine. Because of course. Let’s draw this awkwardness out for the whole year.
I move to the side, letting Liam crouch down at his locker.
“We should at least ask them to switch us. Wouldn’t want one of our star players to injure himself stooping over for his books, would we?”
“Ah, thanks, but that wouldn’t be very chivalrous of me. Besides, it’s just football.”
“Did you say just football? In this town that’s practically blasphemous.”
“Yeah. But there’s not much else to do around here, and it’ll look good on college apps.” Our conversation has taken a surprising turn, and I try to quiet the surge of curiosity I feel. Let’s move along here. But Liam doesn’t move along. He stands at our shared locker space and leans against mine.
“We have first period together, right, Leighton?”
Leighton.
“Didn’t know you knew my name, Liam. Let alone how to pronounce it.”
“Leighton. Like Peyton. Like Peyton Manning. Easy enough to remember.”
“Do I remind you of a professional football player?”
He laughs.
“No. You’re a shrimp. You would literally get crushed on a football field. But seriously, there’s, like, two hundred kids in our class. I know who you are.”
“Just not from behind.”
“I’m never gonna live that down, am I?”
“Probably not. But it’s only been five minutes. Give it time.”
“Leighton’s a cool name,” Liam says.
I pause while adjusting my bag.
“Thanks. It was a birthday present.”
A dad joke. Seriously? But Liam laughs, and I soften a little.
Calm down, Leighton. Not everyone is out to get you.
“So, Advanced Placement English. Should be a fun semester,” I say, sarcasm infused in every syllable.
“Yeah, no kidding. Our summer reading was depressing. But I liked Beloved. You headed this way?” Liam nods his head toward the senior hall. “We should get moving before the bell.”
Liam takes my heavy calculus book and starts walking. It takes me a moment to realize he isn’t stealing it but carrying it for me. I blink stupidly a few times before catching up.
“You liked Beloved? It was really sad.”