I shook my head. Focus, Philomena!
His screen displayed the keypad.
“You want my number?” I asked. “How . . . old school.”
“I mean, I’m happy to connect on Insta or Snap or Twitter, or even Facebook, but you’re determined to maintain your secret spy identity, and I’d like to talk to you outside of this balcony from time to time, so . . .” He wiggled the phone at me.
I took it and entered my number, saving it under “Neighbor.” “Good night, Turner.”
“Sweet dreams, Mena.”
Naturally, I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I’d never experienced such a high. Sure, I’d kissed a few guys before at some of Amaya’s parties—I’d even liked one enough to get to second base with him in her pool house—but I’d never stayed up all night replaying every single thing a boy had said to me. Not to mention the kissing—oh god, the kissing!
Every time I thought about it, I either grinned or bit my lip to keep from making a frustrated/excited sound.
The pressure between my legs didn’t abate—if anything, it intensified to a constant dull throb. I rolled onto my front and pressed my face into my pillow, dragging my hand down my body and between my legs as I imagined Turner’s perfect, strong fingers pushing my panties aside. I was so worked up it didn’t take long before I panted my release into my pillow, biting it to keep silent.
Only after that was I finally able to sleep.
The Turner-induced euphoria lasted well into the next day. It was harder than usual to keep my head down and avoid contact with everyone when all I wanted was to spread my arms wide and shout to the whole world how amazing he made me feel. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from grinning when I passed him in the hall on the way to second period.
I was putting my books away in my locker at lunch, smiling as I thought of how his lips had felt against mine, when my locker door slammed shut. I flinched back, only narrowly avoiding getting my arm or head smacked by the metal.
My smile fell, all thoughts of Turner replaced by fear.
“What the fuck could you possibly have to smile about?” Jayden leaned against the locker next to mine, frowning as though he were doing long division without a calculator.
Jayden was Madison’s boyfriend—as if that wasn’t the most predictable fucking high school scenario. The mean girl dated the dumb jock, and they liked to make other people’s lives miserable so they could feel better about themselves. Groan.
Jayden had started at DNHS the same day I had. We could’ve been friends—comrades in being the new kids at school. Madison had been a bitch to me from day one, making lame jokes about my birthmark that half the class laughed along with. Jayden had actually treated me like a human being for a few days. We had lunch together, shared awkward fourteen-year-old chitchat. Then one day I saw Madison and her friends talking to him at lunch. Then he tried out for the football team. Then he ignored me for a solid week. When he sat down next to me at lunch the following Monday, I was happy, excited to have my friend back.
“How was your weekend?” he’d asked.
I smiled and started to tell him, but he cut me off before I could get one word out. “Oh wait!” He half turned in his seat, and that’s when I realized Madison and her friends were watching us, tittering on the sidelines. “I just remembered—I don’t give a shit.”
They all burst into laughter. Jayden’s eyes flicked between what I’m sure was the devastated look in my eyes and the popular kids howling like hyenas. I guess that was his initiation—publicly making me feel like shit.
After that, Jayden and I settled into a new routine. I avoided him as much as all the other assholes, and he pretended I didn’t exist in the most obnoxious and oxymoronic way possible. He routinely bumped into me and loudly said, “What was that? There’s clearly nothing there, but I just tripped.” Or he looked right through me and took a deep inhale, then said another moronic thing like “Do you guys smell that? I don’t see anything, but something smells like loser.” Naturally, everyone laughed at his brilliant jokes.
He’d spoken directly to me only a handful of times—incidents I wished I could forget.
I fought to keep my breathing under control, focusing on a spot at the bottom edge of my locker where a bit of the bluish-gray paint had chipped off. Hoping he’d just go away.
He leaned in, his face close to my cheek, and said in a light, conversational tone, “I asked you a fucking question, Phil.”
“Nothing,” I replied as calmly as I could. I wasn’t allowed to ignore them.
“That’s right—you’re nothing. You may as well not exist.”
Then why are you talking to me, idiot? I so wished I was brave enough to say some of the things that went through my head.
Lucky for me, Jayden was easily distracted.
“Hey, new guy!” He turned away, relegating me back to phantom status.
“Hey, man.”
Turner. I lifted my gaze toward the voice before I even knew what I was doing.
For one glorious, torturous moment, our eyes met. In a world where I was invisible, he looked directly at me and he saw me, a slight frown marring his strong brow. He’d saved me from whatever fucked-up thing Jayden had planned without even knowing it.
I looked away quickly as Jayden slung his arm over Turner’s shoulders and led him away, leaning in to speak to him.
I grabbed my bag and beelined for the picnic table at the back of the science building. It was in a dingy spot, and one of the benches was split, but no one ever went there. I sat down heavily and dropped my head on my arms, unable to eat the sandwich I’d made myself that morning.
The churning in my empty stomach persisted until school let out. As I trailed into the hot afternoon sun along with the other students, I once again spotted Turner. My heart stuttered, and I couldn’t help slowing down. He looked so beautiful, his messy hair shining like gold in the sun, his broad shoulders relaxed, his brilliant smile wide.
But who was he smiling at? I frowned as Jayden thumped him on the back and Turner extended one hand.
The man standing with them was a little shorter than Jayden, but he had the same build, the same dark brown hair, the same olive complexion. His gray suit stretched over his back as he reached out to shake Turner’s hand.
Why was Turner shaking hands with Jayden’s dad? Why was the older man even here?
I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it looked harmless enough. Except I knew how rotten Jayden was deep down. Could the rancid apple really have fallen that far from the tree?
Before I could move closer to listen in, Jayden happened to look over and spot me. His already tight smile fell into a frown, the look one of pure derision, and I realized I was blatantly staring.
I dropped my head and rushed in the opposite direction of home, resigned to taking the long way back—just in case Turner saw me and got suspicious.
I had to be more careful. Meeting Turner was the best thing that had happened to me in a long time—I couldn’t risk any of the assholes at school finding out and ruining it.
There were about ten minutes left until lunch ended, and I resisted the urge to text Turner. We’d exchanged numbers a week ago, but I was keeping the texting strictly to outside of school. God forbid anyone notice me interacting with another human being. We talked every night though, if not on the balcony then on the phone.