Believe by Sarah Aronson Page B

would be ringing off the hook—and it wouldn’t be just Abe telling me to call him. One thing I was sure of: if nothing else happened, by the time Abe was released, no one would remember why he wasn’t in school. There would be no new story. No rumors. No more questions. Tomorrow might be an ordinary day.
    I sighed. It would be so nice to be completely anonymous.
    As I got through my classes and nothing else happened, I relaxed. Maybe I’d worried for nothing. Maybe I wasn’t that important after all.

SIXTEEN
    At the end of the day, Dan met me at my locker. “Hey, J,” he said, making a point to kiss me hard and long on the lips.
    â€œNot in public, thanks.” I pulled away. He laughed. This was just a location rejection. He knew I liked kissing him—I just wasn’t into PDA. It was too messy. Too public. I never understood why anyone thought making out at your locker was a fun thing to do. I didn’t even like holding hands.
    It was the principle of the thing. Kissing was a private matter. But I also couldn’t risk it. Stupider pictures of lesser-known people had found their way into magazines. There wasn’t much about the press I could control, but this was easy. I didn’t want to read about my love life in some rag.
    Usually, Dan appreciated that.
    Big picture, there was only one exception to the no PDA rule, and that was when someone else was publicly after your guy. Or if that same guy was acting suspicious or weird. Then, I agreed with Glamour readers, who in a nationwide poll suggested that the best way to find out if your boyfriend was about to break up with you (or lying about something big) was to engage in a little old-fashioned PDA.
    The more public the better.
    According to readers, it worked every time. A guy with a secret never kissed you in public.
    When Dan draped his arm over my shoulder, I wondered if he’d heard about that theory, too. “Cut it out,” I said as nicely as possible. “I’m distracted. It’s been a crappy day. I need some space.”
    Now Dan dropped his shoulders and pouted, so that he looked simultaneously pathetic and cute. “Okay. I hear you. Let’s get out of here. So we can be alone.” But then he kissed my ear. He kissed it lightly so it tickled. That made me squirm.
    I was still thinking about Ms. Browning’s critique. “She didn’t even like my sewing. She told me I have to work slower.”
    â€œYou can do that.” He picked up my backpack and flung it over his shoulder. “There’s this really cool spot I want to show you. I think you’ll like it.” He smiled. “It’s very romantic.”
    Now I understood. Unfortunately for him, I was not in the mood for that either. “Can you show me some other time?” I asked in my cutest I-still-like-you, I-just-don’t-feel-like-beingserious voice. “I have a ton of sketching to do. I really should visit Abe. What do you think she meant by authentic?”
    Normally, Dan liked talking about clothes. In terms of together time, we were pretty much on the same page. But today, he made a very cute pouty lip. “Can you relax and let me show you? I just want to talk for a few minutes. It won’t take long.” When I didn’t say no (or yes), he held out his hand.
    I initiated twenty questions. “Animal, mineral, vegetable? Is it bigger than a breadbox?” When I couldn’t get him to tell me anything, I asked, “Did you sell me out to some magazine? Are you setting me up for an ambush?”
    â€œGod, are you paranoid.”
    â€œNot really.” I was half-joking. If he watched any reality TV, he would keep his mouth shut. Most people would do anything for name recognition like mine.
    â€œIt’s just that … well … you are so self-centered about it.” He held the steering wheel with both hands. He drove past the deserted steel factory and a sign marked