mumbles.
She pulls a few things from her locker and shoves them into her joke of a backpack. The thing looks like it survived a war. She slams her locker shut. Pauses.
“Why didn’t you tell me your name that night?” she asks.
I hesitate. No idea what to say. I never told her my name? If only she’d hear me out, listen to my fragmented side of the story, and tell me more.
“It’s . . . complicated,” I say.
Someone reaches for the locker beside mine and I shift out of her way. “Hi,” the girl says, her blond hair whipping around as she does a double take. No doubt a little freaked out by the scar. “Hi,” she repeats and smiles. Friendly enough. “So this is your locker.” She glances up at Julianna. “We were wondering whose it was, huh, Julianna?”
Julianna yanks her gaze away like she’s been caught.
“Cody,” I say to the girl with a nod in greeting.
She smiles. “I’m Holly.”
Julianna heaves her backpack over her shoulder as the one-minute warning bell rings. I wheel over to her before she can get away.
“Julianna,” I say, my lungs deflated. “You gotta help me.”
She starts walking away.
“Just give me a chance,” I call out. “Let me show you I’m not the jerk you think I am.”
She pauses. Turns. Her lips remain pinched, but I see the smile in her eyes. She tears her gaze away from me, her indignation slowly giving way. “You really need a tutor?”
“I’m way behind,” I say, the only truth I can give her. “Missed the first week.”
She presses a finger to her eyebrow and massages outward. “With art ?”
“Big time,” I say; nothing but truth in that. The reason I’ve held a 4.0 GPA throughout high school is because I’ve put off this art requirement until the last minute.
“Can’t help you there,” she says.
I flick a glance to her backpack, which is covered top to bottom with colorful doodling. Flowers all over. Looks like I’m not the only one who isn’t being totally truthful.
She shifts it behind her back. “Fine, I’ll help you this once. Just today and then we’re done.”
“Sweet,” I say. I’ll take what I can get. The fact that she’s not yelling at me anymore is a step in the right direction. I smile as her eyes linger a moment too long, bugged that I can’t remember what our first real conversation was like.
“Uh,” she says, jerking her gaze away, “I gotta go.”
The hall is clearing out fast, the bell about to ring. She takes off down the hallway in a full out I-don’t-care-if-I-look-like-an-idiot-running-to-class sprint. Makes me smile.
“Meet me outside the lounge,” she calls out over her shoulder. “Right after school.”
I smile, ready for the challenge. Game on.
CHAPTER 9
Julianna
I sprint into Mortimer’s classroom as the bell rings.
“Late, Julianna,” his monotonous voice announces.
“No!” I declare, breathless. “I made it in, I swear.”
“Students must be in their assigned seat when the bell rings,” Mortimer says, his beady eyes finding me over the rim of his glasses. “You signed the disclosure document like everyone else. That’s warning number three, and don’t make me give you another warning for attitude. Warning number four would put you one third of the way to detention number two.”
“Please, Mr. Mortimer—”
“Sit,” he says.
I obey like a good dog.
“As it stands,” he continues, walking over to my table and slapping down a blue detention slip with my name already on it, like he was waiting for this, “you will meet me in my room directly after school.”
I pull out my textbook and keep my eyes down, embarrassment, frustration, and a host of other emotions rushing up to burn my cheeks. “Yes, sir.”
It’s too quiet for too long. I look up and find Mr. Mortimer’s bushy brows raised. “Is that more attitude, Miss Schultz?”
“No, Mr. Mortimer,” I say, secretly satisfied that he took my “yes, sir” for attitude even though I didn’t mean it as
She pulls a few things from her locker and shoves them into her joke of a backpack. The thing looks like it survived a war. She slams her locker shut. Pauses.
“Why didn’t you tell me your name that night?” she asks.
I hesitate. No idea what to say. I never told her my name? If only she’d hear me out, listen to my fragmented side of the story, and tell me more.
“It’s . . . complicated,” I say.
Someone reaches for the locker beside mine and I shift out of her way. “Hi,” the girl says, her blond hair whipping around as she does a double take. No doubt a little freaked out by the scar. “Hi,” she repeats and smiles. Friendly enough. “So this is your locker.” She glances up at Julianna. “We were wondering whose it was, huh, Julianna?”
Julianna yanks her gaze away like she’s been caught.
“Cody,” I say to the girl with a nod in greeting.
She smiles. “I’m Holly.”
Julianna heaves her backpack over her shoulder as the one-minute warning bell rings. I wheel over to her before she can get away.
“Julianna,” I say, my lungs deflated. “You gotta help me.”
She starts walking away.
“Just give me a chance,” I call out. “Let me show you I’m not the jerk you think I am.”
She pauses. Turns. Her lips remain pinched, but I see the smile in her eyes. She tears her gaze away from me, her indignation slowly giving way. “You really need a tutor?”
“I’m way behind,” I say, the only truth I can give her. “Missed the first week.”
She presses a finger to her eyebrow and massages outward. “With art ?”
“Big time,” I say; nothing but truth in that. The reason I’ve held a 4.0 GPA throughout high school is because I’ve put off this art requirement until the last minute.
“Can’t help you there,” she says.
I flick a glance to her backpack, which is covered top to bottom with colorful doodling. Flowers all over. Looks like I’m not the only one who isn’t being totally truthful.
She shifts it behind her back. “Fine, I’ll help you this once. Just today and then we’re done.”
“Sweet,” I say. I’ll take what I can get. The fact that she’s not yelling at me anymore is a step in the right direction. I smile as her eyes linger a moment too long, bugged that I can’t remember what our first real conversation was like.
“Uh,” she says, jerking her gaze away, “I gotta go.”
The hall is clearing out fast, the bell about to ring. She takes off down the hallway in a full out I-don’t-care-if-I-look-like-an-idiot-running-to-class sprint. Makes me smile.
“Meet me outside the lounge,” she calls out over her shoulder. “Right after school.”
I smile, ready for the challenge. Game on.
CHAPTER 9
Julianna
I sprint into Mortimer’s classroom as the bell rings.
“Late, Julianna,” his monotonous voice announces.
“No!” I declare, breathless. “I made it in, I swear.”
“Students must be in their assigned seat when the bell rings,” Mortimer says, his beady eyes finding me over the rim of his glasses. “You signed the disclosure document like everyone else. That’s warning number three, and don’t make me give you another warning for attitude. Warning number four would put you one third of the way to detention number two.”
“Please, Mr. Mortimer—”
“Sit,” he says.
I obey like a good dog.
“As it stands,” he continues, walking over to my table and slapping down a blue detention slip with my name already on it, like he was waiting for this, “you will meet me in my room directly after school.”
I pull out my textbook and keep my eyes down, embarrassment, frustration, and a host of other emotions rushing up to burn my cheeks. “Yes, sir.”
It’s too quiet for too long. I look up and find Mr. Mortimer’s bushy brows raised. “Is that more attitude, Miss Schultz?”
“No, Mr. Mortimer,” I say, secretly satisfied that he took my “yes, sir” for attitude even though I didn’t mean it as
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