when Damen calls. And even though I'd spent the last two days convincing myself not to like him, the second I hear his voice, I surrender.
"Is it too late?"
I squint at the glowing green numbers on my alarm clock, confirming it is, but answering,
"No, it's okay."
"Were you asleep?"
"Almost." I prop my pillows against my cloth-covered headboard, then lean back against them.
"I was wondering if I could come over?"
I gaze at the clock again, but only to prove his question is crazy. "Probably not such a good idea," I tell him, which is followed by such a prolonged silence I'm sure he's hung up.
"I'm sorry I missed you at lunch," he finally says. "Art too. I left right after English."
"Um, okay," I mumble, unsure how to respond, since it's not like we're a couple, it's not like he's accountable to me.
"Are you sure it's too late?" he asks, his tone deep and persuasive. ' I'd really like to see you. I won't stay long."
I smile, thrilled with this tiny shift in power, to be calling the shots for a change, and allowing myself a mental high-five when I say, "Tomorrow in English works for me."
"How about I drive you to school?" he asks, his voice nearly convincing me to forget about Stacia, Drina, his hasty retreat, everything—just clean the slate, let bygones be bygones, start all over again. But I haven't come this far to give up so easily. So I force the words from my lips when I say, "Miles and I carpool. So I'll just see you in English." All tell knowing better than to risk his changing my mind, I snap my phone shut and toss it across the room.
The next morning when Riley Pops in, she stands before me and says, "Still cranky?"
I roll my eyes.
"I'll take that as a yes." She laughs, hopping on top of my dresser and kicking her heels against the drawers.
"So, who are you dressed as today?" I toss a pile of books into my bag and glance at her tight bodice, full skirt, and cascading brown hair.
"Elizabeth Swann." She smiles.
I squint, trying to remember that name. "Pirates?"
"Duh." She crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue. "So what's up with you and Count Fersen?"
I sling my bag over my shoulder and head for the door, determined to ignore the question when I call, "Coming?"
She shakes her head. "Not today. I have an appointment."
I lean against the doorjamb and squint. "What do you mean by 'appointment'?"
But she just shakes her head and hops off the dresser.
"None of your beeswax." She laughs, walking straight through the wall and disappearing.
Since Miles was funning late, I end up running late too, and by the time we make it to school, the parking lot is completely full. All except for the very best, most soughtafter space.
The one on the very end. The one closest to the gate.The one that just happens to be right next to Damen's.
"How did you do it?" Miles asks, grabbing his books and climbing out of my tiny red car, gazing at Damen like he's the world's sexiest magic act.
"Do what?" Damen asks, gazing at me.
"Save the spot. You have to get here like, way before the school year even begins to snatch this one."
Damen laughs, his eyes searching mine. But I just nod like he's my pharmacist or mailman, not the guy I've been obsessing over since the moment I saw him,
"Bell's gonna ring," I say, rushing past the gate and heading toward class, noticing how he moves so quickly he beats me to the door with no visible effort.
I storm toward Honor and Stacia, purposely kicking Stacia's bag when she gazes at Damen and says,
"Hey, where's my rosebud?"
Then regretting it the second he answers, "Sorry, not today." He slides onto his seat and gives me an amused look. "Someone's in a foul mood." He laughs.
But I just shrug and drop my bag to the floor.
"What's the rush?" He leans toward me. "Mr. Robins stayed home."
I turn. "How'd you—" but then I stop before I can finish. I mean, how can Damen possibly know what I know—that Mr. Robins is still at home, still hung over, still grieving the wife and
"Is it too late?"
I squint at the glowing green numbers on my alarm clock, confirming it is, but answering,
"No, it's okay."
"Were you asleep?"
"Almost." I prop my pillows against my cloth-covered headboard, then lean back against them.
"I was wondering if I could come over?"
I gaze at the clock again, but only to prove his question is crazy. "Probably not such a good idea," I tell him, which is followed by such a prolonged silence I'm sure he's hung up.
"I'm sorry I missed you at lunch," he finally says. "Art too. I left right after English."
"Um, okay," I mumble, unsure how to respond, since it's not like we're a couple, it's not like he's accountable to me.
"Are you sure it's too late?" he asks, his tone deep and persuasive. ' I'd really like to see you. I won't stay long."
I smile, thrilled with this tiny shift in power, to be calling the shots for a change, and allowing myself a mental high-five when I say, "Tomorrow in English works for me."
"How about I drive you to school?" he asks, his voice nearly convincing me to forget about Stacia, Drina, his hasty retreat, everything—just clean the slate, let bygones be bygones, start all over again. But I haven't come this far to give up so easily. So I force the words from my lips when I say, "Miles and I carpool. So I'll just see you in English." All tell knowing better than to risk his changing my mind, I snap my phone shut and toss it across the room.
The next morning when Riley Pops in, she stands before me and says, "Still cranky?"
I roll my eyes.
"I'll take that as a yes." She laughs, hopping on top of my dresser and kicking her heels against the drawers.
"So, who are you dressed as today?" I toss a pile of books into my bag and glance at her tight bodice, full skirt, and cascading brown hair.
"Elizabeth Swann." She smiles.
I squint, trying to remember that name. "Pirates?"
"Duh." She crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue. "So what's up with you and Count Fersen?"
I sling my bag over my shoulder and head for the door, determined to ignore the question when I call, "Coming?"
She shakes her head. "Not today. I have an appointment."
I lean against the doorjamb and squint. "What do you mean by 'appointment'?"
But she just shakes her head and hops off the dresser.
"None of your beeswax." She laughs, walking straight through the wall and disappearing.
Since Miles was funning late, I end up running late too, and by the time we make it to school, the parking lot is completely full. All except for the very best, most soughtafter space.
The one on the very end. The one closest to the gate.The one that just happens to be right next to Damen's.
"How did you do it?" Miles asks, grabbing his books and climbing out of my tiny red car, gazing at Damen like he's the world's sexiest magic act.
"Do what?" Damen asks, gazing at me.
"Save the spot. You have to get here like, way before the school year even begins to snatch this one."
Damen laughs, his eyes searching mine. But I just nod like he's my pharmacist or mailman, not the guy I've been obsessing over since the moment I saw him,
"Bell's gonna ring," I say, rushing past the gate and heading toward class, noticing how he moves so quickly he beats me to the door with no visible effort.
I storm toward Honor and Stacia, purposely kicking Stacia's bag when she gazes at Damen and says,
"Hey, where's my rosebud?"
Then regretting it the second he answers, "Sorry, not today." He slides onto his seat and gives me an amused look. "Someone's in a foul mood." He laughs.
But I just shrug and drop my bag to the floor.
"What's the rush?" He leans toward me. "Mr. Robins stayed home."
I turn. "How'd you—" but then I stop before I can finish. I mean, how can Damen possibly know what I know—that Mr. Robins is still at home, still hung over, still grieving the wife and
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