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He reached over and touched my cheek. “The makeup.”
“Oh.” I ducked my face, feeling incredibly grateful for the zippy bag of makeup Claire had given me Wednesday morning. It was one hundred percent necessary. “I know.”
Johnny shifted around in his seat then, obviously trying to get comfortable.
Dropping my head, I concentrated on pulling at that same invisible thread on my school jumper.
“Are you mad at me?”
His question threw me and I looked up into piercing blue eyes. “Mad at you?”
Johnny nodded slowly. “For what I did in the lunch hall?”
My heart hammered violently, while I assessed his question.
I was embarrassed. I was uncertain. I was fearful.
But I wasn’t mad at him.
“No,” I finally replied. “I’m not mad at you.”
“You didn’t come back,” he said, voice low.
I shrugged and dropped my gaze. “I was sick.”
“You’re better now?”
“I guess,” I replied, voice small.
“Was it your period?” Johnny blew my mind by straight out asking.
God.
“Uh…yeah.” Red-faced, I shifted uncomfortably. “But I’m okay now.”
“Don’t do that,” Johnny said with a frown.
“Don’t do what?”
“Be embarrassed.” He nudged my shoulder with his. “It’s natural, Shannon.”
Oh god. I was beyond embarrassed.
At this stage, I was teetering toward life-altering humiliation.
“Okay?” I squeezed out.
He shook his head and smirked. “Did you listen to track nine?”
Now I was embarrassed again.
“I did,” I whispered.
“Did you like it?”
“Um.” I shrugged, unsure what to say.
“What’s wrong?”
