After having me pick my classes and showing me where my locker is, the administrative assistant leaves me to navigate the senior hall alone.
Luckily, Sloane was right. It’s easy enough to find my first class, where I sit at a desk in the back of the room. A few people glance at me. Some whisper to their friends, asking who I am, saying they hadn’t heard anyone new moved to Bramble Falls. Someone says they heard from somebody named Forrest who heard from someone named Betty Lynn that I’m from New York,reminding me that I’m in a small town with a robust gossip mill.
Mr. Beck, the physics teacher, has me introduce myself to the class because, despite this being the first day for everyone, I’m the only stranger. He begins going over the syllabus, launching into a speech about his grading scale, the makeup policy, and the importance of science to the human race.
When he starts his slide presentation—telling us it’ll be posted online but that note-taking is good for information retention—the guy next to me leans over.
“Hey, new girl, can I borrow a pen?” he whispers.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Who doesn’t bring something to write with on the first day of class?
I reach into my backpack and grab my purple pen with the light purple pom-pom on top and hand it to him, not missing his iceberg-blue eyes set against tan skin. His blond hair is long and styled on top but fades to short on the sides.
It seems Bramble Falls is the secret hub for hot guys.
He looks at the fluffy pen and grins. “Thanks,” he whispers. Then he bites his bottom lip. “Um, can I also have a piece of paper?”
I look at him, deadpan. “Seriously?”
He shrugs, and I tear a piece of paper from my notebook—my notebook filled with purple-lined paper because there’s no reason notes can’t be cute.
“Thank you. Again,” he whispers with a flirty smile. He eyes the paper, then lifts it to his nose. “Is this scented?”
It is. “Shhh.”
“Where’d you get this paper? I need to get some.”
“Yeah, you really do,” I whisper.
He laughs. “I’m Jake, by the way.”
Mr. Beck’s gaze snaps to us. I ignore Jake, and in my periphery he faces the front of the room and leans back in his chair, giving our physics teacher his attention. Or at least pretending to.
I’m pretty sure he’s writing a note on that piece of paper.
The remainder of class passes quickly, and after two more uneventful classes, I walk into calc with my shoulders back, trying to exude a confidence I don’t actually have—one of Dad’s secrets to success.
“Never let people see your weaknesses,” he always says. “Success is all about perception. Put on a smile and fake it till you make it.”
I’m so busy trying to decide if I should sit in the back again or if I should stop hiding and grab a seat up front that I almost don’t notice Cooper sitting in the second row of desks. He’s wearing a pair of cuffed jeans over brown suede boots and a plain gray T-shirt. The kids filing in behind me begin filling the seats, so I move forward, my feet finding their way to the empty desk next to him.
His eyes dart to mine, then travel over my outfit before he averts them. “Ellis.”
“Cooper.” I unzip my backpack and dig a new notebook and pencil out. “I didn’t know you were in this class.”
“Yeah, well, we don’t talk, so why would you?”
I draw my eyebrows together. “And whose fault is that?”
His head whips to me but he says nothing as he stares at me, the muscles in his jaw ticking.
“What’s your problem?” I finally ask.
“The fact that you don’t know says a whole lot,” he replies. He grabs the stuff from his desk, stands, and throws his backpack over his shoulder. I watch as he asks someone to trade seats with him, and a second later he’s sitting next to a blond girl, and a freckly redheaded guy has moved to the seat next to me.
What the hell?
I spend the rest of class distracted, racking my brain for hints of what went wrong. The last time I saw Cooper before we left that summer, we sat in the meadow at Starglow Summit talking about everything and nothing. He braided my hair—having apparently learned by braiding breads—and we made plans for all the things we were going to do in the future, as if we weren’t closing the book on summer. As if I weren’t leaving Bramble Falls.
