Finally the awkward ends, and Rachel makes some passing farewell that it was nice to meet me. When she’s out of eyesight, Kaleb’s shoulders droop, and he releases a long, pent up breath.
“So, she seemed nice,” I snicker while closing up my locker. “Do I get to find out who she really is past ‘Rachel’?” I finger quote her name.
He rubs at his eyes with one hand and sighs, “She’s my ex-girlfriend.”
“Oh-- that explains the awkward,” I cringe, standing up and slinging my backpack over one shoulder. “I’m guessing you broke up with her.”
He offers me a wry smile. “That obvious?”
“Well…” I let the word stretch, while I try to find a polite way to word my answer. “It appears that she may not be quite over you yet-- while you look like you want to sprint in the opposite direction and change your phone number-- and possibly your name.”
He chuckles, a smooth rumble that can be felt through the air, and his eyes crinkle in the corners. I really don’t blame Rachel for not being over him. Kaleb has perfect boyfriend material written all over him. Someone else’s boyfriend that is. Not mine.
Butterflies dance in my stomach at the thought, and I squash those suckers down.I’m only beginning to work out the mechanics of friendship-- and not freezing up when they touch me. On top of that there’s the great mystery that is me and who and what my family is. And let’s not forget the crushing weight that is my past.My heart picks up speed, and I work to keep my breaths even.
What were we talking about again? Right, ex-girlfriend. See, totally ill equipped for such a position.
I clear my throat and return my focus to Kaleb. “Should I ask for the details?”
He sighs again, running a hand along his short cropped, black hair, and he gives me a measuring look. His warm brown eyes seek something in mine, but I’ll be damned if I know what. Gripping his book with both hands, he taps out a quick beat with his fingers.
“Sure, but…?” He stands up and looks around the hallway. The crowd has thinned considerably, the great exodus after school generally quick, but there are still some students mulling around. “Not here? I actually wanted to see how you were doing with-- everything.”
“And the middle of the hallway isn’t the best place to discuss-- everything.”We would make the worst spies.“What about Donovan? Isn’t he waiting for us?”
“He’ll be fine for a little while,” he assures me. “I told him you had to stay after school to talk to Mrs. Mills about an upcoming term paper.”
“Is there an actual term paper coming up?” I ask, since I haven’t really done more than skim the syllabus.
“Not for a while,” he promises, “and I’ll help you.”
It’s said so casually, but the offer makes a warm glow in my chest. For the first time, I have people in my life that feel their time and their help is a given-- because we’re friends.
“Where to?” I chirp, hoping my face looks normal.
“This way,” he says with a nod down the hall, then he holds out one hand to me.
Unlike Nolan, who would’ve grabbed my hand or thrown an arm over my shoulders, Kaleb leaves the decision of physical contact to me. I swallow heavily, and nerves shiver down my skin.You can do this. Normal, human contact.
Carefully, I place my hand in his. Despite feeling overheated earlier after my battle through the masses, my fingers are like ice against the heat of his skin. He gives me a kind smile, his posture and body language relaxed.
After lacing our fingers together, he leads me through the halls, the occasional student shouting out his name and greeting him as we pass.
“Rachel and I dated for about a year,” he shares as we walk, glancing down at me. “We knew each other before that through different classes and clubs, but it was the summer between freshman and sophomore year that we decided to start dating.”
Now that I’ve met her, I vaguely recall seeing her in our AP Chemistry and AP English class. She sits close to the front of the class, whereas Kaleb and I both sit towards the back. I’m surprised she didn’t manage to snag Kaleb as her lab partner.
“Wow. A year in high school is practically married,” I reply, conscious of our hands linked together.Friends hold hands, right? Damn it. Is there a manual I can study for this type of thing?
Kaleb shoves the book he’s holding into his back pocket, because boys have pockets big enough to do things like that.So unfair.Then he adjusts the strap of his backpack with his free hand.
“Yeah, we were practically a fixture of the school,” he comments with a shrug. “There were a lot of people disappointed when we broke up.”
“How tragic for them,” I snort.
Through several twists and turns, we’ve ended up near the cafeteria. Kaleb releases my hand, which I’m both relieved and slightly forlorn about. As confused as I am about how all of this works, once my internal knee-jerk,someone’s touching me,reaction settles, there’s something comforting about the physical contact. Until recently, I’d no idea what that was like. As far as I can remember, even before the torture, there was a cold and detached quality to the way my father interacted with me.
Whispers of memories try to grab hold, but I push them away. I can’t keep letting the bastard win in my own damn mind.
