“Carpool. Here, to school.”
“Why?”
“We live on the same property. Might as well use it to decrease our carbon footprint.”
He doesn’t respond.
“I met your cousin,” I say.
Twig coughs. I think my declaration made him choke on his Powerade. It definitely changed something about Jude’s demeanor. I’d love to read into it, but the bell rings. He rises to his feet like he can’t get away fast enough.
“See you in history,” I say.
For a second, I think he’s going to leave without acknowledging me at all. But then he caps his thermos and our eyes connect all over again.
It comes with a jolt.
A zinger of heat.
A strike of lightning.
Like his gaze and mine are live wires touching.
His golden brown eyes smolder with something like intrigue, like he feels it, too. But then Twig coughs some more, and Jude walks away.
7
A COMMON MISCONCEPTION
I’m the first to arrive to eighth period. Normally, I find a desk at the end of a row, closest to the door. Quicker to escape that way. Today, I consider moving one seat in, a maneuver that would increase my odds of sitting next to a certain someone. But that would make me just as ridiculous as every other girl tittering in the bathroom.
I sit in my normal seat.
Harper arrives next. When she slides into the empty desk next to mine, I scold myself for the twinge of disappointment. “Oh my goodness, Selah. Tell me everything.”
It’s the first time we’ve seen each other since lunch.
She scoots her desk closer. “What did you talk about? What did he sound like? What did he smell like?”
“Smelllike?”
“Expensive cologne. I bet you anything.”
I roll my eyes. “I tried to talk to him about books. He wasn’t very chatty, to be honest. He sounded like a human, and he smelled like one, too.”
Better, actually.
On both counts.
But I’m not spinning Harper into any more of a tizzy than she already is. Nor am I telling her that at any moment, Jude will be making an appearance. Instead, I turn our conversation toward the reenactment on Friday. Harper is playing the role of Annabelle Doorn, the mayor’s daughter. Over the next minute and a half, as the desks slowly fill and Harper and I chat about rehearsals this evening, I don’t look at the door once.
Nor do I need to.
The whispers rippling through the room makes his arrival obvious. By now, only two desks remain—one in the front row on the opposite side of the room, another behind Harper. All eyes track the new guy as he takes the closer seat. Harper sits ramrod straight, her eyes going buggy all over again.
The bell rings.
Mr. Langley steps inside and shuts the door.
