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“Anything,” he answers.
I glance over at his friends, who are now both lost in conversation with the girl. “Leave me alone for the rest of the day.”
“What?”
I risk looking at him. “Take it or leave it.”
“Why?”
Do I have to spell it out for him? “You’re best friends with Cooper Higgins.”
It’s like I told a toddler that snack time doesn’t exist. “So?”
“As I said, take it or leave it.”
Jonah mulls it over for longer than I’d like, but he eventually nods. “Okay.”
And that’s when I spot Cooper scowling at the two of us. I slide down into my seat. Stupid me. Jonah Jacobson wanting to chat is going to make the year of hovering below the radar impossible.
Jonah
I haven’t had a decent appetite since the day of the accident. I get hungry and eat, but food doesn’t taste right. It’s bland. So after a few bites, I’m ready to move on to something else—the next activity to fill the day until I can go to the cemetery in an attempt to gain some focus. I feel like a damn jumping flea on crack.
Stella sits on the opposite side of the cafeteria with her feet propped on an empty chair. Her canvas sneaker bounces to a silent beat. She holds one half of the hot ham and cheese offered in the lunch line in one hand and a ratty paperback in the other. So far, we’ve only had American Lit together, but she’s avoided eye contact with me in the halls.
Her clothes are simple—a pair of dark blue jeans and a white cotton shirt—but there’s nothing simple about her with that purple hair and rose barrette. Naw, it’s not the hair. It’s just Stella. There’s a sexiness in the way she moves and in her voice. Stuff I never noticed before. Even if all that weren’t true, I’d still stare. One conversation with her and I’m hooked.
Cooper drops into the seat across from me, sliding his tray onto the table. He blocks my view of Stella. “Welcome home, Jonah.”
I raise my eyebrows. “What?”
“You bailed on us the last couple weeks of summer. I was starting to think you found a new group to hang with.”
“Just needed time.”
Cooper nods. “I get it. You’re back, so it’s all good. What’s up with you
and Trash Can Girl?”
A rumble like the front edge of a thunderstorm runs through me. “What did you say?”
Coop’s face twists as he assesses me. “The chick with the purple hair. The girl who used to root through the trash in elementary school. You were staring at her when I walked over.”
The other guys at the table stop their conversation and watch. My reaction? I push away the tray that contains my half-eaten food. No one makes a military case out of my non-response. Not answering or giving my opinion—that’s my personality. Just like it’s Cooper’s thing to crack jokes and snag girls. Just like it’s Todd’s thing to talk basketball.
Todd reaches over and grabs my french fries. “Mind?”
“No.”
Cooper glances over his shoulder at Stella and I have the urge to tell him not to look. It’s a weird feeling, a protective one, and I don’t understand the emotion.
“What type of questions did the reporter ask?” Todd probes with three fries hanging from his mouth.
I shrug. She asked questions about what it was like to be with James Cohen in his final minutes and what inspired me to do what no one else at the scene would. I couldn’t answer her. Even if I’d wanted to, words would not leave my mouth. I sat in the hot seat my mother had dragged in from the dining room while the reporter sat on the couch across from me. I clasped my hands tightly between my knees and became paralyzed.
Except for one question: “What are your thoughts on the ambulance response time?”
For the first time in weeks, the cells within my brain fired. “I think people should have gotten out of the way and let the ambulance pass. A man died because a whole bunch of selfish bastards wouldn’t move out of their lanes because they wanted to get to the mall faster.”
