The serious planes of his face break. “Okay, nah, I’m fine.” He pushes off the locker and raises his chin. The girls are still staring at him, and that’s when it dawns on me that even though I’m a nobody here, Grey is asomebody. A major somebody of the “hot starting quarterback/senior football co-captain” variety. “Speaking of school, how’s your schedule looking?”
My schedule just has the names of classes and the roomnumbers. Not that I know where anything is, other than the locker rooms and weight room. Northland is the oldest school in the county and has been added on to so many times that it’s laid out like a half-full Scrabble board.
As Grey reads down the line of classes and places, I glance up, ending up eyeball to eyeball with about two dozen posters with faces and names I don’t know, all in various arrangements, all begging “So-and-so for Homecoming Queen!”
They let them campaign for honorary titles at this dumb school? And homecoming is still, like, five weeks away—I know because Coach Lee has it highlighted outside his office, the most important game outside of the league championship and anything else we get at state.
“Spanish first, huh?” Hope rises in my chest that he might be in that class, too, even though he’s a senior—it is an elective, after all. “My class is that way. I’ll show you.”
“You’re not in Spanish?” I ask, traitorous cheeks pinking.
“Not that section. But we do have Honors Calc together right after lunch.”
Lunch—that sounded like an invitation. Thank God. “Awesome.”
“We can discuss integrals for, like, two straight hours if we want.” At this, he winks, completely oblivious to the fact that the sea of students is parting neatly for him and his broad shoulders. I have people skirting past me,knocking into my backpack in a way I’ve never experienced in high school. Mostly because Windsor Prep doesn’t have nearly this many students, but also because I was so high up the social ladder, my shoulder wasn’t in anybody else’s airspace.
I start to laugh because though I don’t know him well, I doubt that’s what Grey likes to do for fun, but then suddenly his hand is twined with mine. “Liv, this way,” he says, and then he’s tugging me down a side hallway.
We’re touching. And not in a shoulder-knock cutesy way.
Too soon, he lets go. “Two down, on the left.”
“Cool,” I say, though I’m most definitely not. Between the nerves, the dread, and whatever the heck just happened when we made skin-to-skin contact, I’m pretty sure I should’ve gone without any blush this morning. “Thanks for walking me.”
“No problem. I’ll play Good Samaritan anytime.”
I open my mouth to respond, but suddenly—
“Grey?”
There, filling only half of the doorway with her slender frame, is Coach Kitt. Or, apparently, my Spanish teacher.
All the annoying color drains from my face.
“Hey, Mom.” Grey cocks a thumb at me. “Just helping out Liv.”
Coach Kitt’s red lips smooth into a line, but there’s a hitch at the end, her version of her son’s half smile. “A new favorite pastime of yours.”
Unfazed, Grey grins wider. “Eh, gotta have a hobby.” His shoulder knocks mine. “Later, Liv.”
When he’s gone, I follow the stilettoed heels of Coach Kitt into the classroom. A quick survey tells me I know exactly two people in the twenty or so seats. I hope that Coach Kitt’s love of team culture stops at the softball diamond because if we pair up for group projects at all, I now have a one in ten chance of having either Kelly or Jake as a partner.
They’re sitting next to each other—of course—which adds credence to the epiphany I had on the track, though they aren’t talking to each other at all.
Kelly is closest to me, cat eyes in finely drawn form as she stares daggers at the notebook in front of her. It’s the same look she gives the clipboard in practice. So, either her eyesight really is as crappy as I thought after she beaned me at state, or she just stares that hard ateverything.
Jake stands out in a bright orange Northland track-and-field T-shirt. He runs hurdles—really well, apparently—because it’s the reason he was inThe Kansas City Starspring sports showcase with me way back when we met.
I don’t glance away quickly enough and he catches me looking.
Coach Kitt begins to rattle off the names and bodies start to move, all in alphabetical order. Which means that, sadly, I don’t need to wait until she hits Rodinsky to knowexactly where I’ll be sitting at 7:45AMevery school day for the next nine months.
Right in front of Jake Rogers.
Because, as Addie pointed out, I haveallthe luck, my seat in Spanish actually isn’t right in front of Jake.
Nope, the Rodinsky–Rogers split happened at the end of a row. Which means, because of the snaking layout, Jake and I get to sit next to each other in the back of the class.
