Page 19 of People Like Us

“Is that your point? In totality?” he asked, reaching for the flash cards again.

“Yes.” I beamed.

“Alright, lesson learned. Now, what other purpose does the mitochondria serve?” he asked, looking pointedly at me.

“It’s the power house of the cell.” I folded my arms and huffed.

He rolled his eyes.

Chapter Eight

The football team and cheer squad had decamped to the gym at lunch, and with Lindsey at the dentist, I had no one to join me. I’d planned to eat in Mr. Hayward’s classroom—it was his planning period—but on my way across campus I spotted August perched on the low brick wall around the courtyard garden.

The air couldn’t decide whether to cling to summer warmth or hint at autumn’s chill. That cool breeze had dusted his cheeks pink, exactly the shade I loved, and the weak sunlight picked out the blonde roots of his curls. Before I realized it, I’d shifted my path until I was standing beside him.

He glanced up from his open lunchbox, squinting against the light.

“Hi,” I chirped.

“Hey,” he mumbled around a peanut butter sandwich, head tilted to the side.

“Mind if I sit?” I nodded at the empty space next to him.

He nodded back, eyes scanning the courtyard.

“Waiting for someone?” I asked, smoothing my brown wool dress before lowering myself onto the brick.

“My friends are in line for food,” he said.

I fished a pre-made salad and a bottled smoothie out of my bag. His gaze burned a hole in me.

“What’s up?” I asked, tearing open the dressing packet with my teeth.

“Why aren’t you sitting with the meatheads today?” he asked.

I glared through my long lashes. “Bullying is very uncool, August.”

He scoffed. “Do you give your boyfriend that same lecture?”

“Andy would never bully anyone,” I retorted.

The look he gave me made my throat go dry. I didn’t have any classes with Andy, so I wouldn’t really know how he treated people outside of our friend group. But given how much he hated his father for being such a violent prick, I couldn’t imagine he would be cruel to anyone else.

I tacked on for good measure, “You shouldn’t judge him just because he plays football. He’s actually really nice.”

He looked ready to reply, but a shadow fell across both our faces. Wyatt loomed over us, his too-tight sneer in place as he stood beside me. He was only a bit taller than me when I was sitting down, so he had the unusual pleasure of looking down at me when he asked: “What are you doing?”

I looked down at my salad, up at August who looked like a deer in headlights, and back to Wyatt.

“Curing Cancer.”

His beady eyes narrowed.

“I’m eating lunch, Wyatt.” I kept my tone as polite as possible.

“I see that, Barbie. Why are you doing it here.” He gestured to the general area around us, as if he owned it.

“Well all the seats in the bathroom were taken, so I thought here would be the next best thing.”