Page 30 of Always: A Legacy Novel

Catherine turned toward him, and he faced her. Her back was to the rest of the girls chatting away at the table, and he wasn’t exactly open to conversation with them to begin with. This way, it was just the two of them facing one another, in their own space, and they didn’t invite attention or conversation.

Not that people didn’t try.

They just ignored them.

It wasn’t exactly new for him and her. He was glad she made friends, but he found the girls to be high strung, too fucking nosy, and boring as hell. Catherine was none of those things, so his attention went only to her.

He wasn’t there for the rest of them.

Catherine popped the cap off a silver Sharpie marker, and went back to her doodling. Cross held the pad for her while she drew. “So …”

“Hey.”

Her head jerked up, her green eyes catching his. “Yeah?”

Cross leaned in, closed the small gap between them, and kissed her quickly on the mouth. Just as fast, he sat back the way he had been, as though he hadn’t done anything at all. Catherine smiled, though, shooting him a wink.

“Careful,” Trisha said from behind Catherine, “or you’ll get written up again.”

Cross eyed the girl over Catherine’s shoulder. “Don’t you have a new lipstick to mark on the bathroom mirrors with or something?”

Yeah, he heard about that shit.

Petty. Stupid. Nonsense.

The least the girl could have done was use something permanent—like spray paint—so it wasn’t washed off before the day was out. If someone was going to have a go at vandalism, go full on or nothing at all.

Trisha rolled her eyes. “You could try being pleasant, Cross.”

“I am,” Cross said.

To people who matter, he added silently.

“When?” the girl asked.

“Leave him alone,” Catherine piped up, never taking her attention off her doodling. “And she’s got a point, Cross.”

Catherine said her last words quieter than the rest.

“Oh?”

She frowned. “I’ve only got a couple of more write-ups before they call home.”

Cross rolled his eyes. “Who fucking cares? They call home, explain the ten write-ups, and start your score over again.”

Her laughter came out sweet and light, making him grin. “Yeah, you would see it that way. Like a competition for you to win or something. You get ten a week at least, don’t you?”

“Maybe.” Often enough. “I just mean, they don’t do anything but call.”

“But that’s what I don’t want.” Catherine flipped the pad over in Cross’s hands before saying, “I don’t want my parents pissed at me, that’s all.”

“So tell them you’ve gotten written up before the school calls and does it.”

That seemed like a simple solution to Cross.

Shit, his mother asked him regularly what he’d gotten written up for. She was a lot less angry when he told her before the principal did.

Calisto almost always laughed it off.