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“Hey!” Elijah calls out to me. “Kennedy, wait!”
Get to class before anyone else stops me—that’s my goal. Somewhere in the past several weeks, I’ve gone from eating up the attention to having it turn my stomach. It’s not even noon, and I’m ready for the day to be over.
“Could this day possibly move any slower?” I wonder out loud as I cut through the fine arts building, hoping to avoid my adoring “fans.” My sudden fame is undoubtedly some sort of penance for all the times I gobbled up the tabloid gossip while standing in line at the grocery store.
“I didn’t know you had a class in this building.” Seth Harmon, one of my eight potential dehymenators, peels himself from the shadows to walk beside me.
“I don’t,” I mutter, regretting my choice of shortcuts.
He flashes his perfect white teeth in a wide smile. “That explains why I haven’t seen you around.”
“Don’t we have civics together?” I pick up my pace.
Seth laughs, brushing my arm as he matches my stride. He’s nice enough, and not at all unfortunate looking, but he’s no Jordan Keller. Plus, he smells faintly of glue or paint or some other noxious chemical. “What I should’ve said was when do I get to see the rest of you?”
“The rest of me?” For the second time in a matter of days, I wish I had mace. Why aren’t there any faculty members in this hall? “I’m late meeting a friend in the food court, so . . . talk to you later?”
“I’ll walk you.”
He reaches for my hand, but I jerk it back before he can get a good grip.
“Hey, no problem.” He holds up both hands in surrender. “I get it. We’ll get there.”
I choke back a laugh. The guy doesn’t seem fazed by rejection, but the only “there” we’ll be getting to is the dining hall.
“I heard you decided to skip straight to the double date round.” His head bobs a few times before he continues. “I’m ready to get that date over with. I’m anxious to have you all to myself. After our kisses at the frat house, you’ve got to agree we have a pretty strong connection.”
Smile and walk. I keep my eyes focused on the exit only a few yards away. We’re close enough to hear voices from outside.
“Have you decided who gets paired with who yet?” he asks, oblivious to my rising panic.
“Nope.” I grin. There’s no question in my mind who I’m pairing him with. Jordan will eat him alive. I don’t know how he’s done it, but somehow Seth has managed to make Caleb seem chivalrous.
We reach the glass door, and I make a break for it. “It was nice talking to you, Seth, but I’ve gotta run.”
Ugh. When all of this is over, I’ll find whoever posted that freaking list and personally introduce them to karma.
22
“I don’t think I can do this, Nicole,” I whisper under the roar of the food court chatter.
The bombshell she dropped this morning still has me freaked out—almost as bad as when Mom sent out first period announcements. Seven years later, I still have a few boxes of junior tampons left over from the gift registry. The scars will last a lifetime.
Nicole widens her eyes, answering through a fake smile and gritted teeth. “So you’re ready to kiss your scholarship goodbye?”
“No.” I swallow a groan. Despite having second—and third—thoughts, I can’t deny how badly I need that scholarship.
“Didn’t think so,” she sings. “We need to discuss the next round. For example, who do we pair together?”
Glancing toward the end of the table, I lower my voice to a hiss. “I can’t even think about the next round. Look at him. He’s miserable.”
As if putting a finer point on my statement, Jordan stabs a fork into his slimy meat loaf, eyeing it as if it might bite back.
Nicole rolls her eyes. “He’ll get over it.”
“You’re such a bitch sometimes!”
The entire table stops eating and turns toward me.
