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I watch, confused again, as he starts the engine and drives away, his taillights glowing in the darkness as he pulls out onto the street.
I know him very little, but after every encounter, I feel like I know him less.
I didn’t see Masen all weekend. Saturday came and went. My friends and I spent all day on the football field, orientating the incoming freshman cheerleaders for the next school year, and Sunday I was locked in my room, playing music, doing homework, and writing Misha.
Three letters.
Two of them were just full of boring, stupid crap, and the third—the one about Masen—I crumpled up and threw away. I’m not sure why. I don’t even know why I wrote it in the first place.
Walking down the hallway at school Monday morning, I stop at my locker and start to key in the combination, but I see black writing on the front, and I stop.
Anything to not need you,
Anything to not fall for you,
Anything to look at a girl who’s not you,
But baby, there’s nothing but you.
I smile. Masen.
At least I hope he’s the culprit. My cheeks warm, hating how happy that just made me. Why does it feel so good to know he was thinking about me this weekend when he snuck in to write it?
I try to force away the grin, but it pulls at me still as I open my locker and stuff in my bag, taking out what I need for the morning.
I walk to Art and enter the room, immediately shooting my eyes over to his seat and relieved to see him sitting there. I don’t know why, but I’m afraid any moment could be the last I see him.
He talks to Manny seated next to him, and as usual, he either doesn’t notice me or acts like he doesn’t.
I walk up to my table and turn to set my materials down, but someone bumps into me, and I lurch forward.
“Sorry,” a deep voice says, and something is shoved into my hand.
I straighten and turn my head, seeing Masen brush past me and head to the front of the room, smirking back at me as he tosses his gum into the trash can.
I curl my fingers around the small piece of paper and sit down, acting like nothing happened. He returns and takes his seat again, resuming his conversation with Manny.
I hold the paper in my lap and look down, unfolding it and reading it.
I can’t wait to kiss you.
Tingles spread underneath my skin, and I stuff the paper into my pocket, trying to appear like romantic crap like that doesn’t do it for me. Nope. Not at all.
And I totally didn’t replay the drive-in in my head a thousand times this weekend, remembering how awesome his kisses really are.
But then I look up and see Trey walking into the classroom.
My stomach sinks. I was looking forward to having Masen close, but Trey’s the rain on the parade again. I should just cut him loose.
“I think you really like art,” I say as he pulls out the chair next to me. “People will start talking.”
“They’ll forgive me when they find out I only sit here to look down your shirt.” He rests a hand on my chair behind me and lets his eyes fall to my loose T-shirt. He can’t see down the top, but a sliver of my belly is showing at the bottom, right above my tight jeans. “You’re a nice view.”
“Yeah, okay—”
But I stop, hearing a scratching sound. I turn my head, seeing Masen rotate a protractor in one hand, the sharp needle digging into the wooden table and slowly slicing a circle as he grinds it. I dart my eyes up to his face, seeing that he’s focused ahead, but when I look back down, I notice the black finish of the table is now marred, revealing the tan wood underneath.
I feel a smile pull at my lips. He’s not happy.
