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“Why?” His voice is deep, hesitant. I think he’s afraid of my answer.
“I can’t have lunch with my friends today,” I hiss.
“Why not?” He crosses his arms over his chest. The way he’s looking at me I know he’s dissecting my words and posture, trying to figure out what has me so rattled.
“Because,” I hold a hand to my chest, “Ansel kissed me.”
Lachlan’s lips part. “What?” He looks surprised and I don’t know whether I should be offended or if his surprise is for another reason.
“It was my cheek,” I admit in a hushed tone, “but I got the feeling he wanted to kiss more than my cheek.” I cover my face with my hands. “I am not equipped to handle this.”
Lachlan’s jaw ticks. “Do you have lunch?”
“N-No.” Great, I’m back to stuttering. “I came straight here. I couldn’t risk running into him or my other friends.”
Lachlan rubs his stubbled jaw. “I’m going to go grab us something to eat. You…” He waves a hand at me. “You stay here.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he easily moves around me and is out the door.
It clicks closed behind him, leaving me all alone.
I take my backpack off, setting it on the ground. My coat comes off next. I rarely stop to use my locker, unlike a lot of other kids, so I carry what I need with me at all times.
Walking over to the window, I gaze outside at the small snow flurries tumbling down through the sky. There’s a light dusting on the ground but I have a feeling it’ll be gone by the time we leave today. It doesn’t matter, though, a heavy snowfall is around the corner I’m sure.
I walk around, realizing this is the first time I’ve been alone in his office. I can’t help but snoop a little. Stepping around behind his desk, I sit down, taking in everything on his desk—what he thinks is important enough to have within arm’s reach.
There are several pens, white and gold in color. I pick one up, turning it over in my fingers. I shouldn’t do it, it’s completely irrational, but I slip one into the pocket of my jeans.
There are two more family pictures, one of him and his sister at what looks like a concert, and the other is of him with his parents at the Seattle Space Needle.
I study the picture closer. He’s a lot younger in it, maybe sixteen.
My finger glides against the glass, my eyes widening at a figure in the background of the photo.
I recognize the bright pink shirt.
There was a melting ice cream cone on the front.
I wore it all the time when I was seven—so often my mom swore she was going to throw it away so I’d be forced to wear something else. She never did.
The image of my face is grainy due to the distance, but I know it’s me. My hand is clasped in my mom’s, she’s turned away from the camera and I remember her yelling at Sage for walking away. But he was fourteen and didn’t want to be seen with us. It wasn’t cool to have his mom chaperone his school trip and for his little sister to tagalong.
My eyes move back to Lachlan in the photo, the teenage boy version of him, with a crooked smile, and youthful innocence. His face is bare of any trace of stubble and there’s mischief in his eyes.
I feel confused, my heart stuttering behind my rib cage, because how is it possible that Lachlan and I crossed paths so many years ago?
My chest grows tight and I realize I’m holding my breath.
I loose it, inhaling a fresh lungful of air.
In another plane of time, Lachlan and I existed, for one fleeting moment, in the same place.
Now, here we are today.
The door to his office opens and I drop the photo. It glances off the desk, dropping to the floor where a crack appears down the middle.
I drop to my knees to grab it.
