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“Uh huh. Or is the idea of spending time with Isaac Pearce the motivation beneath your subtext?”
“I am not interested in Isaac,” I said.
I disentangled my arm from hers a little too forcefully and my ankle turned in my short-heeled boot. It didn’t hurt, but I stumbled right into someone. Someone tall, built like a brick wall, and wearing a black leather jacket. A strong hand shot out to steady me, and I tilted my head up to see Isaac Pearce looking down at me.
Of course.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey,” he replied.
He speaks…
We stood close, too close. Like a couple-at-a-dance-close. I smelled his soap, a hint of peppermint, the leather of his jacket, and the smoky undertones of his cigarettes. He was impossibly good-looking. My eyes swept over his features quickly, as if afraid to miss anything. When my eyes met the green of his, another of those little jolts shot through me again. I stepped back.
“Yeah, so… I’m sorry for…bumping you.”
Oh my God get a grip. He’s not a priceless statue.
I could feel Angie’s amusement behind me and my cheeks flushed pink.
Isaac’s grey-green eyes softened. For a split second I thought he was actually going to say something. But his expression hardened and he strode away.
“Okay,” I said to his back. “Nice chatting with you.”
I turned to see Angie watching me expectantly, her brows raised.
“What?”
“You touched him. He touched you. Is your life changed forever?”
I had to laugh, all my irritation at her draining out. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”
She grinned. “I’ve been told.”
We stopped at my locker and Angie leaned against the bank while I exchanged my English notebook for economics. One bank of lockers down, Isaac was turning the dial on his padlock. I kept my eyes on my belongings, trying to ignore the pull to look at him.
Well, come on, he’s gorgeous. I should want to look at him. It’s normal.
“So,” Angie drawled the word into seventeen syllables. “I’m going to throw this out there one last time then leave you alone, I promise.” She batted her eyelashes and pouted like a begging puppy. “Yearbook?”
It would’ve been so easy to say yes. Yearbook was safe. Something I could do from the sidelines. Documenting other kids living their lives would be like a science experiment: What Normal Looks Like. But the memory of Isaac’s acting the other night—the catharsis of emotion—called to me. Hamlet felt like the first thing I could do—a step toward getting me out from under Xavier’s black X. Or at least try.
I shut my locker to look at Angie and sucked in a breath.
“I know you won’t believe me that it has nothing to do with Isaac, but I’m going to audition for Hamlet.”
There. It’s out there. No going back.
“Yeah?” Angie pursed her lips. “Have you ever acted before?”
“Never,” I said. “It’s stupid, right? I’m not going to get a part. I don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“Way to be positive, Holloway,” Angie said, then softened. “For real, if this is what you want, then go for it. I’ll help.”
“You will?”
“Duh.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, honestly, you’d make a killer Ophelia.”
