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“My new subject is—”
“Logan Jiménez,” she gasps. Her hand latches onto my thigh in a velociraptor-tight grip as her eyes lock onto something in the distance behind me. She’s gone full predator. I follow her gaze until it lands on Logan in the lunch line, smiling his toothpaste-ad grin at something his friend says.
For a moment—just one tiny second—I forget what I was going to tell Corrine. Then panic settles in my gut again, knowing I’ll just have to work up the nerve to say it one more time. But she cut me off; Iwasgoing to say it. I was.
“I’m obsessed with him,” she whispers loudly enough for our entire table to hear. “My pen rolled off my desk in study hall last week and he ran the whole way across the room to pick it up, and you guys know that I have Ms. Greenwald and she’s a total stickler when it comes to ‘fraternizing with other students during a study period.’ That’s, like, the beginnings of true love, right?”
There are things Corrine won’t talk about: sadness, uncomfortable and awkward things; and things she will talk about: love, stress, her feelings about Shaker-style cabinets. Sometimes, it’s a minefield trying to navigate conversations with her—like, when does talking about a crush turn into something uncomfortable? How do you talk about stress without the sadness it can bring?
Juniper says, “Yeah, it totally is. Don’t forget to invite me to your wedding.”
“Can we all agree that if anyone else had made that joke, Corrine would be about to bitch-slap them?” Devon says,sounding like he’smadthat his girlfriend isn’t getting Corrine Baker’s signature I Know You Didn’t Just Use Sarcasm on My Feelings moment.
“Juniper has a charm no one else can replicate,” Kayla says sweetly. “Especially you.”
Corrine leans in, letting them fall into a conversation without us. She chews on her lip, like she’s debating saying what’s on her mind. “I haven’t felt this way since the beginning with Holden.”
Now! Is! The! Time! Tell her! Tell her tell her tell her. She’s thinking back to her relationship with Holden wistfully, not with raging regret. Catch her while she’s happy and distracted!
“That’s great.” I don’t tell her. I can’t. I don’t want to ruin her happiness. I’ll tell her later. Hell, I’ll tell her once she’s finished her food and we’ve moved on from her bliss. “Do you think he likes you?”
“We don’t get much time to talk, but, like, my pen fell down three feet and he catapulted over seven desks to pick it up, so.”
“Definitely sounds like true love. He’s my partner in Prob/Stat. We do all our classwork together. I could mention you.”
“Saine!” She shoves me with a smile. “Don’t be too obvious, okay? Maybe just mention one of my fundraisers or something.”
“But how will I choose just one?” We share a laugh before my eyes land on Valentina Fernández rushing to our table. “Oh, speaking of fundraisers.”
Valentina, one of Corrine’s environmental club lackeys, plants her palms on the available table with a gasp, startling Devon Miles Smith. “The money is gone. I don’t know—it’s just not there anymore.”
“Slow down.” Corrine snatches up her belongings and stands, all business and serenity, her crush forgotten, my new subject not even a blip in her memories. “Who saw it last and when? We really can’t afford to lose that money. Literally.”
Corrine’s clubs, all eight million of them, are constantly on the verge of being shut down either for lack of participation or for lack of funding. She gets stress hives when her fundraisers sync up, but in her entire history of club racketeering, she’s only ever said goodbye to one: the Free Compliments Club.
She walks with Valentina out of the cafeteria and I hate myself for being relieved. I turn back to my friends to join whatever conversation they were having, but they stop. And stare.
“So, what happened with your documentary?” Kayla asks. I could curse her for not having as short of an attention span as Corrine. None of them would tell her, but that might be even worse. That I told other people before I told Corrine.
Someone taps on my shoulder and I’m thankful for another—a third? fourth?—interruption, except... it’s Holden and his best friend, Taj Chakrabarti.
“Got a few minutes for photos?” he asks, nearly monotone, holding his camera up. It’s clear this pains him, and I’m too panicked to enjoy it.
That photo assignment.
I stare at him, unsure how to navigate this situation with all the witnesses around us. It’s not like I’m in his photography class, where I could have been forced to work on something with him.
“Like, yearbook photos?” Kayla asks, wiping the corners of her mouth. She throws her arm around my shoulder and behindme, Juniper and Devon Miles Smith lean over the table, striking poses. I’m sure whatever Devon Miles Smith is doing wouldn’t be allowed in the yearbook; he thinks he personally invented the shocker sign.
Taj throws himself into the seat beside me. “We look like a college brochure with all this posed diversity.”
“Uh...” Holden laughs stiffly. “Yeah. I’d apply.”
He raises his camera and takes a few photos. I can barely work up even a fake smile, my insides frozen. He lets his camera fall against his chest and directs Taj away from the table.
“I guess we’ll just go?” He frowns at me unmoving in my seat.
“I thought Saine was coming,” Taj says. “You said she was the model.”
