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His eyebrows rise, his jaw clenches slightly and his crossed arms get a little tighter. Surely, he can’t be that surprised. It’s written all over him.Literally.Still, he is surprised I know about it.
“You’re not from the North Shore.”
“No, but I know the area.”
He observes me, my features, and my body for what seems like forever. I don’t move. He’s not unsettling me. Instead, I observe him back. He reminds me of Sam somewhat. The rough look, the calmness, the hair, the tattoos. Like a cheap version of him.
“I should go to my next class,” I finally say, already turning away.
“I hope I’ll see you in my class again,” he tells me back.
I’ve barely closed the door to the room when a voice catches my attention.
“He hits on every new girl.” Lik is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and watching me.
“Thanks,” I throw back. “I do love to feel special.”
He walks toward me, stopping close enough that I can feel his breath on my lips when he chuckles. I’m guessing the mint smell is from the gum he’s obsessively chewing. Goosebumps break out over my skin and I can feel my brows furrow. He has a weird effect on me. I’m not sure if it’s good or bad, but it feels nice.
“You attract a lot of attention, don’t you?” he asks, his eyes narrowing on me.
“It’s the height,” I answer. “Freakishly tall.”
“Right,” he scoffs. “That must be it.”
His fingers plays with the ring around his nose, like a thinking gesture. Then he runs them through his hair. Tight brown curls that he obviously takes time to moisturize and take care of. They come to just above his ears and a strand has landed on his forehead. My hand itches to push it away; instead, I take a step back.
“Did you wait for me to take me to my next class?” I gasp in a dramatic gesture. “Aw, am I your new school crush?”
He cackles a laugh. “I’ve never played on your team, babe. But feel free to try and make me change my mind.”
That makes me raise an eyebrow. I pride myself in being a walking advertisement that screamsSexuality is fluid!And meeting someone who openly feels the same way as I do feels nice.
“I wanted to invite you to a North Shore party tonight. Ever been to one of those?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “Why don’t you ask the girls around? I’m sure they’ll tell you if they remember me.”
“Do you often pride yourself in being a Casanova?” he asks me in the most profound way.
“Yes.” I take a step forward and angle my head so I’m talking right into his ear. “But I prefer to call myself a slut. It’s got a better ring to it. Don’t you think?”
I don’t know if he truly is unphased by my behavior or hides it very well, but he doesn’t have any reaction.
“You’re fun,” he simply says. He grabs the phone I’m currently holding and taps his number on it. Then he calls himself. “I’ll text you the address for tonight. You should really come.”
He does text me the address. And I want to go. But when 11 p.m. comes, and I’m facing the house that’s booming with bass, I don’t go in. This house belongs to the North Shore Crew. To Billie Scott, more specifically, and I’ve got bad blood with her. I wouldn’t mind being here with friends, but I don’t think showing up alone will earn me a welcoming banner and fireworks.
I grab a cigarette, light it up, and call Rachel, like I’ve tried every single day since my birthday. And she’s been ignoring me every time.
My heart kicks when I recognize she’s picking up. When she finally talks, her voice is cheery.
“Hi, Mom!”
“Mom?” I rasp, confused.
“Of course! Wait, let me check if I have what I need in the fridge. I made pancakes yesterday morning, so I might be out of milk. Honey, I’ll be back in a minute.”
I can hear Conor’s grunt in the background. Steps, doors opening and closing. Finally, she’s talking to me again.
