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Ava scoffs, circles false.
2. You’ve been coming in late to class after seeing Miss Turner. Is everything okay?
Ava takes the notepad from me and writes on the bottom half of the page:
I’m just going through a lot at the moment, and she’s helping me work through it all. In a good way.
I smile when I read her response, claiming the notepad back. And, just to add extra drama to our silent conversation, I turn my back to her, arm shielding her view, and fill in the last number:
3. I, Ava Diaz, forgive one Connor Ledger for being an ass… for being selfish and stupid in saying he couldn’t be just friends. Just because he’s seen me naked in the past, it doesn’t mean that he only ever wants to see me naked every time we’re around each other. Because friends don’t get naked together. They just don’t. Unless, of course, I, Ava Diaz, want to get naked in front of Connor Ledger. Then Connor Ledger is all for it. And I, Ava Diaz, will never, ever, EVER bring up the fact that Connor Ledger got a half-chub during one of Miss Salas’s long-winded speeches thinking about me naked. True or False?
I slide the notepad over and watch Ava’s eyes move with every line she reads, her smile getting wider, ending on a breathy giggle. She takes the pen from me and crosses out everything after me being an ass, then circles True.
Looking up, Ava’s already watching me, her face only inches from mine. My eyes explore hers, searching for a semblance of hope. “I want you to look at the person sitting next to you,” Miss Salas announces.
Ava and I share a smile.
“Get used to them,” she adds.
And Ava’s breath warms my flesh when she lets out a silent laugh.
“Because that’s going to be the person you work with on your next project.”
“Here we go again,” Ava whispers.
Miss Salas adds, “And you’re going to be spending a lot of time with them.”
Smirking, I break eye contact to write down:
Naked?
Under the table, Ava pushes her leg against mine. I clasp her knee, squeeze once. And keep my hand there.
“Who here has heard of podcasts and YouTube?” Miss Salas asks, and the room fills with a mix of groans and giggles.
I shift my hand higher up Ava’s thigh and squeeze again. “This is all you,” I tell her.
“Yes!” she whispers. “Time to get the boobies out.”
TWELVE
ava
“Which ones would you like?” I ask Mom, sitting at the kitchen table with pictures sprawled out in front of us. She wanted to rearrange the photographs on the wall of her room so she could see them clearer from her bed.
“This one,” she says, pointing to one of Trevor and me standing by his car. “And this one.” It’s another one of us—this one when we were younger, standing out by the pool at our old house, Trevor’s dark skin such a contrast against mine. She lifts it up to her nose, inspects it closer. “I took this one.”
“You did,” I say, trying to hide my excitement. “You remember taking it?”
“Yes.”
The front door opens, and Trevor walks in.
“Is that your brother?” she asks.
“Yep.”
“Trevor!” she calls out.
