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He strolls through the main office like he’s walking along a red carpet rolled out exclusively for his arrival. Condescending, purposeful steps shorten the distance between us. I can practically feel the entitlement wafting off of him, cloying the citrus-scented air.
“Perfect,” the secretary says, conveniently ignoring the fact she never actuallyaskedme anything and that I never answered—much less accepted. “Caleb, Lennon has the same homeroom as you. She can show you the way since you missed orientation.”
My black mood darkens. I could make this awkward for everyone and remind her Ialsomissed orientation last month—to attend a funeral. Or I can suck it up and get this over with.
Blending into the background is where I’m comfortable. Caleb Winters comes with his own spotlight.
“Okay,” I manage. I basically flee from the office, flinging my full weight against the metal bar so the glass door swings open and striding out into the rapidly emptying hallway. Attempting to act as if I don’t have a care in the world. As if this is just an inconvenience on an unremarkable day.
In reality, I’m listening for the sound of footsteps behind me. There’s nothing, more nothing, and then…
“You’re a terrible tour guide.” The words are a dry, judgmental drawl.
I scoff in response as Caleb Winters falls into step beside me, but I feel more like smirking. Weirdly, I welcome his rudeness. More of the stony silence he displayed in the office would have been easier to ignore, but I’m already in a foul mood. I’m angry. Embarrassed. Sad. I wanted to snap at the secretary simply for doing her job.
Caleb is testing me.
And I’m happy to push back.
“Don’t expect any special treatment from me, Winters.”
“You know who I am.”
It’s not really a question, so I don’t bother answering.
“Doesn’t seem fair,” Caleb adds, when he realizes I’m not going to respond. “I don’t know who you are.”
I laugh, because the town golden boy saying something is unfair is amusing. If the gossip is to be trusted, Caleb has been living in Landry for a week. As soon as he arrived, he automatically received the acceptance I pined after for all of middle school.
“Life isn’t fair,” I reply. “But I guess I could see how that’s a difficult concept for someone like you to understand.”
There’s a sudden, warm pressure on the crook of elbow. My body reacts before my brain can catch up, electric shocks of awareness skittering across my skin while a red flush crawls up my neck. It’s an unfamiliar, unexpected,unpleasantreaction that’s also the most thrilling sensation I’ve ever experienced.
“Have we met before?” Caleb asks seriously, ignoring how I’m gaping at him.
“No.” I jerk my arm away so we’re no longer touching. It makes it much easier to think. Tobreathe, even, which is especially annoying. That’s supposed to be a simple reflex.
“So you approve of judging strangers?”
I open my mouth. Close it. Stare at him. I hate the whispers when people hear my last name, and it bothers me that Caleb has a valid point. There’s a difference. The Winters name is associated with power and money and prestige. My family is the subject of scandal and pity. But both are pre-determined associations. Stereotypes.
Caleb doesn’t break my gaze the way I’m expecting him to. He stares back, his expression more searching than superior.
Shocking me further, he asks, “Do you know what number our homeroom is?”
One dark eyebrow rises, emphasizing the question. Caleb has a couple of inches on me, which adds an unfamiliar dynamic I don’t appreciate. At the end of eighth grade I was taller than all of the boys in my class.
“204,” he says, when I don’t respond.
I scowl at Caleb before tugging my crumpled class schedule out of my backpack. His expression is serene. A warm flush creeps across my skin, accompanied by the sinking suspicion he would only look that confident if he knew the correct answer. Sure enough, my homeroom is listed as 204. The closest classroom has a placard reading 225.
I spin in place and start stalking in the opposite direction, down the hallway that is now empty. Evidently no one else had any issues navigating what I thought was a foolproof system.
Instead of rubbing it in, Caleb remains silent as we walk down the hall past decreasing numbers. 221…214…209…
I hate the quiet. It feels like a physical presence lingering between us.
Over the past few weeks I’ve spent more time thinking about Caleb Winters’s arrival than I’d care to admit. Mostly calculating how much attention it might pull away from me.
