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“None, obviously. Have a good night, Matthews.”
I open my mouth to respond but nothing comes out. Caleb shakes his head, then jumps off the tailgate and walks away. Something sinks inside of me, like an anchor dropping into my stomach.
If I ignore you on Monday, you wouldn’t care?
I have my answer.
And it isn’t the one I wanted.
CHAPTERSIX
LENNON
He approaches me while I’m switching books out in my locker. Since Landry High assigns lockers alphabetically and we’ve kept the same ones since freshman year, seeing Ryan James isn’t a rarity. Talking to him is. We remain in a comfortable state of not acknowledging the other exists.
Ryan leans against Ellie Nash’s locker, shooting me a cocky grin. The same one that swindled me out of my first kiss, back in eighth grade.
“Wanna hang out tonight?”
I’m shocked. I figured he was coming over here to pile on about my disastrous Friday night. “You feel like slumming?”
Ryan’s grin widens as he shakes his head. “Come on, Lennon. We both know you have more confidence than that. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”
“Oh, yeah?” I grab my Calculus textbook and then slam the door shut, satisfied when Ryan flinches at the loud noise. “What else is on the list?”
“What list?”
“Your list of favorite things about me.”
“Oh. Well.” He runs his fingers through his hair, obviously not expecting the question. Most of the girls at this school smile and blush in response to anything he says. Maddeningly, I used to be one of them. “I’ve always thought you were cool. And, well, before everything happened…”
“By everything, you mean my dad dying? That’s when I could have used ahang out, Ryan. You’re about four years too late.”
“It’s only too late if you say it’s too late.”
“That’s literallyexactlywhat I just said.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I heard you. Just think about it, okay?”
Ryan is gone before I can respond, lost in the crowded hallway. The warning bell rings a few seconds later, and I basically have to sprint to get to Oceanography in time for the start of class.
The Oceanography teacher, Ms. Lyons, begins class with the announcement we’ll be spending the class period performing an octopus dissection. She allows everyone to choose their partners, which pleases everyone but me.
Shannon is in my class, so I decide to test Cassie’s claim the girls we sit with at lunch aren’t only there because of her. I don’t fully believe her. I’m guessing it’s Cassie’s way of “helping”—and by helping, I mean forcing—me to better integrate with her friends.
“Do you want to work together?” I ask Shannon, plopping down on the empty stool next to her.
“Sure,” she replies, appearing genuinely enthusiastic, which I take as a promising sign. “I’m not sure I would have taken this class if I’d known we were doing dissections.”
“Hopefully it won’t be too—” I’m cut off when Ms. Lyons sets a metal tray in front of us that’s mostly covered by a slimy, gray lump. It jiggles when the tray hits the table. “Gross,” I finish.
Although it appears gelatinous, the slippery surface of the mollusk proves challenging to pierce. After we’ve pulled on surgical gloves, Shannon attempts to hold the sides of the dead octopus while I try to slit the skin with the scalpel. It’s a difficult, disgusting process.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to eat seafood again,” I comment once we’re finally finished.
“I’m sorry,” Shannon replies.
“I never really liked it all that much, anyway.”
