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He smirks. “Yeah, right.”
I sigh. “It can’t be news people gossip about you.”
“No. It’s not.”
There’s a dissatisfied edge lurking beneath the words. One I’m surprised to hear and too uncomfortable to acknowledge.
“We can doFrankenstein,” I blurt.
Ending this conversation as soon as possible suddenly feels like a top priority. Something about sitting here, with him, all alone is creeping under my skin and taking hold.
Caleb studies me with a strange, speculative look for a minute. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” Caleb gives his head a small shake. “Okay, so we’ve settled on a book.”
“Miraculous,” I mutter dryly.
“So, you have any favorite literary devices?” Caleb asks.
“Please tell me that’s not one of your pickup lines,” I can’t help but quip.
Caleb gives me another one of his rare, genuine grins. I take a bite of sandwich. “I’ve got better game than that, Matthews.”
“I don’t see why you’d need to. Perk of being the hottest guy in school, and all that.” The words slip out past the piece of banana I’ve just swallowed. Unthinkingly. And I regret them as soon as they leave my mouth.
“You think I’m the hottest guy in school?” Caleb asks, a wicked, speculative gleam appearing in his eyes.
Shit. “That wasn’t a personal opinion,” I hurry to say. “I just meant, that’s what people say, is all.” I’m flustered, and I’m pretty sure Caleb can tell. Mostly because Idothink he’s the hottest guy in school, and that’s something Ineverwanted him to know.
Uncharacteristically, he doesn’t press the topic. “Foreshadowing?”
I breathe a subtle sigh of relief. “I’d hope so, considering the subject.”
“Two to go, then.”
“Imagery?” I offer.
“Isn’t that a given in every book?” Caleb contends.
“Did you notice how I didn’t criticize your suggestion?” I retort.
“Fine. Personification?”
“Done,” I state, eager to be finished with this discussion. “Do you trust me to write the outline now?”
“Yes,” Caleb replies simply.
“Good.” I ball up the plastic baggie I transported my sandwich in, expecting that to be the end of our conversation. But Caleb doesn’t move, so I feel obligated to stay seated too.
We stare at each other in silence. It’s a stark contrast to the din of voices surrounding us.
“How was your break?” Caleb finally asks.
I don’t answer at first, too taken aback by his unexpected question. We don’t exchange pleasantries. We bicker and argue.
I feel like it’s a test, and so I don’t bother with the glossy answer I offered to Cassie and the one other person who bothered to ask. “It…wasn’t great,” I admit. Maybe honesty will fracture this bizarre moment. “Yours?”
If Caleb’s surprised by my answer, he doesn’t show it. “Not great, either.”
