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“Hey, Spencer,” I reply.
“Made it through the deluge okay?” He gets his locker open and then pushes his glasses up his nose.
I laugh. “Yep.”
Spencer is a nice guy, plain and simple. A little awkward, a lot nerdy, but nice. Sydney likes to tease me about his crush on me. How we could study together and discuss animal documentaries, which I love to watch, and Sydney finds boring.
But unfortunately, I’ve never felt the slightest attraction toward Spencer. And I’ve experienced firsthand how crushing false hope can be. I refuse to do that to him, so I’ve always kept our interactions completely platonic.
I finish getting everything I need out of my backpack and shut my locker. Say goodbye to Spencer and to Sydney, who’sheading to her own locker. Since she’s a junior, hers is in a different wing.
Holden walks in the front doors as I’m heading toward the science wing for first period. He’s dripping water everywhere. His hair is soaked, rivulets of water dropping down his face. His stupid navy varsity jacket is soaked as well, the fabric so wet it looks black. Holden is surrounded by his group of friends, all of them clamoring for his attention.
I look away before he catches me staring.
He showed up to school. Whether he shows up this afternoon in the library is another story.
I can’t decide whether I want him to or not.
That’s the problem with Holden. I can lie to myself about my feelings all I want.
But they’re still there.
The library is mostly empty when I walk inside. I hurried here from my last class, eager for reasons I’m choosing not to analyze but start with a H and end with a N.
I take a seat at an empty table, pulling a couple of folders out of my backpack as I settle in the wooden chair. I pop in a pair of earbuds and start working through my Calculus homework. If he shows, I want to look busy, not like I’m waiting for him.
Movement across the table startles me.
Harrison Baker smiles. I fumble as I drop my pencil and pull out my headphones.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I repeat.
“How’s it going, Cassia?”
I’m mildly shocked that Harrison knows my name. Pembrooke High isn’t huge. But people tend to stick to their own crowd, and I’m most definitely not part of the popular one he is. I know hardly anything about football, but from what I hear, he’s one of the better players on our generally abysmal team.
It takes me a second too long to respond to his question. “Uh, good. You?”
“Pretty good. Football practice got canceled because of the rain, so I figured I should get some work done.”
“That’s, uh, that’s smart.” I pick up my pencil and fiddle with it, trying to figure out what is going on. I’m not sure if Harrison and I have ever spoken before. Maybe freshman year? We had Algebra together, I think.
“What are you working on?”
“Calculus.” I try to think of something else to add to my answer and come up empty. I feel like I’m being rude by doing nothing to carry the conversation, when really I’m just too shocked to come up with anything substantive.
“Do you have Mr. Danvers?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Uh-huh. Seventh period.”
“Did you guys do that derivatives competition last class?”
Harrison laughs. He has a nice laugh. It’s deep and husky. Genuine. “Sure did. It was probably—”
