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I have no good reason to touch her.
The last time I did…it didn’t end well.
“I don’t need help,” I tell her.
“You don’t.” She says it like a statement, not a question.
I take it as an agreement. “So…we’re good here?”
“Sure. We’ll meet in the library after school tomorrow.”
The muscles in my jaw pop and tense. “I don’t need your help.”
“Mrs. Golden obviously disagrees.”
“I didn’t want to write the paper. That doesn’t mean Ican’t.”
“I don’t care.” Her hazel eyes flash with an edge of defiance Cassia rarely shows. The only times I’ve seen glimpses of it have been with me. It fucks with my head. “She asked me to help you. I said I would. I’m not lying to a teacher. And if you don’t let me help me, you’ll probably keep failing.”
“I’m not failing. I just don’t care about what happened a hundred years ago. When am I ever going to discuss the impacts of the Industrial Revolution?”
“Oh, I don’t know…” She taps her chin with one finger. “Maybe when you’re flunking American history?”
I shake my head, but some tiny part of me wants to smile at her sass. “Touché, Little Miss Perfect.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Cassia says it like she means it, but she’s never once told me not to call her flower. That fucks with my head too.
“Yo! Adams!”
I look away from Cassia, at Finn. He’s standing with his hands cupped around his mouth, calling me from the other end of the hall with a bunch of the guys on the team. And a group of girls. “Let’s go!” he adds when I don’t move.
“Write a new outline for the paper tonight,” Cassia says, drawing my attention back to where it wants to be. “I’ll look at it tomorrow.”
“I have plans tonight.” I do. It’s not a lie, but I mostly say it to be a dick. To test her on how seriously she’s planning to take this.
“Your schedule will be wide open when you get benched.”
I narrow my eyes at Cassia, then startle when I feel a hand wrap around my forearm.
The apple scent of Grace’s shampoo hits me first, cloying the air with artificial sweetness. “Come on, Holden. Everyone’s waiting for you.”
I shrug away from her touch. I’ve made it very clear to Grace I have no interest in a relationship. That there are hard limits. Yet she insists on continually testing them. Touching me to mark her territory. Pouting when I won’t kiss her.
When I glance at Cassia, her eyes are on my arm. Focused on the one spot where Grace was just touching me. Her expression is blank, no hint of the obstinance she just aimed my way.
Because she doesn’t care what I think? Because shedoescare? I can’t figure her out, can’t read her intentions, and it bothers me more than it should.
Grace follows the direction of my attention. “Oh. Hi, Cassia.”
“Hi, Grace,” Cassia responds, polite as ever.
Her sugary sweet tone makes me want to shatter that poise, which is a good reason to walk away.
I glimpsed more emotion from Cassia in the two-minute conversation Grace just interrupted than in the past few years combined. Instead of ignoring her the way I’ve done, it makesme want to push her. To peel back more and expose whatever she’s hiding.
“Let’s go,” I say to Grace.
