I brush my finger over the rose petalstheyre as soft as anything, as air or a breathand then instantly feel stupid. I open the note, expecting something from Ally or Lindsay (hers always say Love you to death, bitch), but instead I see a cartoon drawing of a fat cupid accidentally shooting a bird out of a tree. The bird is labeled American Bald Eagle, and it looks like its about to fall directly on top of a couple sitting on a benchCupids original target, presumably. Cupids eyes are spirals and he has a stupid grin on his face.
Underneath the cartoon it says: Dont drink and love.
Its obviously from Kent McFullerhe draws cartoons for The Tribulation, the school humor paperand I look up and glance in his direction. He always sits in the back left corner of the room. Its one weird thing about him but definitely not the only one. Sure enough, hes watching me. He gives me a quick smile and a wave, then makes a motion with his arms like hes pulling back an arrow on a bowstring and shooting it at me. I make a point of frowning and deliberately take his note, fold it up quickly, and toss it in the bottom of my bag. He doesnt seem to mind, though. Its like I can feel his smile burning on me.
Mr. Daimler comes up and down the aisles, collecting homework, and he pauses at my desk. I have to admit it: hes the reason Im psyched to get four Valograms in calc. Mr. Daimlers only twenty-five and hes gorgeous. Hes assistant coach of the soccer team, and its pretty funny to see him standing next to Otto. Theyre complete physical opposites. Mr. Daimlers over six feet, always tan, and dresses like we do, in jeans and fleeces and New Balance sneakers. He graduated from Thomas Jefferson. We looked him up once in the old yearbooks in the library. He was prom king, and in one picture hes wearing a tux and smiling with his arm around his prom date. You can just see a hemp necklace peeking out of his shirt collar. I love that picture. But you know what I love even more? He still wears that hemp necklace.
Its so ironic that the hottest guy at Thomas Jefferson is on the faculty.
As usual, when he smiles my stomach does a little flip. He runs a hand through his messy brown hair, and I fantasize about doing the same thing.
Nine roses already? He raises his eyebrows, makes a big show of checking his watch. And its only eleven fifteen. Well done.
What can I say? I make my voice as smooth and flirtatious as possible. The people love me.
I can see that, he says, and winks at me.
I let him move a little farther down the aisle before I say, loudly, I still havent gotten my rose from you, Mr. Daimler.
He doesnt turn around, but I can see the tips of his ears go red. There are giggles and snorts from the class. I get that rush that comes when you know youre doing something wrong and are getting away with it, like stealing something from the school cafeteria or getting tipsy at a family holiday without anyone knowing.
Lindsay says Mr. Daimlers going to sue me for harassment one day. I dont think so. I think he secretly likes it.
Case in point: when he turns around to face the class, hes smiling.
After reviewing last weeks test results, I realize theres still a lot of confusion about asymptotes and limits, he begins, leaning against his desk and crossing his legs at the ankle. Nobody else could make calculus even remotely interesting, Im sure of it.
For the rest of the class he barely looks at me, and even then only when I raise my hand. But I swear that when our eyes do meet, it makes my whole body feel like a giant shiver. And I swear hes feeling it too.
After class Kent catches up with me.
So? he says. What did you think?
Of what? I say to irritate him. I know hes talking about the cartoon and the rose.
Kent just smiles and changes the subject. My parents are away this weekend.
Good for you.
His smile doesnt waver. Im having a party tonight. Are you coming?
I look at him. Ive never understood Kent. Or at least I havent understood him in years. We were super close when we were littletechnically I suppose he was my best friend as well as my first kissbut as soon as he hit middle school, he started getting weirder and weirder. Since freshman year hes always worn a blazer to school, even though most of the ones he owns are ripped at the seams or have holes in the elbows. He wears the same scuffed-up black-and-white checkered sneakers every day and his hair is so long its like a curtain that swings down over his eyes every five seconds. But the real deal breaker is this: he actually wears a bowler hat. To school.
The worst thing is that he could be cute. He has the face and the body for it. He has a tiny heart-shaped mole under his left eye, no joke. But he has to screw it up by being such a freak.
Not sure what my plans are yet, I say. If thats where everyone ends up I let my voice trail off so he knows Ill only show if theres nothing better to do.
Its going to be great, he says, still smiling. Another infuriating thing about Kent: he acts like the world is one big, shiny present he gets to unwrap every morning.
Well see, I say. Down the hall I see Rob ducking into the cafeteria and I start walking faster, hoping Kent will get the picture and back off. Its pretty optimistic thinking on my part. Kent has had a crush on me for years. Possibly even since our kiss.
He stops walking entirely, maybe hoping Ill stop too. But I dont. For a second I feel bad, like I was too harsh, but then his voice rings out after me, and I can tell just by the sound of it that hes still smiling.
See you tonight, he says. I hear the squeak of his sneakers on the linoleum, and I know he has turned around and started off in the opposite direction. He starts whistling. The sound of it carries back to me, getting fainter. It takes me a while to place the tune.
The sunll come out tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow therell be sun. From Annie, the musical. My favorite songwhen I was seven.
I know no one else in the hall will get it, but still Im embarrassed and can feel heat creeping up my neck. Hes always doing things like that: acting like he knows me better than anyone else just because we used to play in the sandbox together a hundred years ago. Acting like nothing thats happened in the past ten years has changed anything, even though its changed everything.
My phones buzzing in my back pocket and before I go in to lunch I snap it open. Theres one new text from Lindsay.
Party @ Kent McFreakys 2nite. In?
I pause for just a second, blowing out a long breath, before I text back.
Obv.
There are three acceptable things to eat in the Thomas Jefferson cafeteria:
1. A bagel, plain or with cream cheese.
2. French fries.
3. A deli sandwich from the make-your-own sandwich bar.
a. But only with turkey, ham, or chicken breast. Salami and bologna are obvious no-nos, and roast beef is questionable. Which is a shame, because roast beef is my favorite.
Rob is standing over by the cash register with a group of his friends. Hes holding an enormous tray of fries. He eats them every day. He catches my eye and gives me a nod. (Hes not the kind of guy who does so well with feelings, his or mine. Thus the luv ya on the note he sent me.)
Its weird. Before we were going out, I liked him so much, and for so long, that every time he even looked in my direction I would get this bubbling, fizzing feeling so strong it would make me dizzy. No lie: sometimes I got light-headed thinking about him and had to sit down.
But now that were officially a couple, I sometimes have the strangest thoughts when I look at him, like I wonder if all those fries are clogging his arteries or whether he flosses or how long its been since he washed the Yankees hat he wears pretty much every day. Sometimes Im worried theres something wrong with me. Who wouldnt want to go out with Rob Cokran?
Its not that Im not totally happyI ambut its almost like sometimes I have to keep running over and over in my head why I liked him in the first place, like if I dont Ill somehow forget. Thankfully there are a million good reasons: the fact that he has black hair and a billion freckles but somehow they dont look stupid on him; that hes loud but in a funny way; that everyone knows him and likes him and probably half of the girls in the school have a crush on him; that he looks good in his lacrosse jersey; that when hes really tired he lays his head on my shoulder and falls asleep. Thats my favorite thing about him. I like to lie next to him when its late, dark, and so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat. Its times like that when Im sure that Im in love.
I ignore Rob as I get in line to pay for my bagelI can play hard to get tooand then head for the senior section. The rest of the cafeteria is a rectangle. Special ed kids sit all the way down, at the table closest to the classrooms, and then there are the freshman tables, and then the sophomore tables, and then the junior tables. The senior section is at the very head of the cafeteria. Its an octagon lined completely with windows. Okay, so it only looks out over the parking lot, but its still better than getting a straight view of the short-bus brigade dribbling their applesauce. No offense.
Allys already sitting at a small circular table right by the window: our favorite.
Hey. I put down my tray and my roses. Allys bouquet is sitting on the table and I do a quick count.
Nine roses. I gesture to hers and then give my bouquet a rattle. Same as me.
She makes a face. One of mine doesnt count. Ethan Shlosky sent one to me. Can you believe it? Stalker.
Yeah, well, I got one from Kent McFuller, so one of mine doesnt count either.
He looves you, she says, drawing out the o. Did you get Lindsays text?
I pick the mushy center out of my bagel and pop it in my mouth. Are we really going to go to his party?
Ally snorts. Afraid hell date-rape you?
Very funny.
Theres gonna be a keg, Ally says. She takes a tiny nibble of her turkey sandwich. My house after school, okay? She doesnt really have to ask. Its our tradition on Fridays. We order food, raid her closet, blast music, and dance around swapping eye shadows and lip glosses.
Yeah, sure.
Ive been watching Rob come closer out of the corner of my eye, and suddenly hes there, plopping into a chair next to me and leaning in until his mouth is touching my left ear. He smells like Total cologne. He always does. I think it smells a little like this tea my grandmother used to drinklemon balmbut I havent told him that yet.
Hey, Slammer. Hes always making up names for me: Slammer, Samwich, Sammy Says. Did you get my Valogram?
Did you get mine? I say.