I take cover in the girls’ bathroom to get my anxiety in check. Then, I scan myself in the mirror for anything that might turn Luke off. Thankfully, I’m completely alone as I fix a weird piece of hair and check my teeth, nose, and butt in the mirror.
The bell rings as I leave the bathroom; I run the rest of the way to the library.
“Tardiness is unacceptable,” Ms. Mason says to me without looking up from her magazine. I move toward the only open seat: the one across from a boy who looks very happy to see me.
Somehow I know: this is Luke.
As I sit down, he casually slides a piece of notebook paper across the table, then returns to whatever he was working on. I unpack my schoolwork before reading the page; the wait is excruciating, but I don’t want to seem too eager. When I do read what he’s written, I fight hard to keep my expression in check.
London,
It seems we have a problem chatting in class. How about you give me your number and we can try it later?
Luke
PS—You look nice today.
I press my cheek to my shoulder to stifle a snort. Luke wrote the note before I got here; he had no idea how I looked before I sat down.
For the remainder of the period, I daydream about a future with Luke like normal girls who can’t remember the future might do with a crush. At least that’s the bright side of forgetting him each night: I can wonder.
Two minutes before the bell, I scrawl my number on the bottom of Luke’s note and pass it back. I am surprised when he risks detention by pulling out his cell phone and saving my number right then and there. Thankfully, Ms. Mason doesn’t notice.
When the bell rings, Luke and I stand at the same time and walk together to the library doors, close but not touching. Hannah Wright leaves before us and holds the door so it doesn’t slam in our faces. She looks from me to Luke to me again, then smiles encouragingly before turning around. In the hallway, Luke and I turn to go in different directions.
“Talk to you soon,” he says.
“Sounds good,” I reply. I want to say more, but we are bottlenecking the main hallway, and there is only so much time between classes. Instead, I wave and turn away, forcing myself to walk, not skip, to my locker.
Later, in World History, Mr. Ellis says he’s going to show a film about Nazi Germany.
“It’s disturbing, but I expect you all to act like mature adults. Anyone who cannot do that will be sent to the office.”
After study hall with Luke, I’m still feeling more like a giddy schoolgirl than a mature adult. I try to muzzle my permagrin, but it can’t be contained. I turn my head toward the window so Mr. Ellis doesn’t see me smiling and take it the wrong way.
I’m surprised to discover huge white flakes of snow drifting lazily from the sky. The snow blankets the courtyard like froth on the top of a perfect latte. It’s beautiful and untouched, and it calms me.
Giddiness now in check, I look back at Mr. Ellis, who is consulting a notebook on top of his desk. With his pointer finger as a guide, he scans a list. Then he looks up at me.
“London Lane, did you bring your permission slip today?” Everyone in the class turns to look at me. I can’t help but flush because of the attention. For the moment, my grin is gone.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, leaning over to snatch my bag from under my seat. Unless I put it there yesterday and forgot to remind myself, I know the permission slip isn’t inside. Yet I make a show of looking for it.
“Sorry,” I say after a few seconds. “I guess I forgot it again.”
“Then you’ll have to go to the library,” says Mr. Ellis.
“Okay,” I say, standing up, bag in hand. My face burns as I walk to the front to take the hall pass from Mr. Ellis’s outstretched hand. I leave the classroom, and in the hallway my embarrassment quickly subsides. For forever, this is the type of slipup that I will loathe: the little mistakes that make me seem spastic.
But not today.
Today there is snow on the courtyard.
Today there is Luke.
9