It won’t matter what I say to her about what I am to him. She already thinks I’m someone to look out for because of him standing up for me. If it means having enemies over, I’ll be sure to tell him to throw me to the sharks. I’d rather go down on my own terms anyway.
Rachel leaves without another word, and from the hallway window, I see Kaiden staring. He doesn’t look angry. He looks…amused. I’m afraid to find out what’s so funny.
When I meet him at his car at the end of the day, I get in, buckle up, and drop the five-dollar bill onto his lap.
He stares at me.
“I wanted my salad.”
Chapter Seven
Thursday Book Club is small and intimate, a circle of upholstered armchairs setup in the quiet section of the library. Most of the seats are occupied by girls, and when I see them ogling an oblivious Mr. Nichols, I shake my head and take one of the last chairs.
At three-thirty, Mr. Nichols welcomes all of us and explains the general idea behind the afterschool club. It’s seems obvious that reading and discussing books is the reason we’re here, but then I’m reminded by the Little Mermaid wannabe next to me that’s not true when she asks silly questions to get Nichols’ attention.
For the duration of the meeting, we talk about selecting different novels for the year. I’m interested when he pulls out a glass bowl, small pieces of paper, and a handful of pens from his bag. He tells us we’ll each write a book down on the paper, fold it, and put it in the bowl. He’ll write down the order of books we’ll read and discuss throughout the term as they’re pulled out by us.
I’m eager to write down mine but can tell the others aren’t as interested. A brown-haired girl with pretty caramel highlights raises her hand and calls Nichols over, asking him questions about how to choose a book. He’s nice in his reply, as any teacher should be, but I can tell even he is exasperated by their lack of understanding of something simple.
I stifle a giggle when I see him shake his head on the way back to his own seat. My eyes widen when he looks up knowingly at me, giving me a soft smile as if he gets my humor.
Maybe he’s not oblivious after all.
It takes the girls fifteen minutes to write a title down, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Twilight pops up more than once. I saw the blonde with huge eyes glancing at the shelf next to her like she was just going to write down the first title she saw. Then again, half the books are ones I haven’t read yet so I wouldn’t mind.
Mr. Nichols mixes up the folded papers before passing me the bowl. “Choose one, Emery.”
I reach in and pluck one out, reading it off so he can jot down the title and author into his notebook. Admittingly, I’ve never heard of the book before.
As we go around the room, I struggle to keep quiet when Twilight pops up twice. Mr. Nichols suggests us choosing a different book in replace of one of them, but nobody speaks up.
Until Nichols calls on me. “Emery, why don’t you think of something? I know you’ve got an arsenal of ideas.”
Little Mermaid glances at me with a scrunched nose before turning to Nichols. “How come she gets to choose?”
“Nobody else spoke up, Aria.”
Aria. Ariel. Same difference.
Clearing my throat, I shift until I’m angled toward the girls. “If you want something similar to Twilight, we can read a John Green book. He writes young adult literature.”
The blonde tilts her head. “Isn’t he the one who wrote about the dying chick? I think I saw the movie with my ex-boyfriend.”
I wonder if she threw in the ex for Mr. Nichols as if he’s supposed to care. “Um, sort of. He has other books that aren’t as well-known as that one.”
“Who wants to read about dying kids?” The brunette scoffs. “That sounds depressing.”
“She finds love,” the blonde defends.
Nichols intervenes. “It can be a group decision for next time. Until then, we’ve got the title to our first book, which we’ll discuss starting next week. Be sure to have a copy before then.”
After he dismisses us, I gather my things and get ready to go before Nichols calls my name. A few girls glance back at us, whispering amongst themselves, before turning around and heading out of the library.
“You were quiet,” he notes, packing up his own belongings. “Those girls aren’t exactly here to have deep conversations about literature. I have a feeling you’ll pull a bulk of the load.”
My lips twitch. “You don’t say?”
He chuckles, zipping his messenger bag and draping it over his shoulder. “This club has the potential if we have the right people in it.”