The Love Story (The Things We Can't Change Book 4) (2 page)

Mr. Bryant walks me to the office to personally arrange my schedule. Since I already have all my credits but math, chemistry, and English, I find myself in three art classes—drawing, painting, and portfolio—and a study hall that Mr. Bryant is running this semester so I have another class to devote to artwork.

He keeps me so long that the bell rings and he has to write me a pass to drawing. It’s not until I’m seated at the table that I remember with a horrified feeling.
Evie.
I left her to walk inside all by herself.
Shit.
How did she do? Did she even make it or was she beaten down before she got to the front doors? Even now I can feel eyes constantly flitting back to me as people stare and gossip. I’d been lucky enough to be here early for the empty halls, and then again with my late pass but Evie would have gone through the brunt of it and I’d failed to be there for her.

I go hot and cold with worry and anger at myself.
Stupid, stupid, stupid
. Despite my fear of it being confiscated, I pull my cell phone from my pocket and begin to type out a message below the table ledge.

Hey. I’m so freaking sorry, Evie. I was changing my schedule around to get into art classes and missed the bell. Are you here? Did you make it in okay?

I can hardly focus on the syllabus we’re going over, full of nervous energy. I drum my fingers against the table and tap my pencil until my tablemate—an artsy girl with big glasses, shaggy hair and ultra-skinny jeans—glares at me. Finally, my phone vibrates against my leg and I snatch it out.

I’m totally fine. Koby pulled up next to me and walked me in so it wasn’t that bad. I’m glad you changed to art, did they have spots left?

I give a relieved sigh, knowing I owe Koby one and hoping she isn’t lying to put me at ease.

Mr. Bryant pulled favors so I got into four. When do you have lunch? I’m 5A.

Me too! Can I sit with you?

I want to snort at the question because only Evie would actually ask it, or think that she needed to. No doubt it had taken all her courage to ask. I try to put her at ease.

I’d be offended if you didn’t. See you then?

See you then.

My phone rumbles with a text a moment but since Mrs. Smith is already eyeing me suspiciously, I wait until the bell rings and walk quickly to my next class to get there early. In the extra few minutes before class starts, I check Evie’s message.

Was the staring and whispering this bad last spring while I was gone?

I think of the looks in the hallways that I’ve already gotten, the whispers that are only half-hidden behind cupped hands. Even now, two girls across the classroom are staring at me and one glare makes them instantly look down in fear.

It was worse,
I finally reply.

I’m lying.

The painting and drawing helps. Although my first three classes are typical introductions, usual first day stuff, my study hall before lunch actually involves drawing. Mr. Bryant found a book with exercises and asked me to start working through it to start “limbering up my drawing muscles.”

It helps with the anger, the nerves, the anticipation, the flush of grief at being in the art room with my painting of Cindy. It even helps me deal with all of the stares and rumors. But for the first time ever, drawing fails me. It fails to erase one emotion, not matter how hard I try. I’m stuck with the feeling all period and while it doesn’t feel
good
, it doesn’t hurt or kill me either.

Anticipation.

At seeing Evie.

That’s what I’m feeling. And I act on it as the bell rings and I am the first out of the classroom. The halls to the cafeteria all seem too long but I finally make it.

She’s waiting for me at the beginning of the lunch line. She’s dressed almost exactly as she was the first time I really noticed her in the dance studio. White v-neck, though long-sleeved this time, jeans, silvery jeweled sandals. Her hair is in big supermodel curls and she looks totally perfect and completely untouchable.

I realize with a jolt we both look like our past selves, the people we were just a year ago. Me in my baggy street clothes, Evie on a pedestal, both of us unapproachable and liking it that way; we didn’t want anyone close enough to see our secrets.

But outward appearances don’t really matter much. Evie has definitely taught me that, evidenced by how she looks now. And oh, how things have changed since that fateful meeting last spring.

That’s clear enough when Evie catches sight of me and smiles broadly. We might look night and day different as far as our clothes are concerned, but the circles under her eyes match mine. I know exactly why they are there. It’s one of our many shared secrets, something that no one at this school can take away or change.

I don’t feel fear. I don’t even feel nervous. There’s a bit of vengeance at my dad but mostly, as I walk toward her, I’m thinking just of Evie and myself.

“Hey,” I say when I’m standing before her. I reach out and tug her books from her hands, settling them under my arm with my sketchbook.

“Hey yourself,” she replies, still smiling brilliantly. “How were the art classes?”

I know she wants a real answer so I admit, “Surprisingly, I enjoyed myself.” I take a step closer, looking down into violet pools that always catch hold of me, grab me. drown me, don’t ever let me go, just like always. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yeah? Ask away.”

If I’m not mistaken, her breath hitches as I reach out and take one of her hands into my own. The idea that I have that effect on her pleases the hell out of me.

“I was wondering.” I take a deep breath, knowing that once the words are out, I can’t take them back. But it’s time. I know how brave Evie had to be in order to kiss me. To face a fear of intimacy and touching so she could go after what she wanted. I have to try too. Because I
want
this. “Do you want to go on a date with me on Friday?”

I hadn’t believed it possible, but Evie smiles even wider.

“Of course.” She breathes the words and my blood runs hot.

I don’t even think about it. Her eyes have me too tightly in their grip. I can smell her hair, freshly washed, fruity and intoxicating, a pull as captivating as any spell. I tug on her hand so she’s forced to step closer, so close our bodies are aligned, touching. Her against me lights me on fire and before I realize it, I’ve leaned down and pressed my lips to hers.

Behind us, the crowded cafeteria explodes.

Evie and I don’t even notice.

Evangeline

84

After Zeke and I make a scene in the cafeteria, the buzzing and stares only get worse. I try to keep my chin up, but as I sit in my sixth period class and feel every eye on me, I admit that this totally sucks. I want to curl up in my chair and disappear into the floor. I want to be back on the beach with Zeke, anonymous and blissfully happy. Away from any reminders of what happened.

I can’t believe everyone is still so obsessed with it, but with a small school populated with many of Tony’s old friends and acquaintances, I suppose it’s inevitable. And Zeke’s kiss at lunch has only fueled the fire and caused everything to flame up higher than it was already burning.

I don’t care, not right now, at least. I’d loved it. Just as I’d loved sitting with him, Dominic, and Koby at lunch. They were calmly accepting of my presence, even asking me about my tattoo and Florida. It was kind of like having older, protective brothers. Koby had been especially sweet while walking me in.

Even so, I’m relieved I have lunch with Zeke. I have a feeling I’ll want that midday break in the weeks to come. I’ll need my fix of him after a long morning, especially with Chantal and Grace in my fourth period class and Jenny in my first two periods. I wish I’d gotten an early out this year but changing my schedule now feels like the coward’s way out. Besides, my last class of the day, Speech, is with Zeke and no way do I want to miss that.

Sixth period seems to drag on endlessly and I tap my pencil as the hands of the clock inch onward. After what feels like a year, the bell finally rings. I leap from my seat and practically vault for the door.

I spy Zeke’s dark head a little further down the hallway, tattooed stars on his neck unmistakable, and call his name. Just that small action causes the hallway bustle to die and draws stares. I ignore it, almost pleased because it makes it much easier to shoulder my way past all of them to where Zeke is waiting for me.

“Hey,” he says once I’m close enough. It’s amazing how the single word fills me with pleasure and makes me flush. There seems to be a new awareness between Zeke and me that wasn’t there before.

Sure, we’d always been
aware
of each other. But now it seems we’re aware that Zeke is a man and I am a woman. The air around us fairly crackles with electricity. One brush of his warm skin against mine sends waves of pleasurable heat through me. It’s as though the chemistry that always should have been between us is finally allowed out. It no longer has to be suppressed by Tony or secrets or grief or even fear, fear of the attraction itself.

I always thought it would take years for me to feel this way about a guy again. That I would never be fully repaired. But with Zeke, there is no fear. I feel only
want
where he is concerned. Want that is strong enough to make me beat down the fear. Besides, Zeke has proven to me over and over that he won’t hurt me. I have nothing to fear from him. Only from myself and my own mind.

“Hey,” I finally reply, jolted from all my heavy thoughts as Zeke again tugs my books from my arms.

It’s such an old school move and yet it charms me completely. “Ready for this?” I ask as we start down the hall. “One class to go.”

“Thank goodness. I’ve had all I can take. I need a nap, bad.”

“Me too,” I agree, using a hand to cover yet another yawn. It’s already been a long day but I’m almost grateful to be exhausted because it makes it much easier to ignore the way everyone is watching me all the time.

“Good thing we have no homework the first day,” I continue as we climb the stairs to the second floor. “I plan on going to bed as soon as I get home.”

“You and me both,” Zeke agrees fervently.

A moment later and we’re passing over the threshold of our classroom. One look inside and my skin turns to ice. This period, which I was previously looking forward to, has now turned into my least favorite class.

Dominic and Koby are already seated in the classroom, which is well enough, but so are Chantal, Tiffany, Jenny, Josh and Aaron. I want to think it’s all a joke, that they’ll yell, “Just kidding!” and flee when the bell rings, but they don’t. They all stay seated just as Zeke and I stay frozen in the doorway.

It’s not such a surprise, though. Speech is a senior level class and always recommended for those attending college. Our school is small enough it’s probably only offered once a semester and it was just my luck that we were put into
this
semester.

“Come in, come in!” Mr. Riordan, our teacher, beckons for us to fully enter as he gets to his feet. “No need to be shy!”

Eyes swing toward us and silence falls as Zeke and I move to take seats by Dominic and Koby. Buzzing with the same steady drone as bees, the whispering begins. Tiffany and her pack are all leaned inward, a vicious inner circle where the web of lies and rumors are spun.

I sit in my chair, gritting my teeth and reflecting with grim good humor that Grace will be sorely disappointed that she missed this show. None of them have talked to me yet today but perhaps they’re all waiting for the perfect moment but I’m still grateful. If they’re going to continue being horrible and nasty, the least we can do is ease into it.

The first order of business, as it has been for every class, is to get into alphabetical order. We all groan, stand up and move to a corner of the room. I stand to one side of Koby Phillips, while Ezekiel Quain stands to his other side, a familiar line up that we’ve done many times over the years. It’s a comforting place to be, though in between them would be even nicer.

Ten minutes later we’re all seated once more. Koby, Zeke and I are in the second to last row, closest to the door. Most of our enemies are farther across the room, something I’m grateful for. The closest is Jenny, sitting with a single row between us and Chantal just two seats behind her. Far away, but definitely not far enough.

“Very well then!” Mr. Riordan begins. I had him for freshman English and he’s a very enthusiastic person, always pacing or walking around, always on the go, but all around a very nice teacher. I’m glad to have him again and glad on top of everything else that I don’t have a horrible teacher in this period.

“Let’s get started then, shall we?” he asks. “There will be quite a few different speeches you’ll give over the course of the semester, usually with one to two weeks in between depending on the topic and if research is required. They cover a broad range, from researching a historical figure, to a cause, to arguing pro and con over the same issue, to personal opinion pieces on various topics. The first of which…”