Chapter 6
Six
School’s barely started and I’m already failing! I’m going to be kicked off the cheer team for sure.
Text from Noelle Meyer to Saanvi Kumar.
I twiddle my pencil between my thumb and forefinger, watching Zeke frown over the chemistry problem. He has a little crease between his thick, dark brows, and his lips are turned slightly down.
“I told you chemistry is evil,” I say.
“Hush,” he says. “We’ll get it.”
We’re in the library again, in the same out-of-the-way corner. The delightful smell of books permeates the air, and textbooks and papers are spread across the table. One book is open to the periodic table and another shows a list of organic chemistry equations that we’re supposed to be balancing.
“I’ve almost got it,” Zeke says. “Don’t worry.”
Today, Zeke wears a shirt that has two storm bloopers—or whatever those guys are called—that says, “Maybe those were the droids we were looking for.”
The library is dead quiet. It’s a Friday afternoon, and no one is here. They’ve all gone home to start the weekend. Which is exactly why I asked Zeke to meet up this day.
I pull out my phone to check the stats of my latest Instagram story when Zeke says, “Got it!”
“Great.” I set my phone face down on the table. “Can you explain it to me like I’m a drunk toddler?”
His smile quirks. “Hmm?”
“Because then you’ll dumb it down enough so I can actually understand it.”
“Callie.” Zeke leans forward and clasps his hands together over the textbook. “You’re much smarter than you give yourself credit for. Just because organic chemistry doesn’t come naturally to you doesn’t mean you’re not smart.”
I try to smile, but Zeke’s kind words make me uncomfortable.
People call me many things—beautiful, stylish, popular—but “smart” isn’t a compliment I get often, even from my parents.
Of course they want me to do well in school, but it seems like more of an expectation than something to be praised.
Mom is quicker to notice when I wear an outfit she approves of, when I get a great workout in, or when my nutrition is spot on.
“How about you explain it to me like I’m a slightly inebriated toddler?” I ask.
Zeke laughs. He explains the problem to me, not in ways that a drunk toddler could understand, but in a way that I can understand.
“I like how you talk to me,” I blurt before thinking about it. Where did that even come from?
Zeke looks up, and his warm expression reduces some of my embarrassment. “Oh yeah? How’s that?”
“Like I’m just me,” I hurry to explain. “Everyone at school, with the exception of my closest friends, is either in awe of me or they hate me. They’re all just waiting for me to make a mistake so they can take a pic and leak it to gossip media.
” I take a breath. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this before.
“You just treat me like I’m me. Callie.” Now I sound like a drunk toddler.
Zeke’s eyes soften. “That sounds really hard. I’m sorry you have to deal with that.”
I can’t remember the last time someone empathized with me like this.
People assume that fame and popularity are these glorious, wonderful things.
Too often they forget about the pressure that comes with them.
They forget that I didn’t choose for my dad to be a movie star, for the world’s eyes to be upon us.
“Thank you.” This weird heat creeps up into my cheeks. “Why are you always alone?” I ask. “You’re new here, right?”
Zeke nods. “My family moves a lot. My dad’s a surgeon in the military, and he’s got base camps that make us move every year or so.
We’ll be moving again at the end of the semester.
” Zeke studies the notebook page full of equations in front of him.
“Sometimes it feels like it’s not worth it to make friends, if I’m being honest. I already know they have an expiration date. But chemistry on the other hand—”
“People can keep in touch online,” I say. “You must have friends all over.”
Zeke’s lips press into a thin line. “You’d think that.”
I turn to the chemistry book. Zeke explains the next problem, and I try to follow along even though it hurts my brain.
“There must be loads of people who like Dungeons and Dragons, video games, and whatever other stuff you like,” I say. “There’s probably more nerdy people at our school than there are trendy kids, if I’m being honest.” I smile. “If you tried, I know you could make friends.”
Zeke doesn’t look up from the problem. “Not going to happen, but thanks.”
Suddenly I hear footsteps. Someone is coming this way. Callie Carter’s too stupid to get through school by herself. Two weeks in and she’s already failing her classes.
The footsteps are getting closer.
“Zeke, someone’s coming.” The fear must show on my face because Zeke looks at me with a worried frown.
The footsteps are getting even closer, along with giggling voices. I think I recognize one . . . Oh no. It’s Brielle. How? Why did it have to be her?
Zeke glances from me to the direction of the shelves, and recognition registers on his face. “C’mon, quick!” Zeke gestures to a tiny janitorial closet off to the side.
Zeke stands and jerks open the closet door. I let out a tiny breath of relief that it’s unlocked and hurry to follow him inside. He rushes into the closet, and I cram myself in after him.
In hindsight, he probably should’ve stayed out there, because it’s super crowded in here. Like, really crowded.
We’re jammed in alongside a few brooms and shelves full of cleaning products.
A broom handle is stabbing me in the ribs.
Zeke’s body is fully pressed against mine.
I shove us in a little tighter and manage to pull the door closed just as Brielle lets out a loud laugh.
A musty scent overpowers my nose, and I think I’m stepping in a puddle of mop water.
“It’s going to be okay,” Zeke whispers.
The reassurance is so sweet that it makes my heart do a weird little flip. I catch a whiff of Zeke’s scent. He smells nice—like sandalwood or cedar . . . maybe pine? I can’t quite place it.
“Are you wearing Versace Eros cologne?” I whisper. “No . . . that’s not quite right.”
In the dim light, I see Zeke blink. “What?”
My nose brushes Zeke’s chin, and I jerk away, bumping the back of my head onto a shelf.
“What was that?” Katrina asks. Footsteps get closer to our hiding spot.
Zeke and I freeze, and I’m barely breathing.
“Probably a mouse,” Brielle responds.
The handle of the closet rattles, and I hold my breath.
“I don’t think it was a mouse . . .” Katrina says. “And why would someone leave all their stuff here?”
The voices are slightly muffled through the closet door, so I hope they can’t hear my quiet gasp. Our stuff. What if they recognize my jacket and bookbag? Oh no.
Brielle giggles. “They’re probably making out in the closet right now.”
The handle to the closet turns, and a rock forms in my stomach. Katrina giggles and pounds on the closet. “We know you’re in there,” she says in a sing-song voice. “Should we see who it is?”
For an agonizing second, my heart leaps into my throat. I have no idea what I’ll do if they see me like this, crammed in a closet with a boy who is so not my type.
My breathing speeds up. Gently, Zeke puts his hands on my arms, and goosebumps rise on my skin despite the warm air.
“Just leave them,” Brielle says. “It’s not worth it.”
The turning of the door handle stops. I practically sag into Zeke’s arms with relief.
“What are you going to do about Suzy and Callie?” Katrina asks. “I know you think you’ve got this Homecoming Queen thing in the bag, but I still think they’ve got a chance.”
My breath snags in my throat.
“Don’t even worry about that.” Brielle’s voice is stuffed with the confidence of an experienced baker making a vanilla cake—there’s no challenge at all. “Callie is a has-been. I don’t even think she’s going to keep her name in the running. The breakup was too hard on her.”
Brielle’s words make me stiffen with shame and rage. It’s worse because they’re true. Zeke’s hands give my arms a tiny squeeze.
“And Suzy?” Katrina asks.
Brielle pauses, and I hear the sound of the copy machine running. They must be printing posters or something for Brielle’s campaign. “Don’t worry about her. I’ve got a plan for Suzy Jeong.”
I frown.
The copy machine stops running, and their footsteps retreat. Zeke and I wait until it’s dead quiet again.
I grab the closet handle and shove it open.
We’re hit by a wave of fresh air and bright light.
Our stuff is still there, spread all over the table.
I scan it, looking for our names or anything incriminating.
I think we’re good, until I see it. My name is on my assignment. I chew my lower lip, worrying.
Zeke stumbles out behind me. “Well, that was exciting.”
“We need to find a new spot.” I know I sound paranoid, but Zeke hasn’t lived his life in the spotlight like I have.
Zeke starts packing up, no questions asked. “Where to?”
“Well, my house is out.” I frown. “I don’t want my mom looking over our shoulders every five minutes.”
Zeke shuts the chemistry textbook. “Your mom is the overprotective type?”
I let out a choked laugh and start gathering up my papers.
“It’s more like I have to do everything exactly perfect, exactly as she thinks it should be, even if it’s not what I want to do.
” I’m surprised at myself for how open and honest I’m being, but I glance at Zeke’s face, and there’s no judgment there.
“If we work on my homework at my house, Mom would want to check every answer, make me explain every problem to her, and then she’d ask a million questions to make sure—” I close my mouth before I can say make sure we’re not dating.
Mom was so happy when Noah and I started dating. We looked great together; we made sense. He was charming and genuine and so devastatingly good-looking—everything Mom wanted for me. Everything I thought I wanted.
“We can go to my house,” Zeke says.
I study Zeke’s face, kind and warm. “Really? You don’t mind?”
He smiles slightly. “It probably won’t be quiet, but yeah, I don’t mind.”
“I can handle a little noise.” I smile and put on my jacket and backpack. “Zeke.”
He stops and looks over his shoulder at me. “Yes?”
I smile. “Thank you.”