2. Five Years Later
two
Five Years Later
W hen the bell rings after fourth period it’s like a signal that it’s time for things to change. I shut my notebook and gather up my books. Then I pull my locket out of my shirt, close my eyes, and press it to my lips.
For luck.
Taryn will be waiting in our usual place by the window with her sack lunch—the same sandwich, yogurt, and apple she’s been eating since grade school.
Not that there's anything wrong with an apple, yogurt, and a sandwich—or that there’s anything wrong with Taryn, or the table by the window.
Just like there was nothing wrong with the plain jeans and t-shirt that I used to wear to school.
Or even nothing wrong with being a slightly overweight, crazy-brown haired, easily overlooked senior in high school.
But things change.
I figured out how to tame my wild hair. I got contacts and realized my brown-gold eyes were my best feature. I started running. That’s how I ended up on the same trail as Brad.
Brad Wilson. Star of the football team. Even I wasn’t oblivious enough not to know who he was. “It isn’t safe for a girl to run alone,” he said, and “I’m conditioning for football. We should run together. Text me when you want to go again.”
He gave me his number, but I didn’t dare text him. Still, he was there waiting the next time I went running. He called me out for coming alone again. Then he asked me if he could give me a ride to the trail the next time so he could make sure I was safe.
After almost two weeks of running together, six times total, he kissed me. Slow and romantic, sweet and salty, at the far end of the trail, by the lake.
My second kiss.
And I fell for him.
Hard.
When school started, I was prepared—all the right clothes from shopping with my friend Jasmine. New make-up, hairstyle, and the body all those miles had helped me build. I expected Brad to ignore me.
He didn’t.
At first it was just a smile when he saw me in the hall, a “hi” between classes.
A “how’s the running going?” Then it was walking with me to my next class when we were going in the same direction.
Today he was waiting for me after chemistry.
He slipped his arm around my waist, walked me to art and then leaned over and kissed me goodbye, in front of my class—in front of everyone.
In front of Lexie Hale, whose green eyes had flashed in immediate shock.
I saw her because I was too surprised to close my eyes when Brad leaned in.
“See you at lunch, Jess.” He walked away like this was the norm, like we kissed in the hall all the time.
I was too stunned to speak. Too stunned to take the last three steps into the classroom. Too stunned to answer Jaz’s “Brad Wilson? When did that happen?” But not quite stunned enough to miss the look of pure hatred Lexie gave me when she pushed past me on her way to class.
When I reach the commons, I’m not sure where I should go. On one side is my usual spot. Taryn is already there, curled up with a novel, munching on her apple. On the other side is Brad’s crew, some of the football team, the student council, a couple of cheerleaders...Lexie.
Brad isn’t here.
I stand like an idiot, looking around for him, not sure where to go.
He comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my waist and whispers in my ear.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. Hansen let class out late.” Then, in front of the entire commons, the entire school, and one very shocked Taryn, Brad turns me around and kisses me again.
He takes my hand, and we walk together, past both tables, and out the door to his truck.
“Party tonight, after the game,” Brad whispers in my ear when he pulls into the school parking lot at the end of lunch.
I’m not sure if that’s his way of asking me out.
I’m still new to this. I’m still a little surprised every time he kisses me, still a little unsure of why he always has his hand on my back or his fingers hooked in my belt loop when we walk together between classes.
Somehow, I’ve become one of those girls Taryn and I used to make fun of, the kind of girl that can’t go to class without checking in with some guy’s lips.
“Wear your brown shirt,” he says. “The one that brings out the gold in your eyes.”
“To a football game.” My laugh sounds nervous, even to me. I touch the locket around my neck without thinking. “It’s silk. I’ll freeze. Besides, aren't we supposed to wear red? School spirite and all of that?”
He reaches behind the seat and pulls out his letterman jacket. “Wear this. At least until after the game, when I’m there to keep you warm.” He drapes the jacket over my shoulders and then slides his fingers down my neck.
He stops at the locket. “What’s this?”
I pull away and blush. “Just a necklace.”
He picks it up and rubs it between his fingers. “You're always wearing it. Why?”
My face gets hotter. For some reason, I didn’t think he’d noticed my locket, even though he’s spent considerable time in the vicinity of my neck.
“Some guy give it to you?” He laughs. “Some guy who was cheap?”
I pull the locket out of his grasp. “It was a long time ago.”
He reaches for it again. “There better not be a picture of another guy in there.”
I press it in my palm, panicked that he’ll open the locket and see the picture of Jacob I cut to fit the tiny space inside. “It’s just a silly piece of jewelry, from an old friend.”
“Then why don’t you take it off?”
“I—” I swallow hard. There’s no way I could explain my locket to Brad. “I guess I’m just used to wearing it. I’ve had it since I was a little girl.”
He slides his fingers along the edge of my shirt.
“Maybe it’s time for you to grow up, little girl.
” He traces the chain up my neck. When he reaches the clasp he undoes it, slides the necklace off, and hands it to me.
“I don’t want my girlfriend wearing anything another guy gave her.
” My neck feels naked without the locket, but my heart soars with the word “girlfriend.” He kisses me one more time before he leans across my lap and opens the door.
“I’m not coming in with you. I have someplace I need to be. I’ll see you tonight.”
I slide the necklace into the pocket of my jeans and snuggle into Brad’s letterman jacket, breathing in the smell—leather, a bit of sweat, and his cologne. I’m wearing his jacket, and he said girlfriend. That definitely means he’s mine, right?
The hall feels empty. Weird how alone I feel now that I’m used to him walking with me to every class. I walk faster. I’m going to be late. My cell phone buzzes, so I adjust the books in my arms to answer it.
A text from Brad:
MISS U
I pull my books against my chest. I don’t care if I’m late. I text back:
MISS U 2
Before I hit send, someone slams into me from behind.
I sprawl forward, my books fly in all directions, and my phone hits the ground.
A black and green Converse kicks it to the other side of the hall.
I’m not sure if it’s an accident or if they did it on purpose.
I kneel to gather my books. My face is burning.
The few people left in the hall are laughing.
One laugh rings out above the rest—high pitched and familiar.
Lexie. I look up, but I can't see her in the departing crowd.
I gather my books as fast as I can and go to retrieve my phone.
I can’t find it. Did someone take it? Lexie?
I’m crawling around on the floor looking for it when a polished pair of dark shoes stands beside me.
My gaze moves up past dark socks and gray slacks to the scowl.
Mr. Vince the vice principal, towers over me.
“Miss Roberts, what are you doing on the floor? The bell just rang.”
“I can’t find my phone. I dropped it. It got kicked somewhere in this corner.”
“Phones aren’t allowed in class,” he answers.
“But—”
“I’m sure it’ll turn up. Check the office before you leave school today. But you need to get to class. Now.”
With him watching me, I have no choice. But I’m positive my phone didn’t just disappear on its own.