Chapter Forty-Two
Forty-Two
THE NEXT FEW PERIODS DRAG so much ass that I consider slithering out of my desk and army-crawling to the door to escape.
A couple of teachers give me the classic “So glad you could make it today,” but most of them are still kind of fucked up about Ms. Jegstrup and apparently other kids have been MIA since last week too, so Peter’s and my absences weren’t exactly big on anyone’s radar.
By lunchtime I’m starting to feel boxed in by the gray cinder-block walls and the aggressively upbeat academic posters encouraging us to BE KIND and HANG IN THERE. Like why is that kitten even clinging to that rope? Fucking let go already.
It all just feels so … fake. That night with Peter—in the hotel room—that was real. That was something. And this rainbow-colored world of pencils and gold stars is a farce. Do this, this, and this, and then your life will be good! As if we have any control over how our lives turn out.
All morning my brain is like a malfunctioning algorithm that’s half bursts of kissing and hands and touching and … and half replaying our cringeworthy conversation in the parking lot. God, why did I have to unburden myself to him?
I’m sitting in fifth period after lunch when my Apple Watch vibrates. I have it on theater mode, but I can tell it’s a text. My heart starts to pick up. I blocked Charles, but I didn’t change my number or anything. Shit shit shit.
I lower my wrist below my desk and tap the watch awake.
It’s an Insta DM. From Peter. I feel calmer. And also not.
I keep my eyes on the screen at the front of the class while I slide my hand down, unzip my backpack, and pull my phone onto my lap.
PETERBECKETT1984:Hey. I’m done early.
Dots appear and disappear and then appear again.
PETERBECKETT1984:Do you want to make something with me?
SYD_IS_NOT_HERE:Make something? Like what?
PETERBECKETT1984:A mistake.
Oh my god.
Dots.
PETERBECKETT1984:That was stupid. I just mean, let’s go somewhere. Now.
SYD_IS_NOT_HERE:Now now???
PETERBECKETT1984:I can be in the parking lot in 10.
I glance back at Mx. Klarr. They have their back turned, pointing to some Wikipedia article on the screen.
Emma is two seats over watching TikToks with the captions on under her desk.
Noah is sitting in front of me with his phone at his side scrolling through a bunch of sex GIFs, two seconds of titties over and over and over.
SYD_IS_NOT_HERE:Make it 5
PETER IS WAITINGin the parking lot again. And for the first time he’s not holding a book. He looks kind of … off? But maybe it’s just the lack of literature because as soon as he sees me his face breaks into his usual sunshiny smile.
“Hey, Belle. Did the Beast join Moms for Liberty and burn all your books?”
Peter laughs. “I … I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“Really, though, what’s with the empty hands?”
Peter shrugs. “I just didn’t feel like reading.”
I put my hand on his forehead. “Are you good? Because I’m not trying to catch whatever the latest plague is.”
Peter smiles. “I’m fine.”
And then I realize my hand is still on his forehead, his hair brushing my knuckles. I take my hand back, and my cheeks go hot. But he only smiles even bigger.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here before I have to suffer through stats class,” I say, deeply trying to ignore the fact that I was borderline caressing his actual face.
I’m about to head for my truck, but he grabs my elbow. “Let’s not go into the city.”
I stop. “Why?”
“No more Clockers. Not today, anyway,” Peter says. “I heard you the other night, Syd. And not just about what happened in the past. About what it’s like for you now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean …” Peter lets out a breath and rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, you deserve something too. Something that isn’t about death. Something about us. About you and me. Right now.” His hand slides from my elbow to my hand, holding it. “We’re alive. Let’s act like it.”
His eyes are so bright and clear and his hand is so steady and warm in mine that in this moment the only thing I want in this world is to say yes. Yes to Peter Beckett. Yes to whatever mistake this might or might not be. Just … yes.
“Okay,” I say. “What did you have in mind?”
Peter lets go of my hand, walks over to his passenger door, and opens it, waiting. “You’ll see.”