Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
For the first time, my class goes by too fast, and I can’t focus.
My concentration is consumed by the idea of seeing Sadie again.
I know I have to talk about our next tutoring session eventually, but I’m not in the mood to do it now.
She texted me this morning, and I didn’t respond. I couldn’t think of an excuse.
As soon as our class is dismissed, I race out, hoping I can make it to my locker and then to the cafeteria before Sadie sees me.
I burst into the cafeteria while the tables are mostly empty, and she’s nowhere to be seen. I still look over my shoulder every few seconds, nervous she’ll appear out of thin air.
Today, our lunch options are either chicken tenders or meatball subs. I don’t even have to think about which line I belong in. The marinara sauce always soaks the sub bread and makes it soggy, and that’s not the kind of negativity I need in my life right now.
As the fifth person in line, I get my pick of chicken tenders, which I wholeheartedly believe I deserve after the last few lunches I’ve had. There’s a counter full of paper boats with three tenders in each. Steam floats above them, making my mouth water.
I pluck the one that has, in my opinion, the best three and transfer it to my tray. Then, under the watchful eye of the lunch lady, and with a timid smile, I place a mushy side of broccoli next to it.
All I have to do now is pay. Then I can sneak away to the art room and eat in there.
Mr. Rodriguez always leaves the classroom open for kids who want to work on their projects during the lunch period.
Even though I don’t have any intention of working on my project, it’s the perfect excuse to escape the cafeteria.
It’s quiet in there, and I’ll be left alone.
I pay and jump ahead. Still with no Sadie in sight, I step into the hallway.
“There you are,” Caleb says, jogging to catch up to me as I pass the gym doors.
I spin around, slowing down. “What are you doing?”
He smiles. “I was going to sit with you.”
My vision shifts. Behind him, Sadie steps into the hallway.
Goosebumps ripple up my arms and my heart speeds up. I grab Caleb’s arm and pull him into the gym, tugging him behind the bleachers.
“What’s—”
I shove my free hand over his mouth, pushing him against the wall. “Be quiet.”
His eyes grow big and lock onto mine, silently asking a million questions.
My jaw lowers in slow motion as I realize what I’m doing. I hate it when people touch me and yet, my hand is over his lips.
His lips.
Every time he breathes, it tickles my skin, shooting pulses through my hand. Slowly, he covers my wrist with a light touch, pulling me away from his face.
I stagger back. “Sorry, I—has anybody ever told you that you talk too much?” I rub the back of my neck and cringe. “I just needed you to stop talking.”
He nods, eyes still the size of saucers.
The silence grows thick, making my stomach turn.
Why did I do that? I’m hyperaware of my personal space. I never cross the line into someone else’s.
My face burns, and my throat goes dry. I try to clear it, but it doesn’t do much good. My voice still squeaks when I speak. “Let’s pretend that didn’t happen.” I shuffle out of the darkness behind the bleachers and peek into the hallway.
Sadie is gone.
“Who are we hiding from?” Caleb whispers, towering over me from behind.
I jump, whipping back around. He’s too close. I should put more distance between us, but my feet are glued to the floor.
“I’m not hiding,” I stammer.
“Are you sure? Because if you weren’t hiding,” he points behind him, “what was that?”
“I said to pretend like nothing happened.”
He blushes. “I don’t think I can do that.”
Oh, boy.
What did I do? What happened to not leading him on?
“I need to go eat,” I say.
“I’ll go with you—”
“No.” I shake my head. A nervous laugh spills out of me. “I’m heading to Mr. Rodriguez’s class because I have some questions for him, so you should probably go back to the cafeteria.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to eat alone.”
I catch my breath. “I’m sure.”
His gaze falls to the ground in disappointment. “Okay. Well, I’ll see you after school, right?”
“Mm-hmm,” I say as I move farther away from him.
“Oh, wait,” he says, looking up again. I pause. “I have to make a stop on the way home. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say.
He laughs, looking down at my tray of food. “No chip sandwich today?”
“We’re out of jelly.”
“What a shame.”
“You laugh, but it’s good.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“As you should,” I say. Then, I round the corner.
My hand is still pulsing. I shake it out, but the feeling won’t leave. I pick up my pace before he has a chance to say anything else.
After school, we drive to the elementary school without saying much. My mortified brain is still computing what I did at lunch.
Jordy stands in front of the school with his shoulders slumped forward.
As soon as we pull up, he climbs into the back seat without any sort of greeting. He rests his head against the door and closes his eyes. Caleb’s jaw locks watching him, but he doesn’t say anything.
Part of me wonders if I should say something, but I don’t want to make Jordy more upset. I would hate to say something that would send him into an attack.
We drive in silence until Caleb parks the car on the main street of town in front of a music store. It’s an older building with paint that’s flaking, and the logo is something out of a 1970s catalog.
“I won’t be long. Do you want to come in?” he asks.
I open my mouth to respond, but a sniffle from the back seat catches my attention, and I shake my head. “I’ll stay here with Jordy.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back,” he says, hurrying out of the car.
That was a lie. Ten minutes go by without a single sign of him.
Jordy still hasn’t spoken a word. Muffled sniffles every so often are the only reminder that he’s still in the car.
“Does he usually take this long?” I ask, turning to see past the back of the seat.
Jordy shrugs, poking his head out of hiding. “It’s a music store. He’s probably planning on spending the night.”
Jordy’s weepy eyes break my heart.
I want to help make him feel better, but I don’t know where to start. Comforting children is not something I ever foresee myself putting on my resume. I’m more likely to make them cry.
Despite my better judgment, I ask, “How was school?”
He shrugs again. “I don’t know.”
“Is it math?”
His gaze drops to the floor. More tears well in his eyes.
“I could help you with it if you wanted. I’m pretty good at math.”
He glares at me. “You’re failing all your classes, remember?”
I hold my finger up in the air. “Except math. And I’m not failing my other classes anymore. They’re just on the lower end of passing.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m hopeless.” His face scrunches up as he starts to cry again.
I frown, my chest aching. “You’re not hopeless.”
He shoots daggers into me with his eyes. “Yes, I am. It doesn’t matter how much I try, I keep missing questions on the tests.”
“What are you learning about right now?”
“Fractions.” He rolls his eyes. “I think they hate me.”
“Well, guess what?” I say.
“Hmm?”
“Well, I love fractions. I can teach them to you.”
“I don’t know,” he says.
My mouth twists in thought, trying to figure out a way to convince him to give me a chance. I can help him. I click my tongue on the roof of my mouth as a new idea pops into my head. “Do you like cookies?”
He perks up slightly. “Of course I like cookies.”
“My mom makes the best chocolate chip cookies that you will ever have in your life. They’re gooey and melt in your mouth, and I’ll tell you what—”
“What?”
I lean closer and lower my voice to a whisper. “If you do something for me, I’ll have my mom make you cookies.”
He straightens his back and stares at me suspiciously. “What would I have to do?”
I turn back around, shaking my head and making a show of settling into my seat. “Never mind. You probably wouldn’t want to do it anyway.”
“What is it? You don’t know what I’ll do for cookies.”
I wave him away. “Just forget it. You wouldn’t do it.”
“Tell me.”
I sigh. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”
His eyes widen even more in anticipation.
“All you have to do is come over to my house tonight and let me help you with your fractions. Then, I’ll have my mom make you some of her famous cookies.”
“That’s it?”
I nod. “That’s it.”
“I guess that wouldn’t be too hard,” he says but still seems uncertain.
“It won’t be. I promise. I know some tricks to make fractions easier.”
His shoulders relax, and he wipes his eyes on the back of his hands. “Okay.”
There’s still no sign of Caleb, and I’m starting to wonder if letting him go in there by himself was a mistake. “I think we’re going to have to go find your brother.”
Jordy dramatically rubs his forehead and nods. “What am I going to do with that boy?”
I laugh. What eight-year-old talks like that? “Let’s go.”
We leave the car and head into the store. Guitar strumming fills the air, and I spot the back of Caleb’s head in the farthest corner.
There’s a narrow walkway that zigzags through the store in-between the rows of shelves and displays. I have to watch where I walk to avoid tripping on one of the many cords lying in my path.
Records line the walls from floor to ceiling, and every type of instrument imaginable crowds the space around the register. An older man sits on a stool behind the counter with his newspaper sprawled out in front of him. “Can I help you?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I’m just trying to find him,” I say, pointing in Caleb’s direction.
“Your friend is quite the guitar player,” he says. “Let me know if you need anything.” He returns his attention to the paper.
“Thanks,” I mumble.