CHAPTER FIVE #2
I’d text the guys Wednesday. Nothing plausible and believable had jumped out at me to use as a reasonable explanation yet, so until then, I would be MIA. Eager to avoid being pinned down by Ralph again, I rushed to change and kept to the crowds in the halls.
An icy chill crowded my side, but I kept speed walking to my next class.
“Two more classes to go,” I chanted under my breath—both a prayer and morale boost.
A certain blond-haired guy sat in my next class with his arms folded across his chest, tilting his chair on two legs, and his jaw jutted out.
He was mad. Kolton Keiser had one of those perfectly symmetrical faces that could almost be described as cherubic from the dimpled chin to the full, pouty lips.
If it wasn’t for his sharp jawline, he might look too feminine.
Instead, he just looked like a typical teenage heartthrob. To quote a singer, his face was so beautiful, it hurt to look at it.
The room’s buzz shifted, because something sent Kolton snapping to attention.
His gaze found and locked me in place. His jawline softened a fraction as he eyed me up and down before hardening once more.
He pulled his feet under him and pushed up, not breaking eye contact, as if he feared I would disappear if he looked away.
That was a fair assumption, and his ploy worked, keeping me frozen beneath the dozens of simmering emotions brewing inside irises with just as many shades of blue, green, and turquoise.
“Kole, what are you doing?” the teacher asked.
Kolton blinked, setting me free from the invisible chains, then he turned to the teacher.
“No matter,” she replied with a clap when he didn’t answer immediately.
“Back to your seat. The bell will ring soon.” She beckoned me over.
“You must be Willa. The bulk of our curriculum is digital, including our book for the course. You’ve been keeping up fairly well with the assignments you’ve turned in, so just follow along to the best of your ability, and when everyone is working, I can answer any questions and help you get oriented. ”
Having indicated a vacant desk toward the back of the room, she turned and commenced instruction.
And that was that.
Based on her interaction with Kolton, and now me, I could guess that she didn’t often allow much interruption in her classes.
My dead computer could wait.
I scurried back to my seat in the corner, glad to be away from prying eyes, and carefully avoided Kolton’s heavy stare as I slipped by his second row desk.
Kolton’s and my origin story had been less than stellar, to say the least. He’d disliked the fact that his perpetually single best friend had “settled down” to date me over the summer.
Even Hunter, the biggest, most visually intimidating high school student I’d ever seen, didn’t scare me as much as Kolton.
Even without responding, I’d poured over the texts the three had sent after Ben’s death and throughout my recovery.
Although nothing in the messages outwardly suggested any of them blamed me, I knew they did.
If Kolton got upset over the fact that Ben had given up serial dating and taken a girlfriend, then he would certainly blame me for Ben’s “wreck.” If Ben hadn’t been visiting me, then he would have had no reason to be on that road.
That was just knowing what the public did. If Kolton discovered how much I truly was the reason behind Ben’s death, then…
With a willingness to risk it, I slipped my phone out to check the five notifications from earlier in the morning, unsurprised that they’d more than tripled since.
“Hey, psst.”
Jumping and scurrying to hide my phone in my pocket, I turned.
A bleached blonde, dressed head to toe in black, stared at me.
Jennifer, I thought, but couldn’t be sure.
Classmates’ names were something that suffered from the Swiss cheese memories—probably because I hadn’t been too close to anyone.
The teacher continued the lecture, oblivious to the interaction, but a trickle of unease still energized me.
I turned away without responding.
“Rude,” the girl scoffed. “I just wanted to ask if it was true that you were in a coma.”
Two students ahead of us turned at the statement, making my hands shake.
I hid them, doing my best to remain calm. “Let me guess. You were in Mr. Henderson’s third period.”
“No, but three of my friends were, and since you’re new, and your handwriting looks like shit, I just connected the dots.”
The boy and girl who turned around earlier frowned at her words.
“Hey,” the girl—another missing name—chided. “She had brain surgery. Everyone can see the scars on her head. Give her a break, Jules. Your handwriting would be the least of your concerns.”
Jules?
Short for Julie?
Jules scrunched her nose up. “I wasn’t being mean. I was just stating facts. My kindergartener brother can write better than her, but it’s not like I was saying it was her fault.”
I frowned down at the writing, honestly offended because I’d at least graduated to third-grader status with my intentional care, and it was loads better than the disastrous preschool chicken scratch of second period. Okay, maybe a sloppy third grader, but still.
“You could be nicer about it,” the boy in the polo tacked on in my defense when I didn’t voice anything.
“Excuse me,” the teacher interrupted, giving the four of us the stink eye. I wanted to melt into the floor. “Whatever you’re discussing, I’m sure it can’t be more important than derivatives.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Hart,” the boy apologized.
After a long stare where she asserted her dominance or something, she resumed teaching.
One silver lining, though, it cut off the whispering.
The girl, Jules, didn’t ask any more questions.
The tradeoff was that later, my conversation with Mrs. Hart about the dead computer went about as well as one would expect.
Her tirade ran beyond the bell. On the other hand, students for the last period of the day filed in, leaving Kolton no choice but to leave without cornering me.
Arriving late with a pass for my last class could have been a blessing in disguise, but none of the guys shared it with me, so it felt like a waste.
My thoughts halted on a record scratch at my cowardice.
I was still hiding from the guys.
Only until I figure out what to tell them, I countered as I met with the teacher and took a seat.
“Hey. Hello?” a voice whispered halfway through Spanish, and it hit like the worst case of déjà vu.
Just ignore it. Don’t turn around. They are just trying to get their friend’s attention, and you’re being paranoid about it.
My mental pep talk crashed and burned when the whisperer tacked on, “Willa?”
With my shoulders set, I hissed, “Look, I get it, okay? It’s interesting to question the girl who—” My low tirade cut off mid-rant when I saw who’d been trying to get my attention. “Manuel?”
A quick glance confirmed the teacher hadn’t heard us in the back of the room.
Manuel grinned and winked. “That’s me.” He leaned forward, propping himself up on his elbows. “So, what were you going to say?”
“I wasn’t going to say anything. I didn’t even realize you were in this class.”
“No, when you were being snippy. You said it’s fun to question the girl who… Dot, dot, dot.”
Weariness blasted through me. It was only Monday, and I suspected I hadn’t seen anything yet. “Give it a day. I’m sure you’ll hear about it by tomorrow.”
Something in my posture or expression must have given my utter exhaustion away, because Manuel prodded. “Are you okay? I didn’t ask earlier in science, but—”
My squared shoulders sagged the smallest amount as I mustered up a smile. “Yeah, I’m just tired. It’s been a long day, and I’m not used to it.”
“That’s understandable, but—”
The teacher caught on to our side conversation. “That will be enough, you two.”
It presented the perfect out for the uncomfortable situation.
Why was Manuel so concerned? He didn’t know me.
He didn’t toss any wadded up paper my way, so he must have returned to note taking as well, and pretty soon, the final bell rang.
One thing I decided with finality was to ignore anything unusual.
My life had turned into a shipwreck, and I couldn’t escape the fact that a portion of it stemmed from my actions—or inactions.
My first day could have gone a lot smoother if I’d just remembered to plug in the computer last night or even pack the charger, and my outburst in art hadn’t provided the fly under the radar return I’d been hoping for.
I needed to get my act together and face things. My head couldn’t stay buried in the sand.
“Tomorrow,” I promised myself in a low whisper, advancing my deadline.
No matter what, I’d talk to the guys tomorrow, not Wednesday. I owed them that much, so homework could wait. They needed an explanation, and I needed to think of one that wouldn’t put them in danger.
Manuel didn’t move to follow me when I raced to pack up and hurry out the door.
I pulled my phone out to scroll through the messages. They’d taken to sending DMs instead of confining themselves to the group chat, even Hunter who’d frequently been a man of few words.
KOLTON: Hey.
KOLTON: When are you going to stop hiding?
KOLTON: Look, I need answers.
KOLTON: Ben was my best friend.
KOLTON: Wordsmith.
KOLTON: Hey.
KOLTON: Willa.
KOLTON: YOU DIDN’T TELL US YOU’D BE AT SCHOOL TODAY.
KOLTON: Mr. Watkins is a tool.
KOLTON: We’re going to talk.
KOLTON: You know that, right?
KOLTON: Answer, come on, Wordsmith.
KOLTON: Ralph texted us your schedule.
KOLTON: I’ll see you in math.
KOLTON: How tf is the universe helping you now?
KOLTON: Motherfucking twice? Fuck the universe.
KOLTON: Just talk to me.
KOLTON: Willa.
KOLTON: Willa.
KOLTON: Willa.
KOLTON: Fine.
KOLTON: Have it your way.
Because that wasn’t ominous at all. Backing out of Kolton’s chat, I jumped into Ralph’s.
RALPH: So, listen, I know you might have some things going on inside that head of yours, and that’s why you’re avoiding us, but you’ve gotta talk to us eventually.
RALPH: Oh, hello stranger. Lucky that Mrs. Reed saved you. We need to talk. I’ll meet you after second period.
RALPH: Bailing?
RALPH: Look.
RALPH: There’s weird stuff going on, and you’re knee-deep in it.
RALPH: I don’t know if Kolton told you or not, but Ben’s dad is back from his bereavement. I figured you should know.
RALPH: Do you even read these? Maybe you blocked all our numbers?
RALPH: Okay, so google says that we’d get a notification if our messages weren’t going through, so that just means you’re ghosting us.
RALPH: I literally went to jail for you, and I didn’t do it to hold it over you or anything, but I really need some answers, even if it’s just about that night.
RALPH: What was that place? Why couldn’t you hear me when I was right there, yelling in your ear? It was like you were in a trance or something.
RALPH: Come on, lamb.
RALPH: Hunter says you missed lunch. Where are you at? I’ll bring you something. You get messed up when you don’t eat.
That was the last one he’d sent. Compared to the other two, Hunter had sent two messages in our brand-new, one-on-one conversation.
HUNTER ARMSTRONG: Ralph texted your schedule. You missed lunch.
HUNTER ARMSTRONG: Answer our messages.
The halls had emptied while I was walking, engrossed in my messages. Honestly, I was surprised the guys hadn’t jumped me while I was distracted. It was odd. I’d had to dodge them all day, and now they were missing in action?
A locker slammed behind me, making me spin.
Was it them?
No one was back there. It must have been a student who had turned the corner.
Chills raced down my arms, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
I hurried to the sunny doors, feeling better with each step. My mind returned to the phone, the messages, and the obvious care bleeding through each word.
Why hadn’t they cut me loose yet, like yesterday’s news? I’d done nothing to earn such loyalty.
Go home, figure out what to say, and then say it tomorrow—no more chickening out. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.
The universe decided to toss a wrench into my good intentions.
In the parking lot, a trio of figures stood around my Jeep.
It clicked in my brain. That was why none of them cornered me in the hallway. They didn’t need to track me down in the throng of students when they could just lie in wait at my destination.
So much for talking tomorrow. Tomorrow would be today.