“Are you trustworthy?” I pulled my bag against my chest.
“You don’t know who you can trust, Milayna. Remember that. Once a demi switches sides, it hurts the entire group.”
I didn’t point out to him that he didn’t answer my question. Or maybe he did. He told me to trust no one. Him included.
I skipped swim practice that afternoon. I didn’t want to see Muriel, and since she gave me a ride to school, I was forced to ride the bus home. I hated the bus. It smelled of rotten lunches and body odor, with vomit thrown in to round it all out. I walked toward the dingy, yellow bus when he called to me.
“What are you doing, Milayna?”
“I’m not going to swim practice today. I’m catching the bus home.”
“I can see that,” Chay said. “But why?”
“Muriel was my ride.”
“Ah. C’mon.” He motioned with his head. “I’ll give you a ride.” My heart started thumping. Yes, please!
“Are you getting on or not?” the bus driver yelled over the rumbling engine.
I shook my head. She closed the door and gunned the engine. The gears groaned when she shifted into drive and slowly pulled away, leaving Chay and me standing in a cloud of gray exhaust.
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to trust you,” I said, following him from the bus line to the student parking lot. There were just a few cars left. His yellow car stood out like a beacon. It almost glowed in the afternoon sun, and I had the stupid thought that it was the perfect car for a demi-angel. It looked almost like a halo.
“I said you don’t know who you can trust. I didn’t say you couldn’t trust me. Let me have that.” He lifted my messenger bag off my shoulder. I grabbed it by instinct. He tapped my hand on the strap with his finger and grinned. “I’m just going to carry it to the car. You don’t have to worry about me stealing your chemistry homework.” He chuckled. “I have my own.”
I smiled and let go of the strap. “Sorry, reflex. I’m not used to having people carry my things.”
“Jake doesn’t carry them for you?”
I laughed. “You’re the spy; you tell me.”
“Spy?”
“Following me around.”
“Ah. I don’t follow you all day. I have other people to watch.” He grinned, and the sting of jealousy hit me. Who else was he watching? A girl? Why did I care?
I don’t care. He can watch a hundred girls… it doesn’t matter to me.
Yeah, keep lying to yourself, Milayna.
“No, Jake doesn’t carry my books. He carries Heidi’s.”
“The jock and the cheerleader, typical. But you like him.” Chay spun his keys around his finger.
“What?” I wanted to cover my face with my hands. I could feel the heat of a blush crawling up my neck to my face and burning my ears. Blotchy red face, red hair… not a good look with fair skin. If Bozo the Clown had a daughter, I’d be her.
“You like Jake. It’s obvious by the way you look at him.”
I’m that obvious? I wonder if I was that obvious to Jake.
“He’s okay,” I said, trying to think of a way to change the subject.
Chay snorted a laugh. “Just okay?”
“Yeah. Since we’re being so nosy today, who do you like? Whose books do you carry around during the day?”
“Yours, evidently.” He smiled at me, his blue-green eyes twinkling.
“Other than right this minute, whose books do you want to carry during the day?”
He shrugged a shoulder and looked straight ahead, not answering.
“Fair is fair, Chay. You know my secret crush, or, well, not-so-secret crush according to you. Now you have to tell me yours.”
“I’m not one of your girlfriends spending the night playing truth or dare. I don’t have to tell you shit,” he snapped.
I laughed. “That bad, huh?”
“No. Actually, she’s amazing.” There was that green-eyed monster again, smiling at me, taunting me. Jealousy raced through my veins, dragging knives against the sides, cutting me open. I cursed myself for asking. I didn’t want to know, because I was beginning to see the truth. My crush on Jake was over. There was another guy in town. Chay.
He held the passenger door of his car open for me. I slid in. Throwing my bag in the backseat with his, he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. I watched him move. So graceful—an odd way to describe a guy. I never thought of one as graceful, but Chay’s movements were fluid, easy. He seemed comfortable in his own skin, at ease with himself and who—what—he was.
He climbed into the car, and I immediately wished I’d taken the bus home. Even though it reeked, it was better than the smell in Chay’s car. It was all him. His clothes, his hair, his cologne. I was hyperaware of him. My breathing sped up, and I gripped the armrest so tightly my fingers ached.
Trying to distract myself, I looked around the car. Pop cans and burger wrappers were thrown haphazardly on the floor in the backseat. Piles of folders and papers were stacked on the seat. CDs and his iPod were stuffed in a cubbyhole in the dashboard, and his cell phone was dropped in a cup holder. When I looked up, he was watching me.