A wave of warmth swept through Keira. She loved Susan. “I left my license in his car by accident. When Walker came to drop it off, my parents were . . . well. I was pretty desperate to get out of there.”
“Oh. Oh, wow. That’s so bad. And so good.”
The memory of how amazing it had been stole the words from her mouth.
“Susan?” Tommy reappeared next to their table, his voice breaking through Keira’s reverie.
“Yeah?” Susan asked.
“Can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?”
Susan pursed her lips in exactly the same way that her mother did when she was pissed.
Keira swept the remains of her lunch into her bag. “I was just leaving anyway.” She looked pointedly at Susan. “I’ll be in the music room if you need me.”
Keira spent the rest of her lunch period alone at the piano, plinking out the melody she’d written on Saturday. The sudden desire to compose still surprised her, but she couldn’t resist the urge to turn her memories into music.
The lingering melody tugged at her through the rest of the day, making it hard to concentrate. When the final bell rang, Keira raced for her locker. There was only one lame bus ride standing between her and her piano. She pushed through the stream of students flooding out of the school. The sudden sunlight made her blink.
“Keira!” someone called from the parking lot.
She squinted against the sun. It was Walker. She wanted to be irritated at him for not calling, but she couldn’t stop the smile that swept across her face when she saw him leaning against his car. His answering grin made the pulse in Keira’s neck beat furiously.
“Who’s that?” Jeremy’s venom-filled voice stung her.
“It’s—he’s—” She stumbled over her words. Her own feelings about Walker were so tangled up that she couldn’t have answered the question if she’d wanted to.
Jeremy pressed in closer to Keira, and Walker straightened, pushing himself off the car and squaring his shoulders. It didn’t matter that there were twenty yards between them, it was a protective gesture. A possessive gesture. And Jeremy spoke “guy” much too fluently to miss it.
“What d’you see in him?” Jeremy huffed. “You’d be better off dating someone who knows you. Someone who’s friends with the same people you are.”
“We’re not dating,” she protested.
Jeremy stepped around to face her. “The way he’s looking at you? You’re dating. Or, at least, he thinks you are.”
Over Jeremy’s shoulder, she saw Walker take a step toward them. She shook her head at him.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate your insight, it’s just that I don’t care.”
“Well, I care.” Jeremy glanced back at Walker. “Seriously, Keira. Lots of guys would love to date you. Lots of them. Guys that are right. Here.”
Why was he emphasizing so many words?
“I’ll, uh, I’ll keep that in mind,” she stammered.
She strode over to Walker, shaking out her hands as if she could shake Jeremy off her.
“You okay?” Walker asked, watching Jeremy wade through a sea of freshmen.
“Fine. I think Jeremy’s trying to be protective. Or something. He obviously doesn’t know when to mind his own business.”
Walker’s expression relaxed. “I can hardly blame him for wanting to mind your business instead.”
She hitched her bag up on her shoulder, trying to hide that his comment had flustered her. “So, um, what’re you doing here? I thought school wasn’t your thing.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s not. But I thought you might need a ride, since your car’s in the shop. And on our way to your house, I thought maybe you’d get something to eat with me.”
“An after-school snack?” she teased.
Walker laughed. “Something like that.”
The twenty dollars her dad had given her sat in her back pocket, begging to be used. But she’d have to give up some of her practice time.
The music she’d composed whispered its melody in her ear, making the decision for her.
“Okay. Let’s eat,” Keira said.
Walker opened the back door. Keira pitched in her bag and the two of them climbed into the car.
Chapter Fifteen
TEN MINUTES LATER, THEY were at the diner. Walker ordered a slice of blueberry pie and coffee, but Keira asked for a cup of tea with hers.
While the waitress was busy getting the pie out of the glass-fronted dessert case, Walker picked up his spoon and twirled it, weaving it over and under his fingers, faster and faster, until it looked impossible.
Keira’s eyes widened. “How are you doing that?”
Walker chuckled. “Are you kidding? You play the piano. This is way easier. Here.” He passed her the spoon, which was warm from his hands.
“Put it like this.” He reached across the table and gently lifted her fingers, weaving the spoon through them. The touch of his hands made it hard to concentrate. “Then you lift your index finger.”
She followed his instructions, step by step, until the spoon was flying through her fingers almost as quickly as he’d done it.