“Gosh Cissy, I have to run. Can’t be late for History!” Wow, I never thought I’d say that out loud.
For once, I arrive early to History, slipping into my favorite back row seat. All the students mill about, chit-chatting about the weekend. Miss Thing puts on lipstick using a small compact. Amazing how she can use a mirror and still not notice the huge red smear across her front teeth.
Miss Thing claps her hands twice. “Everyone, pay attention.”
I sit straight in my chair, ready to work. I’m feeling mighty proud of my Cissy management strategy when I realize my massive error: class is starting and Zeke’s just now walking through the door. I swing my long hair in front of my face, hoping that will hide my identity (not my best plan.) He heads straight for me anyway.
I almost face-palm myself. What’s the first rule of avoiding someone at school? Arrive late to class so you pick the seat farthest away from them.
Miss Thing paces the front of the room, her red stilettos click-clacking with each step. “Class, turn to 542 of Purgatory Through the Ages.”
I whip out my book as Zeke slides into the empty seat next to mine.
“Morning, Myla.”
Flipping through pages, I pretend not to hear him. Maybe he’ll get the message and pay attention to the lecture.
“I said, good morning, Myla.”
No such luck. I grind my teeth and low out a low ‘grrr.’ I’d expected the love-fest from Cissy, but I truly counted on never speaking to Zeke again. Now, I’m trapped next to him in history class and Mister Smarmy wants to talk. This sucks, big time.
Be nice to him for Cissy, Myla. Don’t ruin it for her.
I let out one last ‘grr’ and whisper “Hey, Zeke.”
Miss Thing stops pacing. Her black eyes carefully scan the room. “Class, we’re about to start a very important lesson. This month marks the twentieth anniversary of Armageddon’s liberation of Purgatory. To celebrate, we’ll learn all about how clever and merciful your new overlords are. Who wants to begin the reading?” No one raises a hand. “Paulette, why don’t you start us off? Page 542.”
Paulette carefully repositions her Hermes scarf on one shoulder, then begins to read: “Armageddon’s War, Episode One, Quasis Mismanage Purgatory. For thousands of years, quasi-demons mismanaged–”
As Paulette keeps reading, Zeke whispers across the aisle. “Myla, I know why you were so angry at the party.”
My throat tightens. Zeke knows Lincoln?
“You do?” Picking up my pen, I start doodling on my notebook. “It’s one thing to be treated that way by a ghoul, but not…You know.”
Zeke nods. “I understand.”
Setting down my pen, I take a good look at Zeke. Of all the people in my life, I never expected to confide in him, let alone during history class. But here he is, caramel eyes wide with understanding.
I fidget in my seat. “I guess it caught me off guard.” Taking a deep breath, I feel my limbs loosen.
“It could happen to anyone.” Zeke folds his hands neatly on his desk. “Why did you keep it a secret?”
Why didn’t I tell anyone I was insulted by a thrax? “I guess it was embarrassing.”
Zeke sighs. “You should have confessed your major crush on me years ago. I would’ve been cool about it.”
My mouth falls open. “My major crush on who?”
“Come on, Myla. You’ve been crushing on me for ages and now everyone knows it. A bunch of kids saw you lose it when Cis and I were dancing.”
Anger zooms through my body. I scan the room; half the class stares at me and Zeke, their eyes filled with pity. Unholy Moley. Zeke’s version of Friday night is all over school. Rage smolders up my spine.
“You’re wrong, Zeke.” My eyes glow red.
“Don’t go all demon-iris on me. It’s not a bad thing. I was starting to wonder if you were like those single cell thingies we learned about in Biology. You know, the ones that don’t need a mate? What are they called again?”
My hands clench into fists. “Amoebas?”
“I was going to say paramecium.”
My eyes flare brighter. “Well, now you don’t have to say that. Ever. Again.”
Leaning across the aisle, Zeke speaks in a low voice: “All I want to know is this: are you okay with Cissy and I dating? I mean, can you actually handle seeing all this–” he gestures across his chest “–with someone else?”
It takes all my strength not to howl and rip the room apart. Three-fourths of the class stares at us now. The scene perfectly matches what Zeke told them: I had a massive obsession with him, not the other way around. I grip the edges of my desk so tightly, I think my knuckles will pop.
Zeke eyes me carefully. “Well?”
“I was never interested in you, Captain Ego.”