Carly reaches into her backpack, pulls out a lighter, and flicks it. The tip of her cigarette glows red. My gut clenches at the too-familiar sight. A white curl of smoke drifts from between her lips, and I look away before I say something I’ll regret.
She knows my history, but she’s smoking anyway. Preaching won’t make her do anything differently. It’d probably just make her dig in her heels. Been there, tried that when she went through her emo phase, then her multiple piercing phase, then her drinking phase—which ended in a puddle of puke right in front of Principal Murray’s office, a one-week suspension, and a monthlong grounding.
I stood by her through all of it.
She stood by me through worse.
Miki.
With a gasp, I spin around to find empty space behind me. The only boy anywhere near me is the one running laps on the track, and he’s too far away to be the one saying my name. I watch him for a bit, watch his arms and legs pumping, and I know what he’s feeling: endorphins racing through him. Runner’s high. Crack of dawn five days a week I’m there, in my zone, alone with my music and the rush I get as my feet slap the ground.
The boy on the track slows. Stops. Walks over to the grass and grabs his water bottle. He’s tall, dark haired. The distance between us is enough that I can’t be sure, but I think he’s looking at me. Then I know he is because he offers a terse nod.
Luka Vujic. We were friends about a million years ago, until . . . when? The middle of fourth grade? He wasn’t at Glenbrook last year as a sophomore—I think his dad was transferred somewhere out west. Now he’s back, and he’s changed. It isn’t just that he’s taller and leaner. There’s something in his eyes that wasn’t there before.
Now those eyes are fixed on me. I bob my head in reply and turn back to my friends.
“Oh. My. Gawd,” Dee says. She’s an equal-opportunity oh-my-gawder. “Is that Luka?”
They all turn their heads and stare.
“He is so cute,” Kelley says.
“So cute,” Dee agrees. “And so much more mature than his friends.”
“You think?” Carly asks.
Dee shrugs. “He doesn’t burp and make fart jokes. Not in the caf, anyway.”
Now there’s a recommendation of maturity if ever I heard one. But I do think Dee’s right. Despite the fact that he’s easygoing and friendly, Luka always seems to hold himself apart somehow, even in a crowd.
Carly watches Luka for a moment, and then she says, “He’s not just gorgeous. He’s smart, too.”
We all stare at her. That isn’t something that usually impresses her. She’s more of a solely-interested-in-cute-face-and-lots-of-muscles, all-the-better-if-he-has-a-car kind of girl.
“What?” she asks, eyes wide. “It’s hard to miss. He’s in my chem class and he pretty much skates through every question without a hitch.” She smirks. “He sits next to me and doesn’t seem to mind explaining stuff.”
“But you’re good at chem,” I point out. “Why do you need him to explain stuff?”
All three of them look at me like I’ve grown a second head. Then I get it. “Right. It isn’t a question of need—”
“It’s a question of want,” Carly finishes for me with a grin. “So far, I have Luka helping me in chem, Darnell helping me in Spanish, and Shey helping me in geometry.”
“Shey,” Kelley says on a sigh.
“You don’t need help in any of those classes,” I say.
All three of them roll their eyes at me.
“I do,” Carly says, with a lift of her brows. “I really do.”
“I hope the new guy’s in all my classes,” Kelley says. “Was he in any of yours today?”
“I don’t think he started classes yet,” Carly says. “I think he was just meeting with Principal Murray when I saw him in the office this afternoon.”
“I guess it’s a paperwork thing.” Kelley sighs again. “Now we have to wait till Monday to see what classes he has.”
And they’re off, talking about him again, speculating on how his schedule might overlap with theirs. My attention wanders, but I catch the words hot and old-school aviator sunglasses. They jump to the next topic: the Halloween dance. It’s still weeks away, but it takes time to plan a good costume.
I haven’t yet put much thought into mine.
I wish I could. I wish I thought it mattered. My friends all get so excited about things like movies and dances and shopping; they feel things so intensely. I go through the motions and bluff extremely well, but I’m not like them. I haven’t been for almost two years. And that kills me. I just want to be . . . normal again.
I stand by the fence, watching them, far enough away that I’m part of their group, but not.
This time, the chill crawls up my spine before I hear the words.
Miki Jones.
Better and better. He knows my last name, too.