He stuffed his hands into tight pockets and rose to his full height, his gaze skimming past everyone without really sticking. I flashed him a sympathetic smile as it slid over me.
“Yeah. Hey. I’m Hunter Lowe from San Diego,” he said.
After one more ineffectual swipe at the dark waves grazing his eyelashes, he slumped back into his chair.
“Is that all?” Even Mrs. Stegmeyer seemed surprised at the brevity of his speech.
He shrugged, a loose-limbed, eloquent gesture that almost made words unnecessary.
Kaylee leaned toward me. “It’s okay—no one expects him to be a genius when he looks like that,” she whispered.
I remembered back to my introduction—I hadn’t said much either. Was that the assumption then, too? That I was lacking in brain cells?
I could feel my smile wilt around the edges when I glanced back over at Hunter. Not that he could tell. He was staring out the window, a view with which I’d become intimately acquainted over the past month. I let my line of sight follow his, wondered if he was doing what I did. If he stared beyond the football field, beyond the slow country street behind it, and wished himself back into another place and time.
Every so often during homeroom, I’d sneak a peek at Hunter. And each time, his head was turned toward that window.
When the bell rang, Kaylee jumped out her seat like the sound had triggered an electric shock. Her eyes were glued to the spot under the window.
“Mila, hurry!” she said, flapping her hands at me.
“What’s the emergency?” But I shouldered my backpack and stood anyway. She nabbed my arm and plowed us between the rows of desk, almost tripping over Mary Stanley’s purple peace sign backpack and taking out Brad Zanzibar as he stooped over to tie his shoe.
Her trajectory led us straight to Hunter’s desk.
“Hi! I’m Kaylee, and this is Mila.” I tried to fade into the background, but she grabbed my arm and yanked me forward. “We figured you might want some help finding your next class.”
While Kaylee bounced on her toes and beamed, I froze. We figured? Since when?
My head whipped to the side. I hoped to stare her into a spontaneous confession, but she either didn’t notice or deliberately ignored me.
Hunter stood, hoisting his red North Face backpack over his shoulder before shoving his hands into his pockets. His eyes flitted from Kaylee to me and back again. He shrugged.
Of course that was all the invitation Kaylee needed. “Perfect!” she said, giving two baby claps. “Follow me.” As she scurried ahead, she used her left hand to inconspicuously flatten down the sides of her hair.
I stood there awkwardly, shifting my weight from foot to foot, wondering who was supposed to follow next, since the row was way too narrow for both of us to fit through together. Hunter glanced at me then, his eyes lingering on my face for three excruciatingly long seconds. Seconds in which I realized that in different light, his eyes lost their translucent quality and looked more opaque. Still that sky blue, but a weightier, more substantial version. “You first,” he finally said.
The combination of deep voice, slight smile, and offhanded invitation had a peculiar effect on my lungs, like I’d suddenly released a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding.
I hurried after Kaylee and hoped that breathing in the hallway would prove less of a challenge.
Yeah, not so much. Students streamed both ways through the corridor, some rushing to class, others meandering. All of them varying degrees of loud. And with the exception of the few I exchanged hellos with in class, virtually every one of them was a stranger.
Plus there were no windows in this particular hallway, just rows of chipped forest-green lockers and classroom doors. Between the lack of natural light and the narrow space, it felt like being thrust inside a long, narrow trap.
“Where to?” Kaylee said as Hunter emerged. After he told her where his next class was—Room 132, Mr. Chesky—she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and tugged him along like a reluctant pull toy. I followed on her other side as she navigated us down the hall.
“So, you’re from San Diego? What’s it like there? Awesome, I bet. Do you surf?”
I peeked in front of Kaylee and watched Hunter tug his earlobe before responding.
“Yes,” he said solemnly. “If you don’t surf, you don’t graduate.”
Kaylee’s eyes widened. “No way, really?”
A twitch of his lips gave him away. She squealed. “Oh my gosh, you’re evil! Mila, can you believe this guy? He’s barely here for three seconds and he’s already teasing me!”
And now, all of Clearwater High knew about it, since Kaylee’s voice echoed down the corridor.
I coughed to cover my laugh. For all her good grades, Kaylee could really act dim-witted around boys, but they usually never called her on it.
Until now.