“Two miles, give or take.”
If he offers to drive me home, I’ll have to pass, as I don’t ride in cars. Not that the automobile industry has been noticeably impacted by my boycott. Aunt Gabby says it’s good that I stick to my principles even if they’re inconvenient for other people. For the first time, I wonder if my principles would mind shutting up for a minute. But it’s not only that. My dad died in a car wreck when I was younger, and I’m still skittish.
“Which way?”
God, he’s totally going to ask to drive me home. I brace for it. “West.”
“Ah.”
The euphoria drops like a brick. There’s nothing from him but a chin jerk in acknowledgment. I misread everything. At least I didn’t show any of it—I don’t think I did. His face would be full of embarrassment if he realized. I take the trash bag from the meeting around to the side and sort everything into the recycling containers. It took me six months to convince the town council to adopt this measure, but it was worth it. When I turn, Shane’s still there, which leaves me feeling weird. Doesn’t he have somewhere to be? It’s almost eight, not full dark, just saturated in shadows; the air is cool with a gentle wind sweeping through. This is my favorite part of the year, after the heat of summer dissipates, but still some warm weather before the first cold snap. I say I’ll be back by nine thirty, but the truth is, I’m always home before nine. I build a buffer into my promises to Aunt Gabby so there’s no chance I’ll break them.
“Night,” I say, shouldering my backpack with both straps.
Then I swing onto the bike, careful to wrap my skirt so I can ride. I try not to think about what he’s seeing, but I have on leggings, so it’s totally fine, even if it’s not pretty. I realized a long time ago that some guys are assholes and they’ll do anything to peek at your underwear, which makes a skirt hazardous.
Shane doesn’t answer. When I turn the corner, he’s still standing in front of the library watching me ride away.
CHAPTER THREE
At school the next day, Shane pretends he doesn’t know me. When I spot him in the hall before lunch, his gaze slides away; he’s back to playing the invisible boy. I understand why … the jocks have targeted him as their latest victim. Since JFK is a small school, serving a number of rural communities, the sports program is streamlined. There’s no fluff—no lacrosse, rugby, field hockey, certainly nothing European like soccer or fencing. We have football in the fall, basketball in the winter, then baseball and track for spring. That’s it. That means the athletes often double and triple letter, participating in more than one sport. This creates a tight clique and when a new guy drops into the mix, he better find a crew in a hurry. Otherwise, he’s fair game. Dylan and his cronies blow by; and it happens so fast, even I’m not sure what went down.
Shane hits the ground, his backpack smacking open. His iPad doesn’t bounce out, but everything else does: dog-eared notebooks, nubs of pencils, and what looks like sheet music. Only it’s not the professional preprinted kind. This is blank white paper with lines, notes, and bars drawn in. I’ve never known anyone who wrote music before. I break away from Ryan and Gwen, who’re talking about logistics for the cleanup next week. Shane doesn’t even glance up as I help him gather his stuff; he snatches his music, shoves to his feet, and strides away.
Ryan watches with a faint frown. “He seems pretty antisocial.”
“It’s hard being the new kid.” I remember how hard I tried to hide my desperate fear that people would sense that I wasn’t like them … and how much I wanted to make friends, but I couldn’t show it, not like grade school when you can hand over a juice box and seal the deal. By high school, there’s so much judgment.
“You did okay,” he points out.