“We kissed, okay?” I blurt out.
Ethan’s face goes slack, like I slapped him or accidentally discovered an off switch. He recovers slowly. “Oh, well, hey. If you want to earn a trip to the free clinic…”
And suddenly I’m furious. “Ethan! What is wrong with you? Have I said one bad thing about Savannah?” I look over his shoulder and spot her watching us from the flagpole. “No. I haven’t. Because that’s not what friends do.”
“Sorry,” he mutters. “You’re right. I guess I just…Never mind. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say softly.
We reach the front doors. Inside, the halls are loud with sneakers squeaking on linoleum, lockers slamming closed, and kids laughing and talking, but there’s a weighted silence between us.
“So how was your swim meet yesterday?” I ask.
“Fine.”
“That guy who’s been trying to get you off the team—nothing happened with him?”
“No.”
“That’s good.”
This is terrible. Worse than if we weren’t talking. I grapple for another topic that won’t steer us back to troubled waters. But I’m too late.
“See you later,” Ethan says, voice gruff, and before I can respond, he turns and walks away.
Tucker is already seated when I walk into history. He’s wearing a blue checked button-down partially tucked into dark trousers and a pair of shiny loafers. It’s strangely sexy that he isn’t embarrassed to dress up for school.
He looks up and sees me. At first I think he’s going to ignore me. Pretend the whole thing in his bedroom never happened. But then his face morphs into a smile that makes that damn dimple pop out, and warmth spreads over my cheeks. I smile back, and we’re suddenly in his room again, a hairbreadth apart and ready to kiss.
“No mom today?” he asks as I take my seat next to him.
I smile. “Sorry, that was weird yesterday.”
“I thought she was great,” he says.
“She is pretty great.” I twiddle a pen between my fingers.
The class is filling up fast. All around us students fall into their seats and talk and laugh and gossip. When the second bell rings, Mr. Crawford pulls out the ancient TV on a cart. A chorus of cheers rises through the room.
“That’s right, it’s movie day,” Mr. Crawford says. “But just because we’re watching a movie doesn’t mean it’s a free pass to fool around. I want you paying attention. No cell phones, no iPads. You’re going to be quizzed on this.”
He flicks the lights out, and a World War II documentary flares to life. I feel Tucker’s eyes on me and glance across at him. I was right. He’s leaning across his desk with his hands steepled together, his face flashing in the pale light of the TV screen, a grin pulling up one corner of his lips. And he’s looking at me. I send him a shy smile.
He takes out a notepad and scribbles something. When Mr. Crawford’s back is turned, he slips it onto my desk. I squint to decipher his scratchy boy writing.
I want to kiss you again.
I’m suddenly glad of the dark so he can’t see how red my face is. I don’t know what to say. Do I want Tucker to kiss me again?
He grabs my hand in the dark and traces the creases of my palm with a featherlight touch. My breath stalls. It’s somehow infinitely sexier than a kiss.
I can do this, I think. I can like Tucker. And who knows, maybe it would help me to get over Ethan, which I very clearly need to do. And I really need to stop with this whole Tucker-Could-Be-Part-of-the-Society business. I mean, a guy can’t like me unless he secretly has an evil agenda? Talk about low self-esteem.
Someone cackles in the back of the room, and Mr. Crawford clomps between the desks to deal with it. Tucker snaps his hand back. I write out a reply under his note, check to make sure Mr. Crawford isn’t watching, then slip it to him.
Do it.
His lips curl into a wicked smile.
I spend all morning wondering when it’s going to happen, if it’s going to happen, but by the time lunch approaches, Ethan is on top of my mind again. I just want things to go back to normal. I’ve only got so much time, and I don’t want to spend it being in a fight with my best friend.
But when I walk into the caf, Ethan isn’t at our table. At first I think he’s not here yet, but then I catch a glimpse of his inky-black hair over at Savannah’s spot with the other do-gooders. Their heads are bent together, and he’s laughing.
My heart plummets into my stomach. Savannah throws her blond head back with a laugh, and Ethan joins in.
I don’t know what to do. Where to go.
Jackie talks animatedly with Mike at our usual table. I could sit with them. But Jackie and I aren’t friends so much as we’re friends by proxy. Ethan is what holds us together.