I turn away too, heading to my locker out in no-man’s-land.
“Hey, Daydreams,” I hear from behind me. I turn to see Sunday smiling at me. “Don’t ditch me, OK? I still like you.”
“Promise,” I say. I watch him turn back to his friends and they push him and probably make jokes about him saying that in front of everyone. But I like that about him, I realize. He’s honest. And even though Mateo said to stay away, I really don’t understand what makes Sunday such a bad guy. It’s not like he’s a teacher fucking a student, right?
First period is graphic design, which is pretty much the only class I enjoy. But since I took nothing but art most of last year, it’s not challenging.
I daydream instead of working today. First Sunday, since he’s fresh in my mind. But Mateo too. I have no idea what to expect at class this afternoon. I don’t have that stupid science class beforehand, so I don’t need to be there until five. I guess that gives me time to figure out a ride since I can’t rely on Sunday anymore.
Fowler shows up for second period with no apology for missing yesterday. Maybe I’m just sheltered, but if a teacher didn’t show up for class in Ohio, I’m pretty sure they’d be fired.
California is a mystery to me. Everyone is so different.
I walk laps with Josie and Mary, listening to them chat about boys, as usual. But I don’t add anything. Every girl I come into contact with is only interested in prom. I’m definitely not going to prom. Not that I even have a date because I’m pretty sure Mateo has no plans to take me. Not that he could. Older men definitely have their limitations.
Economics is boring. And then it’s lunch. I wander over to the wall where Sunday and his friends sit and I come in on the middle of a conversation about me.
“What?” I ask Rocky.
“I was just telling them how you went off on the counselors the other day.”
“Jesus, that’s old news, guys. And way less interesting than it sounds.”
“You’re just a tough chick, Shannon,” Rocky says.
She goes on and on about it for several more minutes and when she gets to the end, I realize Sunday never told her about my almost-breakdown. I look over at him and he’s smirking, a crooked smile that lights up his dark eyes. “Wanna ham sandwich?” he asks me, holding one out. “They’re the only edible thing on the menu.”
I take it. “Thanks.” I’m starving. He looks pleased as I eat in silence, just listening to the chatter of his friends.
But he never brings up our conversation or the fact that I said I won’t take rides from him anymore. I’m impressed with that, actually. Most guys would be all, Fuck you, bitch. You know? I’ve had my share of boyfriends. I’ve had my share of choices too. And no matter who you choose, there is always someone unhappy with you about it.
But he’s not unhappy. Or if he is, he hides it very well. He takes it all in stride. Like he’s got some secret. Something in his back pocket that will change my mind. Like all he has to do is bide his time.
And it’s a smart move. Because I do like him. And how practical is Mateo as a real boyfriend? What could we possibly have in common?
Sex.
I almost blush when the word manifests in my mind.
I don’t know why he makes me so turned on, but just thinking of him right now is enough to make me want it.
“Why are you blushing?”
I look up from my thoughts and realize everyone is getting up to go to their next class. “Um…” I laugh.
“You’re thinking about me, huh?”
“A little bit,” I confess. “I’m curious about why you’re so nice to me, actually.”
Sunday grabs my backpack and motions for me to walk with him.
I do. He’s got my pack, right?
“I’m nice to everyone I like.”
“Oh.” I chuckle a little under my breath.
“You’re pretty,” he says, shooting me a sideways look. “And smart. AP classes. I got a lot of details about you when we were sitting in the counseling office.”
“Yeah, that kinda sucks. No privacy.”
“Well,” he says, veering off into the main building where my English class is next period. “You handled it well. Aside from the three fucks.”
I laugh out loud at that one. “Bowman should’ve suspended me. I was expecting it, actually.”
“He didn’t because he likes you too.”
“Right.”
“Nah, really. I watched him when you were talking about your geometry class. He was fascinated. Like you’re his dream student and he can shove you into being a productive adult if he can just get you through second semester senior year.”
“He’s nosy. He read my file. He knows about my sister. My situation.”
“What is your situation?” We stop outside my classroom and Sunday leans on a locker. And for some reason I don’t get the feeling that he’s being nosy.
“My sister died right after she gave birth to my niece. I live with my brother-in-law and the baby right now.”