My phone chirped as I made my way through a sea of students rushing the front doors in preparation for the weekend. I sidled into one of the few empty spots by the office and pulled it out, hoping it was one of the girls saying their Friday-night plans had fallen through and they could hang out. Instead I saw Grant’s name and the first few sentences of another of his texts.
“Hey!” the message read. “Sorry to keep bugging you, it’s just I really liked what happened the other night and I thought you did too. I hope you’ll—” I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and put my phone away without reading the rest. The night of the party had been a mistake, a complete violation of the rules I’d set for myself—my plan, the whole reason I’d come to Lambertville. It was stupid, it was risky, and it couldn’t happen again. Grant had been texting me ever since, and I’d been steadfastly ignoring him and avoiding him in the halls. I debated blocking his number to spare myself the temptation of responding, but for some reason I couldn’t.
At least the weather was nice. I descended the steps and turned away from the buses, making my way around the school to the football field. It seemed a shame to waste a day like this even if I had to spend it alone, and Dad had agreed when I texted him at lunch to pick me up once he got off work. I climbed the bleachers and opened my Catalogue of American Fiction textbook to “A Good Man Is Hard to Find,” by Flannery O’Connor. I immediately hated the old woman in the story, though it was pretty obvious I was supposed to. Part of me could sympathize with the bizarre standards she held herself to, to make sure people knew she was “a lady,” but it was a small part. I was highlighting a line when my phone suddenly erupted in the Star Wars theme. I pulled it out and saw that Grant was calling. The ringtone finished once and looped back to the beginning before I gave in and accepted the call.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound distant.
“So. Your phone ain’t broke,” Grant replied.
“No,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose in anticipation of the next logical question: why hadn’t I responded to his texts?
“And you like Star Wars?” he went on. “That’s badass. I love Star Wars! Which one’s your favorite?”
“Empire Strikes Back,” I said reflexively, before sitting up straight and looking around. “Wait, how’d you know that?”
“Aw shit, Empire’s my favorite too! Look behind you.” I turned and saw him sitting on the highest bench, a duffel bag over one shoulder and a phone to his ear. He grinned, flashing perfectly white teeth, and waved like a little kid.
“What?” I said, as I stuffed my things back in my bag and stood. “How did you…”
“I just came up on the far end over there,” he said, pointing off to the side. “You were so into whatever you’re reading I could’ve run up and down the field naked and you wouldn’t’ve known.”
“Are you stalking me?”
“Naw,” Grant said, shrugging. “I accidentally left some stuff down by the benches after practice yesterday and saw you when I came to get it.”
“Oh.”
“I’m glad I ran into you though,” he said. “You’ve been runnin’ outta homeroom before I can even say hey, and I ain’t seen you in the cafeteria all week.”
“I was eating lunch out here,” I said, rubbing my arm and looking away. “The weather’s been nice.”
“And my texts?” he said, as he descended the bleachers in long, loping strides. “I thought you liked me. You can tell me if you don’t. I can handle rejection.”
“No,” I said, scooting over on the bleachers. “I mean yes. I do. It’s just … do you remember the conversation we had when you asked me out for Parker?”
“Ah,” Grant said, sitting down next to me with his duffel bag between his knees. “Is this ’cause your dad’s strict? I could meet him if you want, let him see I ain’t any threat to his daughter.”
“I think that would be a bad idea,” I said, trying to imagine bringing a boy home to meet Dad. “But I mean … about me being complicated.”
“Everybody’s complicated,” he said, scratching his temple.
“Not the way I am,” I said. “I have a past, okay? And you really don’t want to get involved with it.”
“Everybody’s got a past,” he said. “That don’t mean you can’t have a future.”
“Okay, but there are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”
“I know you’re one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen,” Grant said, leaning even closer. “I already know you’ve got a good heart. I know when we kissed I felt warm all over, like when you sit too close to a campfire, and I know no girl’s made me feel that way before.”