“Yeah,” I lied, “I’m just not looking forward to catching up in math.”
“Don’t worry,” she said as she looped her arm through my elbow, “Mrs. Williams will go easy on you. All your teachers will. Everyone wants to help you, not make your life harder.”
I hoped she was right.
The day went pretty much as my friends predicted. Whispers and long faces met me at every turn. People who used to give me friendly smiles in the hallway were giving me frowns and sympathetic eyes. There were some friends who avoided me altogether. That I could understand and appreciate. I hadn’t dealt with much death in my life, but when a friend’s grandparents had died, I’d always immediately clammed up. What do you say to someone when something so terribly sad and completely irreversible has happened? I’m sorry? I’m thinking of you? There was nothing anyone could say to bring him back, and the unusual facial expressions drove me crazy—like it physically hurt to talk to me. So the people who avoided me? I silently thanked them for saving us both the uncomfortable encounter.
My teachers had all gone above and beyond, like Holly had said they would. I’d been given packets of work I’d missed with very generous deadlines. My English Literature teacher had even pretty much indicated she’d look the other way if I never turned in the work at all.
At lunch I’d done my best to act like everything was normal. I’d sat at our usual lunch table, I’d eaten my usual turkey sandwich and Diet Coke, and then I sat and listened to my friends trying to make conversation. I watched them try to pretend that every day at lunch they hadn’t discussed me, which was why they were having a hard time now carrying on a normal conversation.
So I decided to do them all a favor and remove myself from the situation. They tried to protest, asked me to stay, but I was practically at my breaking point.
My next class was gym, so I headed to the locker room, changed into my uniform, and then went outside to run a few laps around the track.
No one else was using the track so the only things I heard were my feet slapping against the asphalt and my breaths pushing out then pulling back in. I didn’t have to avoid anyone’s eyes, or listen to anyone tell me how sorry they were. Nope. I just had to feel the sun pounding down on me.
The only problem with the running was that I couldn’t escape my own thoughts.
When it finally came to the last class of the day, I knew it would be the hardest one. I’d been anticipating it all day, knowing if any class would be uncomfortable, it would be World History. It was the one class Cory and I’d had together that year. For the first time that day, I was wishing for either Becca’s sad eyes or Holly’s uncontrollable mouth. I’d put up with either one of them if it meant a buffer from the wall of emotion I knew I’d hit as soon as I walked in the room.
I stopped right outside the door and steeled myself. I pushed my shoulders back and took in a few deep breaths, blowing them out slowly. This was what I wanted: to return to normal, to try and force life to move forward, to deal. So that’s what I did. I walked into that classroom. Little did I know, nothing would ever be the same.
Chapter Eight
McKenzie
I walked to my desk, eyes cast downward, hair falling around my face creating my own little bubble. The day had been trying and this last hurdle was going to be the highest to jump over, the most difficult, so the more I could keep out, the better.
I could feel people staring at me, their gazes tingling all over my skin, their whispers burning in my ears.
But this was different. There were way more whispers than I had anticipated, and the air felt almost electric. Something more was going on.
I pushed some hair behind my ear and glanced up.
Mr. White was at the front of the room.
With Hayes.
Hayes had his back to me, hands braced on his hips, and he was listening to Mr. White.
It all started to make sense. Well, not all of it. I had no idea what he was doing there, but it explained why the room was absolutely supercharged.
He was wearing a white cotton shirt, like my dad wore to work, but his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. My eyes travelled down his arms, noticing every bulge in his forearms and the strength in his fingers as they gripped his waist. He wore caramel-colored pants and a dark belt. The fit of the shirt barely contained the breadth of his shoulders, stretching around his biceps.
I hated the fact that my pulse raced from just looking at him.
I didn’t know what he was doing there, but I was going to find out.
I walked to the front of the room, the whispers around me silencing instantly.
“Hayes?” I hated the way I said his name. It was hopeful and frail.