“I just . . . I want to make sure it’s okay.”
He studies me. “Do you want me to ask them?”
I let that scenario play out in my mind. A strange teacher asking if a photo they didn’t want taken could be used as the cover for the yearbook.
I imagine Declan’s reaction after the way he acted Thursday afternoon.
“No,” I say quickly. “I’ll ask.”
He gives me an encouraging look. “And then you’ll edit the photo yourself?”
“Yes. Sure.” I suddenly need to get out of here. “Later this week, okay?”
I don’t even wait for an answer. I flee the room like a bomb is counting down.
The parking lot is only half full by the time I make it out of the school. The only cars left are students with sport or club obligations, of which I have none.
Oh, and Rev and Declan.
They’re standing behind Declan’s car, which is exactly as I remember it, only in more need of a paint job now that I’m looking at it in the sunlight. They’re leaning on the tailgate, and Declan has a cigarette between his fingers.
I stop under a small copse of trees in the middle of the parking lot. I didn’t anticipate seeing them right now, but I’m not surprised that they’re still here, just like they were still here last Thursday, when I took the picture in question. I have to walk past them to get to my car, and the look in Declan’s eyes reminds me of his temper, so different from his attitude when he approached me in the cafeteria this morning.
Hey, I wanted to ask you something.
What?
“Stalker much?” Declan calls.
But his voice isn’t cruel. Is he teasing?
I sheepishly step out from under the tree but stop in the middle of the parking lot, about fifteen feet away from them. “I didn’t want to get in the middle of . . . whatever.”
“Whatever?” Declan takes a drag on his cigarette. “We’re killing time.”
“You know you’re not allowed to smoke on school property.”
He takes another drag and blows smoke rings. “You seem awfully concerned about my smoking habit.”
“I hate it. It’s disgusting.”
The words are out of my mouth before I really consider them, and I brace myself for him to launch into nastiness—or to flick the cigarette at me.
He does neither. If anything, he looks startled, and he tosses it to the ground, then stomps it out. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
He could sprout wings and I’d be less shocked right now. I mock-gasp to cover my surprise. “But however will you maintain your badass fa?ade?”
“I’ll manage.”
Rev does a slow clap, then bows his head in my direction. “Thank you. I hate them, too.”
Declan shoots him a glare. “Shut up, Rev.” His eyes return to me, and he gives me a look up and down. “Still afraid of me?”
“No.”
“Then why are you standing way over there?”
I don’t know if that’s an invitation to join them or what, but I take a few steps closer. “Why are you killing time?”
Declan shrugs and leans back against his car. “There are maybe three places I’m allowed to be. This one isn’t within shouting distance of my stepfather.”
I can’t stop looking at him, and it’s almost to the point where I can’t even listen to what he’s saying. He looks good in the sunlight because it brings out red in his hair and brightens his face no matter what expression he’s wearing. I could study him all day and not get bored. “And here I thought you were posing with your vintage Mustang.”
Declan’s face goes still, and I can tell I’ve said the wrong thing.
Rev lets out a low whistle. “Those are fighting words.”
“This is not a Mustang,” Declan says. He sounds more offended about the car than he did about the cigarette.
“Okay, then what is it?”
“It’s a Dodge Charger.” He snorts. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”
“They all look the same to me.”
He points across the parking lot at my late-model Honda. “That doesn’t look like this”—he jerks a thumb at his own car— “any more than those two cars look alike.” He points at two cars across the row, one a minivan, one a four-door sedan.
“If you say so.”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. “Here. I’ll show you what a Mustang looks like.”
Rev grabs the phone. “No. We’re not starting this.” Then he looks at the screen and must notice the time, because he says, “We have to go anyway.”
I take another step forward. “Where are you going?”
I don’t know what made me ask, but I know I don’t want him to leave. Like every time life throws us together, this moment seems destined to end before I’m ready.
Rev exchanges a glance with Declan, then smiles at me from under his hoodie. “Babysitting. Want to come?”
“For Babydoll?”
He nods.
“Scared?” taunts Declan, his eyes challenging.
“Not at all,” I lie. “Let’s go.”
Rev’s house is the mirror image of Rowan’s: a modified split-level with a sprawling lower half, and a long stretch of grass leading to the street. His house features blue siding with white trim instead of beige siding with brown trim, but it’s a pretty generic middle-class neighborhood. I could walk into half the homes on this street and know my way around. Nothing about his house is surprising.
No, what throws me for a loop is that I see his mother and realize Rev must be adopted.
Facts about Rev click into place in rapid succession, like my brain needs to connect all the dots before I’ll be coherent. Declan said something about Rev being taken away from his father. I just hadn’t played that out all the way.