The whole class laughs, too, except for me. Wait . . .
Lucy continues. “Her life is pretty perfect, everything is very within her control, but she begins to grow up and learn life isn’t so simple. For example, not everything is as smooth at home as she thinks.”
Now I am leaning over my desk a little bit, too, and squinting at her. My throat feels a little dry.
Lucy sits on the desk and places her hands on her knees. “And speaking of home, her parents are separating—maybe even getting divorced—and they’ve decided to sell their house. It’s a really special place, on one of the walk streets. And she’s lived there her whole life, so she’s pretty upset about it.”
A series of murmurs and thoughtful Mmmms rise up from my classmates, while my heart starts to pound in my chest. I look around, frowning. “Is this a joke?” I finally ask out loud.
At this, the whole class falls silent. “Annabelle?” Ms. Epstein asks, more as an accusation than a question. “Why would Lucy joke about her work?”
“S-sorry,” I stutter. “It’s just that . . . she’s describing my life.”
In response to this statement, Lucy watches me coolly, her head slightly tilted to one side. It makes me uncomfortable. But Ms. Epstein lets out a giggle, placing a hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “That’s why she’s such a genius! Everyone feels that in some way, she is ‘writing their life’!”
Maya’s hand shoots up again, and Lucy breaks her stare to give her a casual nod. “And what about the romance?” Maya asks. “Will there be some juicy love story?”
Lucy grins. “What do you think?”
Maya smiles broadly just as someone else appears in the doorway.
This time it’s the silhouette of a teenage boy I’ve never seen before. And the sharp decline in the chatter of my classmates lets me know that I am not the only one who finds him noteworthy. There is something about his face. The way he stands, chin up, shoulders back. Big blue, almond-shaped eyes that smile even though his mouth doesn’t. I can’t explain it, but it’s like he is a star in a movie and we are all just extras.
“Right on time,” Lucy says, which strikes me as a little odd, because he isn’t on time at all. Then she says more loudly, “Welcome!”
The boy gives a small wave, a slight jerk upward of a hand, and purses his lips. “Hey,” he says. “Hi.” The second hi is louder, like he’s getting his bearings despite being completely on the spot. Then he clears his throat before saying, “I’m Will.”
Will. I turn the name over in my brain. Classic. Solid. Cute. Intended to govern a country.
“Oh, right,” Epstein chimes in, gently smacking her forehead with her left hand and shuffling through some papers on top of her desk. “Will Hale. I’ve got you right here.” She pulls out a sheet of paper and gives it a once-over. “A transfer halfway through senior year is pretty uncommon.”
Will nods. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, and I’m surprised by his manners. “Not my decision, of course, but I’m trying to make the best of it.”
Epstein smiles, obviously charmed. “Well, go ahead and have a seat.” She motions as she fans herself lightly with her papers. “It looks like there’s a spot by Annabelle.”
No there isn’t, I’m about to say. Izzy Ross is sitting next to me. At least she was. But when I look now Izzy isn’t there; she’s in the far corner, sneaking looks at her phone beneath her desk.
I am so busy looking at Izzy that I don’t realize Will has already made his way over. I’m just glancing up when my pen goes flying off my desk, even though my hands were in my lap. What is going on?
Will dutifully crouches down to pick up the pen and hand it back to me, but when his eyes meet mine, they get even wider than they already were.
“Hi” is all he says, blinking a few times, eyes rimmed by thick lashes.
“Hey,” I say back, taking the pen. When he doesn’t move from the floor, I whisper, “What?”
Will looks a moment longer, and then he shakes his head and clears his throat. “Nothing,” he says.
“Then why are you on the floor?” I whisper back. Because why is he?
“Right,” Will answers, and attempts to unobtrusively take a seat. Which is nearly impossible to do when you are not only the new kid, but hands down the cutest guy to ever walk the halls of Cedar Spring.
Lucy Keating is just throwing her tote bag into the backseat of a vintage Volkswagen Beetle when I catch her outside.
“Nice car,” I say as I approach.
“Thanks,” she says, not the least bit surprised to see me, as though she didn’t just plot out my life story for my high school creative writing class.
I pause before I speak again, fully understanding how strange I am about to sound. But I have no choice. This is too weird. “I don’t know how or why you are doing it, but I’d really appreciate if you’d stop writing about my life,” I say, and swallow.
Lucy lets out small laugh and turns toward me, one hand on the car window and one on her hip. I expect her to tell me I am insane. But she doesn’t. “Annabelle,” she says, “I’m not writing about you. I am writing you.”
I blink a few times. “I don’t understand,” I say.
“You are in my book,” Lucy says, as though she’s explaining that today is Tuesday. “You’re a character. In fact, so is everyone.” The hand holding her car keys makes a sweeping motion over the fa?ade of my school.
I stop and look around the parking lot, wishing someone else was here to witness this. I know authors have a reputation for being crazy—too much time spent isolated with only themselves to talk to—but this is a little much.
“Very funny. That could not make less sense,” I tell her.
“The funny thing is, it actually does make sense when you think about it,” Lucy says. “Some of my characters demand to be heard. Others just sit in a drawer, waiting for the right time.” At the look on my face, she tilts her head. “You don’t believe me.”
“Of course I don’t believe you!” I burst out. “What do you expect me to say? Oh cool, what happens next?”
“That’s okay.” Lucy shrugs and turns to get in her car. “It doesn’t really matter either way.”
I am about to argue back when a voice comes over the school loudspeaker. “Will Annabelle Burns please make her way to Dr. Piper’s office?” it says.
I sigh. Piper. What could she possibly want?
“Annabelle Burns to Dr. Piper’s office, please,” the voice says again.
“Looks like everything is right on track.” Lucy winks as she shuts her door and rolls down the window. “Have fun.” Then she peels out of the parking lot, leaving me alone and very confused.
4
She Is Not Good with the Boy Stuff