“Are they—together?”
But the worst moment is when I glance up to find Lauren Mancini headed straight for us, the scowl on her face right out of my nightmares. She looks furious, her eyes going from Jordan to me back to Jordan again. I watch as she switches it on, that beaming, perky cheerleader smile aimed right at him.
“Jordan! Ready for tonight’s game?” She stops directly in front of him but he dodges her, grabbing my hand and pulling me along with him.
“Yeah,” he says, not even looking in her direction. He laces our fingers together, giving mine a squeeze, and I just want to die on the spot.
Somehow I keep moving, keep walking straight like a normal person, though deep inside I’m warm and fuzzy and tempted to launch myself at him.
“I’ll see you tonight!” Lauren shrieks from behind us, but he doesn’t even give her a second glance. Instead he looks at me with an intimate smile, like we share this big secret.
It’s my most favorite Jordan Tuttle smile ever.
By the time we walk into the classroom, the bell is ringing. I let go of his hand and scramble for my seat. Jordan ambles over to his like he has all the time in the world, and I turn around to watch him, letting all of my inhibitions go. Not caring what anyone else thinks.
We just walked down the hall together. First with his arm around me, then holding hands. I can look at him all I want.
“Let’s not waste any time,” Mrs. Meyer says after she takes attendance. “Get with your group partner and work on your projects, please. You should at least have one diary entry each, maybe even two.”
I immediately feel behind. Panicked. The guy who sits next to me moves out of his desk to go join his partner and Jordan is there, easing into the desk and scooting it toward me. We’re so close our arms practically touch.
“You look freaked out.”
Leaning in closer, I whisper, “Did you hear Mrs. Meyer? She said we should have at least two entries done each. We only have one.”
He’s so close I might be able to count every single eyelash that lines his eyes. There is the faintest bit of stubble on his cheeks and I want to touch it.
“Maybe I’ve already finished my two entries,” he murmurs, his eyes sparkling.
I suck in a breath. “You have not.”
“I have.” He flicks his chin in my direction. “Let me read your first entry.”
Nerves assail me and I swallow hard. I don’t want him to read it right in front of me. But how else can this go down?
“Um…” My voice trails off.
“Hand it over.” Ugh. He can be so bossy sometimes.
I grab my backpack and unzip it, randomly digging around even though I know exactly where the paper is. Jordan leans back in his desk with a bored expression on his face, like he knows I’m trying to fake him out, and I give up. I reach for the thin folder, pull the sheet of paper out of it, and hand it over, just like he asked.
Then I lay my head down on the desk and wait quietly for the humiliation to be over.
Amanda hands me the fluttery piece of paper and I realize her hands are shaking. She’s nervous, those big brown eyes staring at me, her teeth sinking into her plump bottom lip. I want to lean in and suck on that lip so damn bad it’s killing me.
Killing. Me.
She lays her head on top of the desk and buries her face against her arm while I start to read her Juliet diary entry.
It is so very difficult, to want what you cannot have. To love who you fear you’ve already lost. They say we’re too young to know what real love is. They say we’re foolish and reckless and stupid, that we can’t make our own choices. We don’t make a proper match, they remind us. We’re too different.
But when he looks at me, I don’t feel foolish or reckless or stupid. I feel beautiful. Special. Loved.
So loved.
We are not so different after all. When we are together, we are one and the same. We are like a puzzle, each of us made up of so many varied pieces. And those pieces only make sense when we come together.
They say we can’t make our own choices, but they’re wrong.
I choose him.
I stare at the paper for so long the words start to blur together. It doesn’t feel like she’s talking about Juliet and her feelings for Romeo. It feels like Mandy is talking about her feelings for me. She’s my missing puzzle pieces. She’s the only one I need.
“You hate it.”
Her flat voice makes me jerk my head up to find she’s watching me, her eyes full of worry. She’d be a terrible poker player. She wears her every emotion on her face, with her body language, even the tone of her voice.
“I definitely don’t hate it.” I glance over the words again, sticking on one sentence.
I choose him.
Does she choose me? Most of the time she acts like she’s running away from me.