He doesn’t.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I pick at the spine of my calculus book. “Aw, are we friends now, Tom Sawyer?”
“Jackson must have masochistic tendencies to hang out with you all the time.”
Covering the phone’s speaker, I laugh. “He must.” I adjust the phone to my ear. “I don’t know what you’re hoping to accomplish by calling me, but you’ve made your point. Your heroic image is intact. I won’t tell anyone you broke the law for me.” I tear paper off the book’s spine and roll it in my fingers.
“Trust me, I’m no hero.”
What the hell do I say now?
It’s silent again.
“Couldn’t fool me. This conversation’s been a blast, but I do have to go,” I say. “Other insults to sling and lives to ruin, you know.”
There’s a pause.
“Oh, okay. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Yep. Bye.”
We both hang up at the same time and the air that’s been trapped in my lungs finally escapes.
I turn back to my computer and type Colter’s name into Facebook. His profile is a group photo with him and some friends from school. He has over a thousand friends and his most recent status update says, Ghosts have a way of showing up when you least expect them.
What does that mean? Apparently I’m not the only one confused by his update. Several of his friends asked what it meant. He never answered.
I type Dean’s name into the search bar. His profile pops up and I realize I’m not connected with him, and he only has ten friends. My throat dries a little at that. I grab some water from my nightstand and browse his pictures. There’s a few random ones with a girl with bright red hair who I don’t recognize. He looks so uncomfortable in his body, his skin, like he wants to shed it like a snake.
He looks like me when I look in the mirror.
8
27 Days
I slam my locker closed, distracted. It echoes, so I cover my ears, dropping my book on the ugly, blue-tiled hallway floor. When the noise in my head diminishes, I retrieve it and start to walk to my next class. Someone taps me on the shoulder.
Not again.
I turn around expecting Colter to berate me on my sunny personality, but instead I’m facing three of the bitchiest senior girls in school.
Janie Reynolds, who once drank a whole liter of Mountain Dew on a dare in seventh grade. She threw it up pretty quickly after. Confirmed gossip girl Dee Simmons, who basically lives in the biggest house in town, and Kirstyn (with a Y) Matthews, the mayor’s daughter, and also, interestingly enough, Colter’s ex-girlfriend.
“Can I help you?” I say, clutching my torn book in my arms.
Kirstyn glares at me. “Yeah, you can tell me why your number is on my boyfriend’s phone.”
Great.
“I thought you broke up?”
She flares her nostrils and flips her blonde hair behind her shoulder. “Why was it there?” she demands, her voice going a few octaves lower.
Dee gives me a snotty glare to match hers.
“He’s in love with me,” I say straight-faced.
“You’re such a loser. I have no idea why he would call you anyway.”
“I don’t either.”
She looks confused for a moment. “Right. Well, uh . . . .”
“Leave him alone,” Dee says, pointing her French-manicured fake nail in my face.
Janie glances at something to the side, avoiding the conversation.
I point to my English class. “I have class.”
Kirstyn huffs a couple times then walks away, her minions following close behind.
I take my seat in English, fuming. Why did Colter have to call me? Was it really just to make sure I wouldn’t tell anyone? I mean, I’d get in trouble too. Now I have the bitch patrol on my ass.
Colter walks in and his gaze finds me again. He shakes his head, like the disappointment is bothering him. It’s annoying. He shouldn’t care. I need to get this asshole off my back, and his girly minions too.
I take a breath in and stand. My legs shake as I walk up to his desk. “I need to talk to you after class,” I manage to croak out.
He doesn’t hide the shock on his face. “Oh. Okay.”
Class passes fast in a blur of The Canterbury Tales, and reading aloud, and essays. I wait for Colter after, pacing in front of my locker, clutching my book, ripping it at the edges. He finds me, and gestures for us to walk.
We make it a few steps before he looks expectantly down at me.
I twist the book’s binding in my fingers. “I need you to leave me alone. Your . . . uh, girlfriend found me.”
His forehead furrows. “Kirstyn?”
Her name sounds toxic on his lips. “The one and only.”
“She’s not my girlfriend anymore.” He rolls his eyes. “What did she say to you?” There’s that protective tone again.
“No.” I grab his arm and yank him to the side of the hall. “Stop it. You don’t get to have that tone with me.”