But that’s why I still had fewer than a hundred, even with rubberneckers and hate-followers. Act that sweet and oblivious and even flits as “I ate a sandwich” as what he’d written so far racked up thousands of luvs.
I almost felt like writing him a PF:
You should see how much power you have—
say you like girls w/shaved eyebrows and see if
it starts a trend.
But then I thought about class. Kyle making a big joke of it all—of me—for a cheap laugh from Cam Eaton, as though it’s worth anything to impress someone who tries that hard. He’d probably only followed me back to see who the freak was who had taken the picture. We weren’t friends. We never had been.
I closed Flit and played phone games until it was time to go back inside.
I was at the end of the hallway when the bell rang and people started pouring out of classrooms. I stared at my feet so I wouldn’t have to make eye contact with anyone, a skill I’d been perfecting since sixth grade. I was just about to duck into the safety of the empty classroom when I felt a hand on my arm.
“Hey, do you have a sec?”
I turned to see Kyle, the pained look in his big green eyes making them softer and wider. It almost seemed like he’d been waiting for me; no one else was around.
The idea made me feel unsteady, like my body had suddenly become too light and I might start floating upward any second.
What was wrong with me? He’d just humiliated me in class, and that stupid picture was the reason I’d probably get egged every day until graduation. Besides, he was a year older, this confident, normal athlete, miles away from interested in me. I frowned. Why couldn’t I have a crush on pretty much anyone else?
“K,” I said. He dropped my arm. I could feel all the sparkles he’d shaken up floating back down to the bottom of my insides, making it easier to see straight, but less worth looking at anything.
“About earlier, I wasn’t trying to . . .” He scrunched his face small, searching for the words. “I should have, like, left you alone.”
“Oh, um, okay. Thanks.”
“I just wanted you to know I will from now on.”
“Great,” I said flatly. He frowned for a second, as though he couldn’t figure out whether the conversation was over, then shrugged and grinned, his face lighting up like he’d flipped a switch on himself.
“Okay, that’s all I wanted to say. See you tomorrow?”
“Sure.” I rolled my eyes to the side. “I’ll be here.”
I pushed through the door. I couldn’t stand seeing how he looked at me any longer, like I was some kid sister whose skinned knee he’d cleaned up. At least when he hadn’t been aware of me I could pretend there was some chance we’d get together.
“Did you know, Rachel, you’re actually scheduled for my fifth-period class.”
Mr. Jenkins was staring at me from behind his desk; he hadn’t stood up. His mouth was set in a straight-across line, but his eyes looked smiley.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t handle it after . . .” I couldn’t think how to frame it. Jesus, this whole thing wasn’t just killing my social life, it was leaving me dumber too.
“I know. And I get it,” Mr. Jenkins said. I could have hugged him. Mr. Jenkins, savior of awkward moments. “Believe it or not, I’m capable of seeing what’s trending on Flit. And I probably should have stopped things sooner; I wasn’t paying attention—I usually try to block out Mr. Eaton’s antics between classes.”
I could feel my cheeks getting hot. I walked over to grab my bag.
“So you get a pass, since it’s my fault. In exchange, can you make the effort to attend from here on out? Or at least not make it painfully obvious to everyone else that you’re ditching? I need my best student to lend me some credibility.”
I smiled. It felt weird; I don’t think I’d done it all day.
“Yeah, I think I can handle that.”
“Good, thank you. Can’t let those animals think I’m soft.” He smirked. Sometimes Mr. Jenkins almost made me believe teachers got it.
I walked over to my bag, still sitting underneath my desk.
“Rachel,” he said as I was heading out.
“Yes?”
“I know it’s hard to believe right now, but this will blow over.”
“Thanks, Mr. Jenkins,” I said, trying to sound upbeat.
When he was making such an effort to be nice, it didn’t feel fair to mention that it might blow me over with it.
chapter ten
KYLE
WEDNESDAY, 2:08 P.M.
That: hadn’t gone like I’d expected.
What had I expected? It hadn’t been bad. Just kinda awkward. It’s hard to talk to someone who won’t look at you. That must be why I still felt like it was . . . I dunno, unfinished?
Or maybe I was still riled from Cam. He’d spent the entire class finding ways to keep making me a thing.