Participant Page 29

  “Chelle Whitney?” The secretary called out my name like a question, even though the other seats sat empty. I rolled my eyes and grabbed my bag from beneath the chair.

  “Yeah.”

  “Vice Principal Perkins will see you now. You can go on back to her office.” The small-framed woman didn’t bother looking up.

  “Thanks.” I took the familiar path back to the VP’s office.

  I ended up there a lot. I’d never been in much trouble. I usually got called in because someone else did something, like when Kiley Flynn threw an apple at me. Ms. Perkins had called me in to tell her what happened. I just sat there with a black eye forming and lied, so Kiley never even got detention. What was the point? If they got in trouble it would only make things worse.

  “Chelle, come in.” Ms. Perkins stood tall—taller than most men. I wondered if she was one of those post-surgery transvestites. She had big hands, too.

  I sat in the chair across from her, but instead of remaining in her seat, she came around and leaned on her desk, brows pulled together as if some kind of pain had struck her. I studied her throat for an Adam’s apple as she talked.

  “So what happened today? Mrs. Gibson tells me you weren’t in science.” She crossed her ankles and laid her hands on the edge of the desk, balancing her weight at an uncomfortable-looking angle.

  I shrugged, not meeting her eyes.

  “You know you had class? It’s not like there was some confusion about that, was there?”

  “No.” My voice squeezed out at barely a whisper. I hated the way she looked at me, as if she expected something. I clutched the bag in my lap and stared at the pins attached to the shoulder straps, just wanting to get out of there.

  “So why didn’t you go?”

  I shrugged again.

  “Chelle, if there’s something going on you want to talk about....” She leaned forward, bringing her man-face closer to mine.

  I recoiled, pulling further into myself, hiding behind my hair.

  “All right then.” She sighed and straightened her back. “Without some kind of explanation of where you were, I have to give you detention. This will be after school, and I’m also going to make a call to your parents about your behavior.”

  Fuck.

  Ms. Perkins stood up, went back behind her desk and pulled out a detention slip. “Give this to Mr. Harris. He’s in charge of scheduling your detention, but it must be done within one week from today. This isn’t a good way to make your transition into high school, Chelle. Do you understand that? You don’t want this kind of behavior to become something you’re known for, especially not next year.”

  I nodded, but if Troy didn’t care, I didn’t either.

  “This is the last time I want to have this talk with you.”

  “Yes, Ms. Perkins.”

  I stood and took the detention slip.

  As I opened the door to leave, she spoke again. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?”

  “Nope. Thanks, Ms. Perkins.” I left her office and hurried to History.

  I slipped in just as the bell rang and took my seat next to Morgan.

  “Where have you been?” she hissed. “I waited for you after lunch and was late for earth science.”

  Sebastian leaned back in the seat in front of me, cocking his head in our direction. So very subtle.

  “Yeah, I skipped.” I kept my voice nonchalant, like it didn’t matter, even though the news about Troy sat coiled, ready to burst from my lips.

  “What? Since when do you skip class?” She pulled her seat closer to my desk, but Mr. Harris cleared his throat at the front of the room.

  “Tell you later,” I whispered, with a mischievous smile, and both Morgan and Sebastian grumbled their complaint.

  Class began with its usual tediousness: someone did something really important at some point in the past, and I totally cared. Really.

  Mr. Harris barely looked at me. I could always tell when he wanted me to meet him on the back road, because he ignored me in class—about as subtle as a sledgehammer. Fortunately, my fellow eighth-graders were painfully stupid.

  Troy occupied my thoughts. Dred Scott really had nothing on him.

  He’d talked to me. I hadn’t even had to chase after him or come up with something to say—guaranteed to embarrass myself. He’d just talked to me. So easy. Everything he did was so understated and he made it seem so natural. He probably didn’t even get in trouble for skipping. He was a junior, after all.

  Class droned on and I stabbed a line of tiny red dots on the inside on my arm with the end of a stretched out paperclip. I traced the lines of old scars, pulling the raised flesh until it puckered and splotches of red appeared beneath the thin layer of skin. I mulled over my conversation with Troy, replaying it a hundred thousand times in a million different ways. Every time he looked at me, every time his hand extended toward mine, it took on paramount meaning. Troy Christiansen had talked to me. On purpose.

  As soon as Mr. Harris gave the okay for us to start working on our assignments, Morgan slipped a piece of paper onto my lap.

  Why did you skip class??

  I was talking to someone.

  I wrote it with a coy smile, knowing it would drive her insane.

  She groaned at my response and glared at me before scribbling and passing it back.

  WHO???

  If Mr. Harris noticed, he didn’t say anything, but he probably didn’t—too busy not looking at me.

  Troy Christiansen.

  I liked the way his name looked printed in my handwriting. I didn’t have girlie writing—no curlie q’s or hearts over the i’s. It looked right, written that way.

  The new kid? In HIGH SCHOOL?

  My smile and blush were the only response she needed. Morgan vibrated in her chair, desperate for details.

  Mr. Harris’ face twitched as he tried to ignore us.

  Yeah, he’s nice.

  Holy shit-balls, Chelle! How did you meet him? When did you start talking to him? Is he as gorgeous up close? DETAILS.

  Mr. Harris raised an eyebrow in Morgan’s direction as she frantically scribbled on the ripped piece of paper we were passing back and forth.

  I decided not to tempt fate and scribbled a quick note to her.

  We’ll talk later.

  Morgan’s disappointment produced a pout as amusingly palpable as her excitement. She huffed in my direction.

  When we were younger, Morgan’s mom would watch me when my mom had to work. Now I was old enough to stay home alone, so we didn’t see each other as much. Morgan lived in the nice part of town, and walking from my house would take forever. I could take a bus, but we saw each other every day in school and she always made time for me, even though her other friends were cooler and more like her. Somehow, she always managed to include me in everything she did. Almost like she wanted me there.

  The bell rang and the class broke into chaos. Nothing like the chance to get the fuck out of school to motivate a group of teenagers.

  I packed my things quickly, wanting to get out of the classroom before Morgan started her barrage of questions. Mr. Harris didn’t need to know who I spent time with, so long as I kept meeting him after school.

  I hoisted my bag over my shoulder and walked out the door. In the small hall, where the majority of the eighth grade classrooms were located, I waited for Morgan.

  Sebastian approached with a smile, shuffling his feet until Chazz walked up behind him and smacked the back of his head. The two degenerated into a wrestling match on the carpet until Chazz’s bag opened and his books went cascading down the hall.

  “So spill it, seriously, how did you meet Troy Christiansen?” Morgan spoke so fast she would have been unintelligible if I didn’t know her so well. I hadn’t even heard her approach; she was a virtual teenage gossip ninja.

  “He was sitting by the vending machine. We just started talking.” I shrugged, trying to be casual about what had to be the single most exciting thing that h
ad happened to me since I stopped believing in the tooth fairy. It was amazing what the sight of your father passed out on the floor of your room, with your tooth in one hand and a dollar bill in the other, would do to a girl’s faith in magic.

  “So, what did he say? What did you talk about? Did you tell him about me?”

  “Morgan!”

  “What?”

  We started making our way through the throng of students. At the stairs leading up to the locker bay, Troy’s tall and thin frame leaned against the railing. His perfectly structured face looked at something on the ground. The way he held himself, like nothing in the world mattered, took my breath away.

  “Oh, my God! Is that him?” Morgan squealed, grabbing my arm with both hands.

  “Yeah.” My voice filled with awe as I took him in.

  “Is he here for you?”

  “No, no way. Why would he be here for me?” I shook my head and tried to look away, not wanting to act like I expected him to talk to me. Who was I, anyways? Just some eighth grader who went out to smoke without a cigarette. Stupid.

  “Hey.” Troy stepped away from the wall and lifted his eyes to mine. With casual perfection, he shrugged his shoulder and hiked his backpack higher.

  “Hey.” I looked down, unable to meet his gaze. If my bangs were longer they’d hide my face completely, and I kind of wished they were.

  “Can you believe they totally pulled me in for missing class?”

  “Me too.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry about that.”

  I shrugged. What did he have to be sorry about? It wasn’t like he did anything.

  “I’m here for one week and I’m already getting a call home. My dad’s going to flip.”

  “Yeah, I have detention.”

  His appearance turned hard. Something about the lines of his face solidified and his jaw clenched tight.

  “Whatever. It’s not a big deal.” I didn’t want him to be mad.

  “Um, hi! I’m Morgan.” My best friend nudged me aside and batted her eyelashes at Troy in a pathetic play for attention.

  For the first time in my life, I wanted to pound her face into the steps.

  “Hey.” He didn’t look at her, just nodded in her direction. His eyes were still focused on me.

  I smiled.

  “So, what are you doing now?” he asked. For once, someone wanted to know more about me than Morgan.

  “Ok... umm... I’ll call you later, Chelle.” Morgan pouted and walked away. Once she’d retreated to a safe distance behind him, she turned around and winked with a smile.

  “Just going home, you know. Whatever.”

  “Yeah, me, too. Do you need to go to your locker? I’ll walk with you.”

  We made our way up to the locker bay and my hands shook as I spun in the combination. It took me two tries to get it right. I pulled my books out and stuffed them in my bag, not sure which ones I’d taken, too distracted by Troy’s proximity to care.

  He looked so casual, leaning against the lockers next to mine, as though his bones didn’t have the same density as everyone else’s.

  When I pretended to be done, and pulled on my backpack, he headed toward the front of the school where the buses lined up. As much as being with him thrilled me, I trailed behind. Mr. Harris expected me to meet him, and I’d never not shown up before.

  “So next week I’m getting a truck. It’ll probably be some piece of shit my dad gets from the junkyard, but it’ll be freedom from the bus.”

  “Cool.”

  “So maybe I could drive you home or something.”

  “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

  “All right, umm, yeah....” He shuffled his feet for a moment. “So, give me your number and I’ll call you.”

  Flushed and about to hyperventilate, I wrenched my backpack off my shoulder and dug in the front pocket for something to write on. A WaWa receipt. Classy.

  After folding my number into quarters and stuffing it into his pocket, Troy ran off to catch his bus.

  I snuck back inside and made my way out back to wait for Mr. Harris.

  ——End of Special Sneak Preview—-

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