“Er...”
“Beat it,” Declan says. He drops his textbook on the desktop with a loud thump. “She’s my partner.”
This guy, whoever he is, scowls up at Declan. “I got to her first.”
Declan doesn’t back down. Instead, he squares his shoulders. “I don’t care.”
The guy looks at me, and then back at Declan and shrugs. “Whatever, man.”
He leaves, quickly joining another girl at the front of the class. Declan takes his spot. I want to thank him so badly, but my defenses are up, as always, and it’s so much easier to be sarcastic than humble.
“Wow… two rescues in a row. You some kind of knight in shining armor?”
“My armor isn’t very shiny,” he says.
At the front of the class, the teacher explains our project. We’re supposed to spend two weeks researching a topic that he provides, and then another two weeks writing an essay on it. We’re supposed to do equal work with our partner and state each person’s contribution on the last page of our essay. The teacher walks around handing out little slips of paper with a topic on it. Whatever it says, that’s our project topic.
I’m nervous when the slip of paper drops on Declan’s desk. He turns it over and I lean close to read it, catching the smell of his cologne at the same time. He always smells like summer, and it reminds me of home.
Social and political propaganda in literature
“Easy enough,” I say.
Declan nods. “Wanna head to the library?”
“I don’t think we can just get up and—” I say, but as I look around, I notice that half the class has already done just that. The teacher did say we’d be spending two weeks in the library. It’s one building I haven’t seen inside of yet, but from the outside, it’s a stunning show of New England architecture.
I grab my bag and smile. “Let’s go.”
* * *
While school is stillawful and I still hate just about all of it, my first period English class is the best part of my day. For the next few days, I meet Declan in the library, way in the back at a small table that only has two chairs. It’s a perfect place to hide out from the glares of my classmates and focus on our project.
It turns out that Declan isn’t just a friendly student who is nice to look at. He’s also incredibly smart. We make easy work of splitting up the project and then dividing off to research our parts. We have a shared document online where we keep our work in progress, and each day we both add to it. We don’t really talk much in person, but we work well together. He focuses on his work, so I focus on mine. The worst part is when the bell rings and English class is over.
Because even though Declan has shown me kindness, no one else has. I’ve also just given up on the idea of trying to make friends with people. Now all I want to do is make it through the rest of the year as fast as possible, graduate, and go back home.
“I loved your line about corporate shills,” Declan says as we pack up our stuff at the end of class.
“Thanks,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I was proud of that line.”
“I’m going to write a few pages tonight. You should read over them later and see if anything I said sounds stupid.”
“I will.” I slide my laptop into my back and sling it over my shoulder. “And you can point out anything in my passages that sounds off, too.”
Declan sucks in air through his teeth. “I’ll try, but your writing is pretty perfect already.”
A subtle warmth spreads through my chest at his kind comment. When he says stuff like that, the teensy little secret crush I’m harboring over him seems to grow tenfold. But I tuck it back down. There’s no reason to crush on some random Shelfbrooke guy. As soon as I cross the stage at graduation, I am so out of here.
A couple of Declan’s friends say hi to him in the hallway, so I take the opportunity to slip off by myself and head to my next class. No need to obligate him to walk with me any longer than necessary. I eat lunch with Belle in our dorm, which is now our tradition. The dining hall is a beautiful building, but I’ve only stepped foot in there to grab my food as quickly as possible and then walk back to the dorm. Before I arrived, Belle’s lunch was delivered by a lunch lady each day. Now I just pick it up and bring it to her. I’m pretty sure that one lunch lady was the only human contact she’s had for most of her school life. My aunt stops by on occasion, but she doesn’t really count because she’s Belle’s mom.
When the weather is nice, I’ve also settled into my favorite after school routine: the gardens. I now know the simple way through the paths, the largest most walked paths where I got lost that night when Declan rescued me. But I also know smaller, less-used pathways too. I have a few favorite spots, little off the path places to sit and be surrounded by the beauty of nature and the tall, lush greenery that makes up the garden’s walls. As long as it’s not raining, I spend my evenings here, sitting on a blanket or a concrete bench with my laptop and my homework.
Like my cousin, I’ve become sort of a hermit too, in a way. I go outside but I keep to myself. I bet my Cali friends wouldn’t even recognize me now. Oh well. This is what I have to do to survive. I am done trying to make friends when the whole school just ignores me.
As I settle down on my black and red plaid blanket, my parents cross my mind. And then I roll my eyes and try to forget about them. My mom hasn’t called me once in the last two weeks. Dad tagged me in one of his online posts, which I guess is his form of acknowledging that I exist, even if it was on a tweet about some news story he found hilarious. My parents don’t care about me. And if they don’t care about me, then I won’t care about them.
Ironically, the only person who does check on me every few days is my Aunt Kate. She calls and makes sure I’m doing alright, and of course, I always lie and say I’m fine.
