I wouldn’t meet her eyes, couldn’t let her know that her words comforted me in some strange way. I needed to let this go. It was painfully obvious Clayton Reed and I were not destined to be BFFs anytime soon. He was a social misfit, a pariah, and apparently had no desire to interact with the world in general. And while I wasn’t always the most likable person out there, even I couldn’t get to know someone who wanted nothing to do withme.
Daniel jumped down the last three steps outside the school, landing on his feet with a dramatic flourish. Rachel and I gave him an obligatory round of applause. He was such a show-off sometimes. “Seriously, though, Mags, that dude is super-odd anyway. It’s probably best you steer clear of him. Rumor has it he was shipped here because he had been expelled from his last school for calling in a bomb threat or something. Guy seems unhinged, if you ask me,” Daniel remarked, walking backward down the sidewalk.
“You’re going to fall on your ass, Danny.” I laughed as he came off the curb and stumbled into the street. Daniel straightened himself and gave a quick look around to see if anyone had witnessed his moment of uncoolness.
But my friend’s words interested me. Bomb threat, huh? Yet I wasn’t one to put much stock in rumors. Last year I had broken my arm after lamely falling down the stairs at home in the middle of the night when I wanted a snack. I never told anyone but Rachel and Daniel how it happened, but somehow a story started circulating that I had broken my arm after a confrontation with a mugger in the city. I had apparently fought back and slammed my arm into a parked car as the villain tried to take off with my purse. The story was so detailed, I almost believed it myself. Where do people come up with this stuff? However, I never corrected anyone because the made-up story was way better than the truth.
We reached Daniel’s overly masculine diesel truck and he gave me a quick hug. “Like I said, don’t worry about some dude ignoring you. You always have my full attention.” He gave me a sloppy kiss on the forehead, laughed, and jumped into the driver’s seat before I could smack him. He gave Rachel and me a wave and then pulled out of the parking lot. Rachel sighed as he drove away.
I gave her a gentle nudge. “He’s a goob, Rache. Sure, we love him, but he’s Daniel and he won’t ever change,” I tried to tell her supportively. Rachel gave me a shaky smile. Her unrequited crush was becoming harder and harder to watch. And she was having a harder and harder time pretending that Daniel’s blasé attitude toward her didn’t hurt.
“You heading home?” I asked her, trying to change the subject. Rachel shook her head.
“Nope. I’ve got to be at work in fifteen minutes. I’m going to have to change when I get there. Sorry. You staying for cross-country?” she asked me, pulling her keys out of the front pocket of her book bag.
“No, practice was canceled. I was hoping you’d keep me from feeling like an unsociable loser and give me something to do.” I pouted playfully. Rachel laughed.
“You want to get together over the weekend? Maybe see a movie or something?” she asked me. Then she looked down at her shoes, suddenly finding them really interesting. “I’m sure Daniel will be with Kylie, so let’s not bother asking him to come,” she added, her voice getting all wobbly when she said our friend’s name. I didn’t address the issue again and instead smiled brightly at her.
“Sounds good. Call me when you get home tonight and we’ll make plans.”
Rachel nodded and we parted ways, each going toward our respective cars. It was nice having my wheels back. The two days of being without them had been torture. I was lucky that I’d needed only a new battery, so I was able to pay for it and the towing without having to bum money off my parents. Though that didn’t change my desperate need for a job ASAP.
I was thinking about going home to look online for gainful employment when I saw him. Clayton Reed. By now the school parking lot was pretty much cleared out and it almost seemed as if he had been waiting until he could sneak out without anyone noticing. But of course I noticed.
One thing was certain. Clayton seemed to be making a supreme effort to avoid contact with the rest of the human species. So it wasn’t surprising that rumors were flying like crazy about him. Aside from the one that Daniel had told me, I had heard that he was in the witness-protection program. I had also overheard some girls in my English lit class saying in breathy whispers that they’d been told he had a terminal brain tumor and had come to Davidson so he could get treatment at the hospital at the University of Virginia, which was twenty minutes away. I had rolled my eyes at that one. Then there was the rumor that he was actually an indie-rock star and was lying low to get some downtime from the craziness of fame. It really depended on whom you talked to as to what story you heard. I was certain that none of these scenarios were remotely accurate, but there was something very mysterious about Clayton, that was for sure.
Why did I feel this persistent need to see him? To talk to him and figure him out? Maybe I felt a sense of kinship at the way he shunned everything high school. Maybe it was the way he was shut down with everyone else but would breathe fire when he spoke to me. Yeah, he had been a dick during our two interactions, but passionate and furious—so different from the closed-off persona he exhibited the other 99 percent of the time.
So when I saw him walking across the parking lot, I followed some half-cocked instinct and made my way toward him. His head was down and his hands in the pockets of his signature green army jacket. He must have gotten a new MP3 player, because I could see the wire of the earbuds peeking out from his collar.
He was oblivious to everything around him, so he didn’t notice me until I was standing right beside him.
“Whoa. Stalk much?” he asked, yanking the earbuds out in irritation. What was it about me that coaxed this reaction from him? He never ignoredme.No, he acted as if my one purpose on this planet were to annoy the shit out of him. He was testy and terse and not displaying any of the social aversion he showed at school. And I loved it. I was such a weirdo.
But I figured it was time to call him on his attitude. No sense in letting him think he could treat me like that and get away with it, no matter how much I dug his James DeanRebel Without a Causeshtick. “What is your problem? Have I unknowingly run over your puppy or something?” I bit back, crossing my arms over my chest, doing my best to act unaffected and maybe even mildly intimidating.
Yeah, that didn’t work. Clayton snorted, and I swear I saw a hint of a smile. I held my hands up, palms out. “Stop the presses! Was that a facial expression other than annoyance and disdain?” I asked sarcastically. Clayton smirked at me, his lips turning up slightly. He actually seemed amused, for once.
“Are you trying to tell me that my reigning title of Mr. Congeniality is in jeopardy?” he asked, openly smiling at me now. His face seemed to light up when he did that, and my throat constricted painfully. If I thought he was hot before, that wasnothingcompared to the way he looked when he smiled. I was a goner.
I relaxed a bit, taking a cue from his change in demeanor. Nice to feel like we weren’t going to war at any moment, as much as I got into the verbal-sparring thing. I flipped my bangs out of my eyes, trying to get a better look at him. He had gotten a haircut, much to my disappointment. His shaggy hair was much more manageable now, and I found that I missed the curls around his ears and at the base of his neck. Maybe Iwasa stalker.
“Well, you aren’t earning a reputation for your witty banter, Mr. Chatterbox,” I volleyed back. I hadn’t realized we had stopped walking until I heard the chirp of a car lock being opened. We were standing at a black BMW. My eyes widened some. “Your car?” I asked, looking through the window at the sleek, leather interior. Clayton nodded, opening the door and tossing his bag onto the passenger seat.
“Nice wheels,” I commented, not wanting to draw any attention to my crapmobile, two rows over.
We fell into an uncomfortable silence. Obviously he wasn’t interested in discussing his car. So I had no idea what to say next. I kicked a piece of gravel and dragged my toe through the dust of the parking lot, making patterns with my shoe. “So, did I kill your dog or what?” I asked, trying to continue our struggling conversation. I didn’t want him to go. I wanted to keep him here, looking like that—you know, without the cold anger in his eyes.
“No pet-icide that I know of,” he answered shortly, leaning against the BMW. I was relieved to see he wasn’t making any moves to leave. So maybe he didn’t hate my guts after all.
“So why the attitude when I talk to you? I mean, I get that I stole your guy card the other day, but I honestly didn’t mean to. But Paul is such a dickface and I hate how he mouths off like that. I was seriously only trying to help...” My voice tapered off and I realized I was majorly rambling.
I looked at Clayton, who was staring straight ahead of him. That tightness had returned to his shoulders and, inexplicably, I wanted to rub them for him. After a few seconds, he finally spoke up. “I know you were just trying to be nice. I get what you were doing. I was just pissed, I guess. Or maybe ‘embarrassed’ is more like it. You were there, I was mad, so I shot my mouth off at you. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.” He finally looked at me, and I was taken under by the intensity of his brown eyes. He looked at me like I was the only person in the world. It was a heady feeling.
I had to break the moment. I was scared my mouth was hanging open. And it felt like things were building to a point that I wasn’t ready for.
“Well, what about that morning? You sorry for that, too?” I asked jokingly. Clayton cocked his eyebrow at me. Damn, he was sexy.
