“Oh, yes she would.”
The classroom is mostly full, and my shoulders relax when I spot her empty seat. Maybe she went home after her tantrum this morning. It’s not like it’s the first time she’s skipped school.
I slip into my seat, setting my bag on the floor between my legs. The last few days Ms. Simon has started class with a short lecture featuring a different artist, and then she lets us work on our projects for the rest of the period. Right now we’re focusing on clay and sculpting, but I’m no Michelangelo. I decided to sculpt a baseball, which I thought would be a lot easier than it has been. Ms. Simon asked me to bring in a real baseball and sculpt every stitch, scruff, and dent it had.
“Uh-oh,” Sam whispers.
I follow his eyes to the door where a bewildered Emma walks in. She still has dirt in her hair from when we dropped her and her sweater is only halfway tucked into her skirt.
She scans the room until she locks on me.
Heat rises on the back of my neck and I shift my gaze tothe table. If I don’t look at her, maybe she’ll walk past me to her seat in the corner of the room like normal.
But nothing about today is normal.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice her walk up. Her navy plaid skirt stops in front of our table.
I make the mistake of looking up to see Emma’s eyes like lasers aimed at me. Her expression is a little creepy. It’s as if she’s in the wild, planning to pounce.
I duck, pretending I don’t notice her. If I can’t see her, she can’t see me, right?
Wrong.
Sam leans toward me. “Does she blink?” he whispers.
“Just ignore her,” I say.
Emma inches closer and taps Sam’s shoulder. “Trade me.”
I don’t understand why she’s doing this. Why all of a sudden? Whatever it is, I can guarantee she could’ve texted. She still has my number, doesn’t she? I never changed it. Then again, that would be how a mature and considerate person would handle a situation. Emma is anything but that.
Sam looks at me and then up at her again. “Say please.”
I roll my eyes, dragging my hand down my face. That’s not how ignoring works . . .
Emma crosses her arms and glares at him.
“Close enough,” Sam says, standing.
What happened to having my back? At the very least he could’ve refused a little more. I grab on to him. “Whoa, where are you going? You can’t just leave.”
Sam smiles and whispers, “I think you two have some catching up to do.”
My mouth falls open. Is he really so desperate to find out what happened this morning that he’d betray me like this?
I’m going to make him pay for abandoning me. I’m supposed to be finishing the glaze on my baseball, not sitting next to an unstable volcano who’s on the verge of exploding again.
I hold on to Sam’s blazer, but he pries my hand off. “I’m going to talk to Ms. Simon for a minute. You two have fun.” He waves in a way that makes me want to sock him in the eye. I wouldn’t really do it, but the thought is there.
Emma slides into his seat and sets her backpack down. Without skipping a beat, she turns to me, resting her elbows on the table. Her glare focuses directly on me.
My heart stops.
I wasn’t ready for it. Not this much all at once. Not when we haven’t made eye contact in years.
“Have you been hanging out with Mallory?” she asks.
A chill rushes through me, up my arms and down my spine. Did she see us together in the library just now?
