“All right.” He shrugs, truly indifferent, then jiggles the handle to the classroom. “Good luck with your test.”
The doorknob doesn’t turn. He tries again, this time putting more force behind his tug.
“Fine,whatever.” I cross my arms as I watch him struggle. “What are you doing? Just open it.”
He pulls harder, but it doesn’t budge. “Iamtrying.”
“Let me try.” I attempt to step in front of him as I reach for the handle, but he blocks my path with his body.
“Stop reaching.” He swats my hand away. “It won’t open.”
This only makes me want to try again, so I do. “What if I can open it? And don’t sneer at me like that. I’m your senior, remember?”
“That actually means nothing to me,” he says flatly, still blocking my path.
I manage to slip my hand by him. When it lands on the doorknob, I’m able to tug for a brief second before his elbow nudges me aside. Well, that settles it. The doorislocked.
“Argh—just knock, then, you stupidSubwayboy.”
The words roll off my tongue before I can stop them. Oliver freezes in place, his eyes locking on mine. Heat flushes into my cheeks.
Oh no—did he catch that?
“Hey.”
I’m so grateful for this interruption that I could spontaneously combust with joy. We whirl toward the voice. Lulu’s poked her head out from the classroom behind us, inching the door wider.
“You’re trying to open the wrong door.” She looks between us, silver eyes shifting back and forth. “Are you coming to the meeting or what?”
TWENTY-FOUR
Sara
There’s a lingering scent of turkey sandwiches and pencil shavings in this classroom, and I wonder if the journalism instructor eats lunch in here by himself. This is not what I should be focused on, though. Rose has been breaking down what our meetings will look like this year and what she’ll expect from us, and I’ve sort of tuned her out. Because I’ve been fixated on if Oliver—and if he put the pieces together.
From beside me, Joe scribbles important details in his spiral notebook. I spare a sidelong glance at Oliver, who watches with narrowed eyes as Rose paces back and forth as she speaks at the front of the classroom. That familiar bored expression plays across his features. Does anything in this great wild world entertain him? We should sooner expect a solar eclipse than a smile from him. I mean, if he’s so unenthused by the idea of writing for the newspaper, why is he even here?
And the bigger question: Has Oliver known about me this entire time? I’m going to feel like an enormous doofus if that’s the case. Because why wouldn’t he say anything? Maybe he was waiting for me to bring it up. Ugh, good thing he’s not my tutor anymore. I can’t imagine any more one-on-one time with him.
“So Joe and Oliver are going to report on the festival,” Mari says from beside Rose. She’s the club’s vice president, I learned earlier, and is in charge of making sure we all meet our deadlines. “Lulu, you good with focusing on horoscopes?”
“Always,” Lulu intones.
I cock my head. How did Lulu even get to the journalism classroom so fast? I thought she had a tarot reading. Weird. But I guess that’s Lulu. So mysterious.
“Great,” Mari says, beaming. “Cordelia and Mickey Dean, are you good with graphics and editing?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mickey gives a polished salute. “Forever and ever prepared. You can expect nothing but the best from these two humble, hardworking juniors. We promise to deliver through blood, sweat, and tears. We shall conquer! We shall be victorious! We—”
Cordelia puts a gentle arm on his shoulder and Mickey, who did not seem to notice he’d risen from his seat during his impassioned speech, sits back down.
“Okay, got it. Thanks, Mickey Dean,” Rose says as she marks something down in her notes. “Moving on.”
I wonder if Oliver’s noticed howrespectfulMickey Dean’s being to his seniors. As one should act. This is the high-school hierarchy, after all.
Mickey points two thumbs to the sky. “Yes, my queen. I’ll shut up now.”
Rose closes her notebook as Mari says, “Everyone’s clear with their assignments, then?”
