“But it's expensive. You could have gotten a cheap one from the mall.”
He recoils dramatically. “A mall copy? Inconceivable.”
That makes me snort. Actually snort.
“Um, thank you?” I say, but the words feel too small for a gesture so big. Too flimsy considering I just spent the last ten minutes trying to get out of being his partner for the rest of the year. “I appreciate it.”
He waves me off. “Sure thing.”
“I'll, uh…see you around,” I say, feeling somewhat hesitant to leave.
He’s still smiling at me, and for a second, I forget why I’m supposed to hate him.
“Yeah. See you Thursday at three, Laura.”
“Great.”
I step into the hallway with the other students. My legs feel weirdly shaky, so I lean against the wall and close my eyes.
What the fuck just happened?
I wasn't supposed to speak to Scotty again, let alone get a very expensive edition of my favorite book. This is not the Scotty I was expecting based on all the things I'd read or seen about him online.
He’s sweet. Thoughtful.
Kind, even.
As more students spill out of the room, panic jolts through me. I cannot let him catch me still standing here like some dazed idiot. I push off the wall and rush to my next class, arriving ten minutes early, which gives me time to stare numbly at the book.
The one that I don’t dare to open in fear that I somehow break it. I place it on the top left corner of my desk because I can't bring myself to put it in mybag. What if it gets bent? Or scratched? Or breathes the same air as my crushed granola bar?
“Hey, roomie,” Lyss says, sliding in beside me.
I only manage a grumble, still focused on the book and what that means.
“Uh, oh. Did your party go badly?”
“No,” I sigh and sink back in my chair. “I'm partnered with Scotty Hendricks in Professor Foster's class.” I cringe when the words come out of my mouth, annoyed that I don't know how I feel about it anymore.
Lyss gasps, her face lighting up. “No?!”
“Yes,” I groan, and I absolutely do not tell her about the book, because she will go feral with implications.
She cackles as she pulls out her notebook. “I know you love drama, but don't you think you're being a little overdramatic here?”
“The man dick slapped me into a fountain, Lyss. So no, I don’t think I'm being overdramatic.”
“Not on purpose.” She argues. “And he likes you. Youknowhe likes you. Personally, I think you should embrace it.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “I mean, you’ve already seen the merchandise. Tell me—breadstick or hot dog bun?”
I cringe as she elbows me lightly. I know she’s joking, and she doesn’t want me to answer, but unfortunately my brain supplies one anyway:
A long, thick baguette.
No—That’s not right.
Like… an extra-large hoagie.
What am I thinking?
