“I don’t understand why everyone is so afraid of her,” she goes on, stacking the paperback on top of some notebooks. “She does nothing but take selfies and put them on the internet. Big whoop.” Harper slams her locker shut. “Not that it surprises me a guy likeyouis as basic as the rest of the male population.”
A guy like me?
Basic?
What does that even mean?!
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I blurt out.
My locker neighbor shrugs. “You know—you all want to date someone like her.”
Someone like her? Obviously! Maddie is beautiful and pretty and cute.
“I am a f-freaking winger for the the—the…hockey team!” I stammer, floundering. “There is nothing basic about me!”
She snorts.
Actuallysnortswhile she laughs.
“Winger but not the captain? Yikes.”
“Wow. That was really…” I plow a hand through my hair, letting out a puff of air. “Rude.”
Harper spins on the heel of her pristine white sneakers, squeaking as she stalks down the hall toward the cafeteria.
Why is she being so fucking rude?
I wasn’t aware that Harper Conrad didn’t like me—I thoughteveryone liked me, I’m a decent guy—but you learn something new every day.
Harper Conrad and I rarely speak—we’ve had lockers near each other for three years but no classes together.
My brain ticks off details about her, most of them things you can discern about someone simply through observation:
She’s not in any sports—at least, none that I know of.
She is taller than most girls but shorter than me.
Dark reddish-brown hair.
Freckles.
