I turn sideways to Cameron. He looks dead at me, and I forget why I’m even annoyed with him.
“What?” I ask.
“Want to go to lunch?”
My heart begins to race. “With you?”
He tilts his head. “Yeah. I don’t have anyone to go to lunch with. Want to come with me?”
“No.” I do.
“Please?” he asks.
“I can’t.”
“I’ll buy.”
I’m about to get pissed at him for being a condescending asshole when I realize that he’s not. People with money do stuff like this: offer to buy each other lunch as a bribe to hang out.
I turn and stare down at my desk. “I’ll think about it,” I tell him.
“All right.”
So I think about it. Obsess, really. Over the next four hours, I dream of all the places Cameron will take me and I think of all the reasons I can’t go. So when Mr. Jimenez finally tells us to head out, I’m well prepared with a “Sorry, I can’t” speech.
Cameron stands up and stretches, his T-shirt lifting high enough to flash the skin above his belt. I run my eyes over him, enjoying the view. He laughs to himself, and I realize he caught me checking him out.
“So what’d you decide?” he asks as if he knows the answer.
“I can’t go,” I tell him seriously.
His expression falters and I think he’s disappointed, but I might be imagining that, because he grabs his notebook and raises his hand in a wave before walking away. There’s a dull ache in my chest. And my stomach growls.
I gather my things and move slowly out of the classroom. It’s a lonely walk to the parking lot. I hate how stubborn I am—he was going to buy me lunch, not take me on a date. Nondating is okay. Why do I have to be such an idiot all the time?
I push through the double exit doors and survey the parking lot. I wish I had bus money. I curse under my breath and start walking in the direction of my house.
A black Beamer pulls up next to me.
“The thing is,” Cameron says out his window, as if we’re in midconversation, “I just thought since your friends aren’t here, that maybe you’d want to keep me company so I don’t feel like a loser sitting by myself at McDonald’s.”
I stop walking and stare at him. He eases his car next to me. I want to go with him.
“Come on,” he says, smiling, even as his eyes study mine. “I’ll buy you a Happy Meal.”
I laugh.
“Is that a yes?”
“A maybe,” I tell him.
He waits, holding my gaze, and I feel all sorts of unrealistic feelings for him. The dangerous kind that would complicate my life. I slide my hair behind my ear.
“I’m really hungry,” Cameron says. “In fact, I’ll be eating too much to talk.”
“Now you’re tempting me,” I say. “McDonald’s?”
“Unless you have someplace better in mind?”
