Rae rolls her eyes. “I’m kidding. Of course you can come! I’ll ask Mel, too.” She tosses her shimmering blonde hair over her shoulder. “Catch you two at lunch.”
Neither Laney nor I rush off into our respective classrooms. I hoist the straps of my bag higher on my shoulder.
“Still can’t tell me why you snapped at me?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“So… you’re going on the double date?”
Ten vanishes into our classroom just as the first bell sounds.
“Yeah. What are you and Brad doing?”
She tightens the ribbon tied around her sleek black ponytail. “He surprised me with tickets to the ballet.”
“Really?”
She laughs softly. “Don’t look so shocked.”
“Sorry. I just can’t picture Brad attending a ballet.”
“He’s going for me.”
Which is something else I can’t picture Brad doing: something for someone other than himself.
I gesture to her leg. “It doesn’t break your heart to sit in the audience?”
“I get a little nostalgic, sure, but I still really enjoy watching it.” She pulls a hefty science textbook to her chest. “Would you stop listening to music if you lost your voice?”
Or lost Mona Stone’s contest…
The thought takes me by surprise. My odds of winning are so slight that I shouldn’t even be considering it. Besides, I’m going to forge Mom’s signature on my application form, so if Ididwin, I’d probably be stripped of the prize.
“I couldn’t live without music,” I end up saying.
The second bell rings, and Laney squeezes my arm. “Gotta get down to the lab before Mr. Olson notices I’m not in my seat.”
I don’t think he would. He’s one of those teachers who’s so passionate about his subject matter that the apocalypse could hit and he’d keep prattling on about subatomic particles. Mrs. Dabbs, on the other hand, would notice.Nothingescapes her.
When I enter the classroom, Mrs. Dabbs is jotting a formula on the whiteboard, her felt-tip pen squeaking on the slick surface. Without looking up, she says, “Did you not hear the second bell, Miss Conrad?”
Like I said, nothing escapes her.
I trudge to my seat without glancing at Ten. Even though I don’t angle my chair away, I don’t look at him once during the entire class. I’m actually quite proud of myself, as I sense him looking over at me several times. As soon as the bell rings, I spring out of my seat.
“Thought you’d like to know Nev’s not talking to me,” he says.
I study the contents of my tote, then flick through my notebooks to make it seem like I’m busy looking for something, like I’m not avoiding his gaze, which is searing the top of my head. “Why would I like to know that?”
“Because you’re not talking to me either.”
“I’m not talking to you because I have nothing to say to you.” That’s not true. I have a mountain of things to say to him.
“I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“I don’t care,” I lie.
“Yeah, you do.”
