She cleared the throng, then the cafeteria. The boy was already halfway across the parking lot, headed for the highway at a pace she couldn’t match.
But she had a car, so she scrounged in her backpack for her keys. Two minutes later, she pulled alongside him in her hand-me-down Subaru, the passenger window rolled down.
“Hey,” she called. “Do you want a ride?”
He flicked her a glance without slackening his pace. He walked in the same direction as traffic, right atop the white line, heedless of danger.
Aubrey checked for oncoming cars, then edged across the double-yellow to give him room. “Come on, get in.”
“Go away,” he said.
She feathered the gas. “No. Town’s two miles away. You’ll get yourself killed, doing this.”
He snorted. “What do you care? Or did you just come to yell at me for punching your boyfriend?”
“Boyfriend?Gallant?” She scoffed. “Definitely not.”
“Whatever. Shouldn’t you be at cheerleading practice?”
She glanced down. She’d zipped her jacket to the neck, which meant he must’ve paid her more attention than she’d realized, earlier. The knowledge only fueled her determination. “I’d rather skip it than let you get run over.”
He kept walking.
She changed her angle, trying for lightheartedness. Maybe humor could break through that icy wall. “Come on, you’rejust lucky it’s not Friday. If it was, I’d let you turn yourself into roadkill.”
He grunted—ninety-eight percentfuck off, two percent grudging interest.“Why, what’s on Fridays?”
“Math club. Which I never skip.”
His stride faltered. “You’re a cheerleader who likes math?”
She smiled. Clearly, that had slid past his defenses, however much he wished it hadn’t. “No.I’m a cheerleader wholovesmath. Who lives and breathes it. Sees holiness in it.”
He stopped. “Okay. That’s... unexpected.”
She braked to a halt. “Yeah, well, so is you beating the shit out of Gallant Nobel. But here we are.”
He sighed, then looked up at the sky as if searching for guidance. After what seemed like an eternity, he laid his knobby hands on the doorsill and stooped to look in.
Aubrey met his gaze squarely. Something about his regard made her heartbeat relocate to the roof of her mouth.
“Is that really his name?” His voice was rough. Sultry enough that she could practically feel its texture against her skin. “Gallant Nobel?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow.” He rasped a graveled laugh, then spat a red gob onto the road. His bottom lip dribbled a fresh rivulet, which he swiped at with the back of a hand. “That’s rich.”
“Rich? How so?”
“Come on, his parents were laying it onthick. Gallant Nobel? They were probably trying to compensate for what a dick he is.”
She cocked her head. “What’re you talking about?”
“Gallant?Andnoble? Two words that mean practically the same thing? Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed.”
She blinked. Then laughed, because shehadn’tnoticed, which seemed unbelievable, now that he’d pointed it out. Gallant Nobel.
That really was absurd.
