Page 29

“I just want to know what makes them weird, to you, anyway. You might think they’re weird, but maybe I won’t. Not that weird is a bad thing. A lot of times it’s actually really cool.”

“Well, would you consider closeups of small details cool?”

“Now I’m even more interested. It might be my life’s goal to see these pictures.”

I laugh a little, which puts me in a good enough mood to elaborate on my photos.

“They’re just closeups of stuff like the faded paint on a fence or grass blades. Nothing special.”

“Ah, come on, can’t you show me at least one picture? I want to see some from a real-life photographer.”

A real-life photographer. I like the sound of it, so much so that, in my head, I repeat it over and over, like it’s a mental spell that can transform my dream into reality. Still, I shrug and say, “I don’t know.”

“How about this? I’ll show you a video of mine, and you can show me a picture of yours.”

Before I can reply, Jase fishes his phone out of his pocket and shows me an Instagram reel of him playing “Help!” by The Beatles. He’s sitting on a couch with a faded gold hue, and it’s torn at the edges, the stuffing gushing out like soap suds from a sponge. The way he strokes the riff to the chorus is strong, heavy, the strings ringing so intensely I can hear them musically say Help! Not only does he play like a real rockstar, he plays like he’s having a good time, no inkling of worry or hesitation.

“Nice, you’re a talented guitarist,” I say as if I hadn’t already seen him perform at Blossoms. “I’m really feeling all that angst and hopelessness. But you also look like you’re having fun.”

I’m stunned that I’m saying so much to him. Now we’re having a conversation? Amazing.

“Thanks,” Jase says, smiling. He flashes those adorable dimples, and I melt internally.

On the other side, Mr. Daniels steps into the classroom carrying a stack of papers and the SAT textbook from last class. Even if you hadn’t seen him enter, you would know just by his walk, his shoes squeaking with every step. It’s like his theme song for every entrance. Thank goodness I only see him twice a week. Anything more and I would need cotton buds for my ears just to block out his squeaking shoes.

“Okay, now it’s your turn,” Jase adds.

Before I can decline, Mr. Daniels calls for the class’s attention.

“Hope you all had some fun getting extra SAT practice with your homework,” Mr. Daniels says, and everyone turns to face him. “Great way to spend the week, right?”

There’s a scatter of varying responses, from “It was easy” to sarcastic remarks like “Sure!” I’d join along—my answer would be no, though I’m pretty sure he’s kidding—but instead stay silent. I glance back at the clock above the posters. I’ve always been fascinated by the old-school ones. The numbers are bigger, so they each get their time to shine.

“Great to hear all of that!” For a second, I think Mr. Daniels read my mind. But then I realize he’s actually referring to everyone’s responses over our SAT homework. He must enjoy torturing students if he’s glad to hear the sarcastic remarks. “So let’s pass them up!”

After I pass up my homework, Jase says, “Um, Emilyn? Hate to ask you for the second time, but can I borrow another pencil?”

“Of course.” Right as I pick one up, I joke, “You’re not sitting next to me just because I have a bunch of pencils, are you?” I don’t know why, but I feel this sudden urge to mess around with him.

Jase chuckles at this. It’s low and deep and somehow sounds as melodic as his guitar playing. “That’s exactly why.”

Just as he’s about to take the pencil, one red like roses, from my hand, I move my pencil out of his reach. He narrows a pair of puppy dog eyes at me. I only leer in response. Again, he chuckles, which makes me stretch my arm farther away. I don’t know what’s made me bold enough to play around with a cute guitarist I initially ran away from. First a full conversation and now I’m messing with him? Wonder if that tortang tuna spinach omelet I ate for breakfast had a magical ingredient that made me braver. Around cute boys, anyway.

“I swear,” Jase begins, “I’m sitting next to you again because you’re cool.”

Cool.

He chose to sit by me because, apparently, I’m cool. No one’s ever described me that way. I’m the quiet girl who shrinks when she has to talk, how could he think I’m cool?

“Okay, that’s fair.” I hand him my pencil.

He grins as he takes the pencil from me. “And I promise to give it back, even if you don’t remember to ask.”

I toss him a look that says, Whatever.

After Mr. Daniels picks up our homework, he sets them on the desk, then pulls out another stack of papers.

“As you all know, there’s going to be a vocabulary section,” Mr. Daniels begins, “which means that you’ll have a lot of words to memorize.”