“Oh jeez, you’re only five months older than me. Does that even count?”
“Still older.” Jack parks next to Tyler, but the guys are already across the parking lot. He tosses me the keys. “See you in PE.” And he runs to catch up with his friends.
I entwine my arm with June’s as we walk. “Sorry about lunch. I hope it wasn’t too awful.”
“Are you kidding? I thought it was great. Thank you for buying lunch for everyone. Can I pay you back?”
“You’re welcome, and no, it was my treat.”
“I admit I was a little lost with some of the conversation at lunch,” June says.
“Oh, my gosh! I’m sorry. I promise to tell you everything tomorrow night when you sleep over.”
“I can’t wait. I was so excited for school this morning so I could have a break from my parents.”
I laugh. “I’d probably be the same way if I’d spent every day with my family for two and a half months straight. I love my family, but that’s a lot.”
“Right? My parents don’t seem to understand why I need a break from them. What class do you have now?”
“I have an art design class. I’m hoping it will be my favorite class this semester. What about you?”
“I have history with Mr. Metcalf, but last period I have musical theater. I’m so excited for the class this semester. I know it will be my favorite class.” June has been involved with the school’s musicals since she was a freshman.
“You have such a beautiful voice.”
“Ah, thanks.”
“What musicals are you doing this year?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I’m hoping Mr. Lyall will tell us today.”
“Let me know when you find out.”
“I will. Have fun in art. And Hannah, I know I don’t know the story with you and Ford, but from what I can see, he’s head over heels for you. The way he looks at you makes my toes curl. Give him another chance.” June gives me a quick hug and then takes off for her class.
Art class is super boring. The teacher, Mrs. Woo, spends the entire class period going through her syllabus and each project we’re expected to complete this semester. She didn’t even have time to review the software we’ll be using. When I walk out of class, Ford is leaning against the far wall waiting for me. He smiles and then pushes off the wall. When he reaches me, he skims his fingers across my cheek, pushing a tendril of hair behind my ear, and then takes my hand. Our classmates stare and whisper behind their hands. I catch sight of Bree and her pack of clones as we walk past the library. She sticks her nose up at me, but I don’t care. I’m done with Bree Chandler and all her bully friends. I can’t help myself and glance back, looking for Alison. It’s a weird feeling being at school and not seeing or talking to her. Ford squeezes my hand, letting go when we get to the girl’s locker room. Coach Eskelson, who is the girls’ basketball coach, and my PE teacher this semester, is standing at her office door checking off attendance and assigning lockers.
“Miss Clark.” She nods, acknowledging me, and then skims at her clipboard. “Let’s see. I already received your course plan for the month. It looks like you have a locker for cheerleading. Do you want one for PE as well?”
“No, thanks. I’ll use the locker I already have.”
“Sounds good. What do you plan on doing today? The aerobics class doesn’t start until next week, but there’s the weight room, and several girls are playing volleyball in one of the upper gyms.”
“If it’s okay, I’d just like to run today,” I say.
Coach Eskelson taps a long, brightly manicured nail against her chin. She’s so pretty with her long black hair and bright nails, and she’s at least six feet tall. She’s always talking about how she played in the WNBA. “The whole time?”
“Yes. I did a lot of running over the summer. I thought I’d try for three miles.”
“Sounds good. Make sure you pick up a step counter on your way to the gym to help you keep track.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I sit down on the tiled bench and slump against the lockers. My head is spinning from everything that’s happened today. I need to let it all go for a while. Clear my head and let my feet do the thinking. I rummage through my locker, looking for my black leggings, and then groan when I realize I took them home to wash. All I have are the bright pink and turquoise leggings Ford bought me or the hot pink running shorts, which he also bought me and then forbade me to wear. I pull them out of my locker. I shouldn’t wear the pink shorts. It’s mean, but then I am in jeopardy of losing another bet with Ford. It doesn’t matter that I kind of want him to win. It will stroke his ego, and I’m tired of losing. I honestly didn’t think he had it in him to not speak to me all day, but Jack’s right when Ford wants something; he doesn’t stop until he gets it. Dammit! I did underestimate Ford. That will not happen again. The pink running shorts it is.
4. Hot Pink
I made it to the last fifteen minutes of French class. I don’t think I missed anything too important since it’s the first day of school. My parents got me a tutor sophomore year when I struggled, but I still have trouble conjugating verbs and writing in French. I can’t afford to miss class, especially since it’s advanced placement French.
