TRIP Page 4

  She turned slowly on her heel, her hopeful smile making me grin. “Yes?”

  I had no gameplan, here. I thought about blowing off work and joining her in the mall, but I didn’t think she wanted me tailing after her. Besides, she was there to go job hunting, not to hang out.

  There was nothing to do but offer her a parting grin. “Good luck.”

  Chapter 4

  BRAIN DEAD

  Layla and I spent the rest of the week dancing around each other. We’d hang out during lunch and walk down to English every day, always polite, always excruciatingly so.

  One day, I got a bathroom pass just to get out of Computers for a few minutes. I was wandering the halls when I happened to spy Layla in her art class. I made sure to keep a low profile as I watched her through the sliver of glass in the door. Her hands were covered in paint and her brows were pulled together in concentration as she worked on her still life. It was just a bowl of fruit, but by the way she was taking it so seriously, you’d think she was painting the Mona Lisa. It was fascinating to watch her work. Mesmerizing.

  From that day forward, I found myself slipping out of third period at every available opportunity just to watch her.

  I tried my best not to antagonize Cooper Benedict, but he’d spent practically every minute of the entire week serving as her personal human shield. Even more infuriating was the fact that he was always a perfect gentleman about it. The guy was Dudley Do-Right, always hovering, ready to swoop in and rescue Layla from any number of perceived threats... and somehow, I wound up at the top of the list.

  Maybe “perceived” wasn’t entirely accurate. There was definitely something going on between Layla and me. I knew there was.

  On Friday, she wasn’t at lunch. I went to class afterward—alone—but she wasn’t there, either. I’d seen her in the halls earlier in the day so I knew she wasn’t absent. I figured she was probably just skipping lunch in order to get some more time in the art room again.

  Which sucked, because our prime hangout time every day was during our walk down to English together and the few minutes before the start of class.

  Just not today.

  I scribbled a quick message asking where she’d been and left it on her chair, hoping that she’d show up eventually. Soon enough, she breezed into the room at the bell, slid into her desk, and unfolded my note.

  She turned in her seat to explain, “Hey. I went down to—”

  “Okay, class. Lots to tackle today,” Mason announced, cutting off whatever it was that Layla was about to say.

  She gave me an apologetic shrug as I mimed for her to write back instead of speaking.

  She complied, and a minute later, her hand dropped stealthily to her side as she flicked a folded piece of looseleaf onto my shoe.

  I went down to the art room.

  I jotted my response and tossed the paper over her arm, onto the desk in front of her.

  Why?

  A minute later, Layla yawned, her arms in an exaggerated stretch above her head as she leaned back and dropped the note onto my copy of Romeo and Juliet. Smooth.

  To do art, dummy.

  I choked on a snicker before scrawling out a reply, folding the paper back up, and sticking it into the waistband of her pleated skirt. She shot me a sham dirty look as she retrieved it, and then I heard a giggle escape as she read my response:

  I kind of figured that out on my own. And who are you calling dummy, dummy?

  One second later, she held the page next to her head so I could read:

  YOU!

  And one second after that, she tossed a crumpled up piece of paper over her shoulder which I caught against my chest that said:

  Dummy.

  Oh holy hell I thought I was going to have an aneurysm trying to stifle my laughter. You know those situations where you’re absolutely not supposed to laugh, and it just makes everything that much funnier?

  That’s what I was dealing with.

  I got myself under control enough to write back, and started to fill her in on some of the funny stuff she missed at lunch. But I didn’t get a chance to finish because right then, Mason asked us to Mind Ramble.

  Crap. Fine.

  A Mind Ramble was Mason’s version of free-association writing. We were supposed to think about her assigned topic and then just write whatever came into our heads.

  I ripped a new page out of my notebook and launched into a tirade about stupid toolbag Romeo, but I gotta tell you, the only thing rambling through my mind at that moment was Layla.

  So, I wrote about her.

  I wrote about her even though I was pretty sure I was never going to give that note to her in a million years. Even if it was just cathartic, getting everything out of my head and down on paper.

  Okay forget this. I can’t write about stupid Shakespeare when you’re sitting two inches away from me and I can smell your hair. Coconut? Smells like summer.

  Layla didn’t look as though she were mentally invested in our Mind Ramble project either. She turned her head to catch my eye, but the hopeful look in those gorgeous brown eyes only succeeded in making me catch my breath.

  Okay so I just caught the look you shot me over your shoulder and you need to know that I can’t even breathe right now. I haven’t even known you that long but from the first time I saw you, I’ve been knocked out by how hot you are.

  I looked down at the word “hot,” realizing it was definitely the wrong adjective to describe her. Yeah, she was sexy and great-looking and she knew how to banter like a champ. But “hot” didn’t quite cover it.

  No. You know what? Not just hot.

  You’re beautiful.

  The kind of beautiful that doesn’t go away. Do you even know how beautiful you are?

  I wrote and I wrote and I wrote, even when it felt stupid to do so, even when I knew it was nothing more than wishful thinking, even when I knew it wasn’t going to do any good. And then as if I couldn’t lose myself any more than I already had, in the midst of my purge, she peeked at me over her shoulder again.

  Christ. Stop looking at me! Killing me. Do you know what that does to me? Seeing you look at me like you’re half in love with me? Are you? If I write it does it make it true? So let it be written, so let it be done. Haha.

  A freaking Ten Commandments reference? Smooth, Wilmington.

  Anyway, mind ramble mind ramble mind ramble.

  The only thing rambling through my mind is how much I want to grab you out of that chair and kiss you right now. Kiss you the way you need to be kissed- and kiss you often.

  I probably sounded like an absolute stalker, but it wasn’t like I was ever going to give the damned thing to her, so screw it. May as well put it all out there, right? It was easy to be honest when I had nothing to hide.

  Nothing to hide? Okay fine. Here it is.

  I could be in love with you.

  The words left my fingers without permission from my brain. It took my rational side an extra second to catch up to what I’d just done, but once it did, I froze, looking down at the sentence in front of me, stunned that I had just written it.

  In love with her? I hardly even knew her.

  I picked apart the words on my paper, trying to confirm their absurdity and finding only truth. Those words looked good. They looked right. They felt right.

  There it is. I wrote it.

  I’ll write it again.

  I really think I could be in love with you.

  Fuck. I was completely nuts over this girl.

  How entirely inconvenient.

  I kept writing, trying to make sense of what I’d just revealed, only mildly cognizant of the fact that Mrs. Mason had started speaking. Something about a Shakespeare project. Booklets. I don’t know. I was too busy writing.

  Before I knew it, class was over and the object of my infatuation was standing right there next to me, hands on hips and eyebrows raised. “The bell rang, dummy.”

  Layla peeked over my shoulder to spy on my paper, so I stopped writin
g and folded it out of her sight. “That for me?” she asked.

  I stood, grabbed my books, and tucked the note into the breast pocket of my Oxford as we walked out of the room. “Maybe. Someday. Just not today.”

  I couldn’t help but smirk. I’d just realized the full extent of my feelings for her, and she had no idea. I thought it would be best to keep the revelation to myself for the time being, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t amused about it.

  She handed me some booklet along with a shrug, trying to look unaffected. “Whatever.”

  Layla and I pit-stopped at my locker so she could ditch her books before gym class. “You’re sure this is okay, right?”

  We’d discussed the practicality of sharing lockers on the walk to sixth period. Mine was right outside the gym, and hers was all the way down the hall near the cafeteria. It made sense to divvy up our respective things so neither one of us would be forced to lug a stack of books across the whole school every day.

  But I busted her chops anyway. “Moving in already? Why, Miss Warren, we hardly know each other. What will the neighbors think?”

  She gave me a playful shove as we continued to our next class, parting ways in the main lobby.

  Sixth period Study Hall was held at the resource center off the library and was pretty much a free for all. But I was glad to have it on my schedule near the end of every day, allowing me to get any homework done right there at school, freeing up my evenings.

  Rymer and I had been sharing the same table all week, so I parked myself next to him in my assigned/unassigned seat before saying, “Hey.”

  “What’s up, dude.”

  “Not much. You got homework today?”

  “Nah. You?”

  “One page for bio.” I pulled the Xerox out of my notebook and got to work. The sooner I got it done, the more time I’d have to goof around.

  Rymer didn’t seem to appreciate the wait. I guessed the boredom had already caught up with him as he drummed his fingers on the table.

  “Do you mind?” I asked.

  “Not at all.” I looked up to see him shooting a toothy wiseass grin at me before he asked, “Hey, you got an extra pen?”

  I pulled one from my back pocket and handed it over, only for him to swipe my notebook from under my hands and start doodling on it. Great.

  “Hey,” I scathed. “Why don’t you read a book or something instead of vandalizing my stuff?”

  His eyebrows drew together sharply, looking at me as if I’d grown a second head. “Read a book?” he laughed out. “You serious?”

  The dude was a fucking caveman, I swear.

  I just shook my head and went back to my bio paper. Rymer didn’t have any work of his own to do, so he sure as hell wasn’t going to let me finish mine. “So, tomorrow,” he launched in. “You’re coming, right?”

  I didn’t look up from my paper as I answered, “Your party? Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Yeah. My parents are gonna be in Cape May all weekend. Everyone’s coming. Should be cool.”

  I looked over to see that he was busily scribbling an AC/DC logo on the back cover of my notebook. I hoped his doodling would distract him from the conversation I was about to broach. I cleared my throat before diving in.

  “So, hey,” I asked. “What’s the deal with Layla Warren?”

  He didn’t look up from his drawing. “Deal?”

  “Yeah. Like, is she available or whatever?”

  He shot a knowing look at me from under his raised brows. So much for my attempt to convey casual curiosity. “Dude. Forget it. She and Coop have been on and off for years. She’s never ‘available.’”

  Cooper Fucking Benedict. I guessed that explained the dirty looks the guy had been giving me all week. “Yeah, but like, are they on right now?”

  “Who the hell knows.”

  This nonversation was frustrating the hell out of me. “Seriously? C’mon, man. Give me something here. Is she single or not?”

  “Do I look like a fucking gossip columnist to you?” The librarian shushed us, so Rymer lowered his voice to add, “I don’t exactly make it a point to keep a record of their dating status. Coop’s always in the picture. That’s all you need to know.”

  Try as I might, I couldn’t picture a smoking hot chick like Layla with a buttoned-up guy like Benedict. “But Benedict? Doesn’t he just seem...” I trailed off, thinking it wiser to avoid throwing around insults about the guy. Common sense told me that he and Rymer were probably pretty tight.

  Thankfully, Rymer finished my thought aloud. “Like a fucking boy scout?”

  “Yes! Thank you!”

  His shoulders shook as he snickered. “Don’t be fooled. He’s not so innocent. That guy will tear your head off as soon as look at you, especially if he thinks you’re closing in on his turf.”

  “His turf?” I asked, incredulously. The word conjured images of Craterface calling out the T-Birds in the diner parking lot.

  Rymer chuckled. “I don’t know if you noticed, but that dude is very protective, especially when it comes to Layla Warren.”

  Trust me, I noticed all right.

  He must have seen my face fall, because he chose that moment to take a little mercy on me. “Look, Wilmington, since I like you, I’m going to give you a little advice. You’re new so you don’t know the way things work around here yet.”

  I protested as he slid my paper out from under my hands, but he ignored me to situate the thing on the table in front of him, pointing his pen to the first of four identical illustrations. “An active, healthy immune system contains antibodies. Let’s name them Coop and Layla.”

  He circled the immunoglobulins in the first picture before moving down to the second and aiming his pen at me. “Foreign element gets introduced. The antigen. That’s you.” Before I could stop him, he bounced my pen up and down over pictures 2 and 3, coating the both of them with dots.

  “Hey! You’re messing up my homework, dickhead.”

  “Hey, I’m doing your homework, dildo,” he mocked as he focused on the third picture. He drew a bunch of arrows from the antibodies outward before placing X’s over each of the dots. “Immunoglobulins attack the antigen. Boom. Neutralized.”

  He held up my paper and pointed to the final, untouched illustration. “After the antigen gets annihilated, the immune system resumes unscathed. Like the foreign element never even existed. Get the picture?”

  I didn’t know whether to be pissed at his bleak assessment or impressed that the big dumb gorilla actually understood biology as well as he did. In any case, it was pretty devastating to realize that Layla Warren was completely off limits and entirely out of my league. “Yeah, I get the picture. All too well.”

  “Trust me, dude. You do not want to get on Benedict’s bad side. The guy will eat you alive. And Warren? She won’t even flinch while he does it.”

  I wasn’t necessarily intimidated by the threat of getting an ass-whooping from Cooper Benedict; I’d held my own in more than a few fights over my lifetime. But I didn’t think it would be very smart to instigate a battle with my new group of friends within the first week of meeting them.

  Not that Layla wouldn’t be worth it, but it’s not as though she was asking me to risk life and limb in order to save her from her boyfriend. I wasn’t exactly getting the “damsel in distress” vibes from her end. So, why would I play white knight only to challenge the guy she’d already chosen over me? It didn’t make much sense.

  My heart started beating a little faster as the note in my front pocket burned against my chest. I knew it was pointless to have written it, but I didn’t realize how pointless until after Rymer’s little biology lesson. I made the decision to rip the thing into pieces and throw it out as soon as possible. But all through that class, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  Or during the next one.

  Screw it. I could take care of it once I got home.

  Chapter 5

  HOUSE PARTY

  After a quick workout at the rink,
I got myself ready for Rymer’s party.

  Needless to say, my mother was nearly apoplectic with joy at the prospect that I’d “already made some new friends.”

  I met up with her in the dining room where she and Dad were just sitting down to eat.

  “Terrence?” she asked. “Would you like some dinner before you go?”

  I peeked at the serving platter on the table and was met with some sort of blackened Cajun fish and Brussels sprouts. Eww. “No, thanks. I’ll grab something on my own.”

  Dad laid a napkin across his lap. “Please be careful driving. That means no drinking tonight. Got it?”

  “Yeah,” I grumbled, heading for the foyer. “I’m well aware.”

  I pit-stopped at the 7-11 to get a frozen burrito. Not exactly the dinner of champions, but it would do. While it was heating up in the microwave, I noticed a hot blonde near the soda case who was clearly checking me out.

  Hmm. Looked like my night was about to get interesting.

  A quick, guilty vision of Layla flashed across my mind before I realized I was being pathetic. What, was I supposed to sit around forever and pine over her for the next hundred years? I wasn’t about to turn myself into a monk over some girl who’d never give me the time of day. It was high time I started embracing this new life of mine. Time to find something to look forward to in this town. Time to make the best of things.

  Besides, if I’m going to be honest, I’ll admit that I wanted her to see I had just as much game as she did. If she was going to be at that party with a date, I could show up with one, too.

  While I was debating the best way to talk to Hot Blonde, she made the first move. She walked right up to me, took a sip of her water, and slithered, “And who might you be?”