Authors: Katie Klein
“Is there a difference?” I ask
.
“Yes, and you know it.”
“I like Parker. I mean, I don’t think I
like
him. I just, you know, like spending time with him.”
“
Yeah, but d
o you think you could grow to
like
him?”
“That’s what’
s so
freakin
’ scary,” I admit
.
“Do you know how he feels about you?”
I tuck
a piece of hair behind my ear, wishing I’d brought an elastic with me. One less thing to worry about. “No. I have no clue.”
She chews
on her thumbnail for a minute, thinking. “So what did yo
u tell Blake?” she finally asks
.
“I called him Saturday. I just said I was really busy with school stuff. He didn’t ask. Do you think he knows something? I mean, has he said anything to you?”
She shakes
her head. “No. Not to me. But then, I wouldn’t expect him to.”
I lean
against
my locker as the warning bell ri
ng
s. “What am I
gonna
do?” I whine
. “This is crazy.”
I want to bash my head against the locker until I pass out, and then I want to wake up
to a world without
this
insanity
.
“Well, it looks like at some point you’re going to have to make a decision.”
I
hike
my
bag further up my shoulder. “I know.”
“I’d hate to be you, though,
”
Savannah says, voice flat.
“Tell me about it.” W
e head
down the hallway. “But you cannot
breathe a word of this to anyone
. N
ot until I can figure something out.”
“Ta
king it to the grave,” she swears
.
*
*
*
I toss
a small bag of Su
n Chips toward Parker. It lands
on the table just in front of him with a dull “smack,
” crinkling the plastic. “Sorry.
I was kind of d
istracted at lunch,” I explain
.
“No one asked you to keep brin
ging me food.” Still, he reaches over and picks
it up.
The library i
s empty t
oday—the entire room ours. It’
s quiet. T
he odor of musty, mildewed
boo
ks permeate
s
the air—a
familiar
smell
of late,
one I immediately associate
with Parker.
“That doesn’t kee
p you from taking it,” I point
out, sitting down in the chair beside him. “Besides, I thought you liked Sun Chips.”
“I do,” he replies
.
“They’re better for you than r
egular potato chips,” I remind
him.
“My dad’s not a big fan
of either
,” he says
. “He’s more of a pork rind kind of guy.”
My nose wrinkles
in disgust. “
Ew
.”
“Tell me about it.”
“He should let you do the shopping.”
“I do the shopping. Pepsi, potted meat, bread, beanie weenies, and pork rinds times fourteen . . . every week.”
“
Ew
,” I repeat
.
“Sometimes I get lucky and we have a real meal . . . like Hot Pockets.”
“Parker, that’s not a real meal.”
He shrugs
. “That’s what happens when two bachelors live together.”
“Two bachelors, huh? R
emind me to stay away
from your bathroom,” I mutter. I know what it’
s like to live with boys. Before we moved, Daniel and Phillip and I shared a bathroom. Needless to say, it didn’t take long for it to turn absolutely nasty, and that was with Mom cleaning it o
nce or twice a week. Maybe it’
s frustrating to have to use a wrench to get wa
ter, but at least my bathroom i
s my own.
It’
s nice not having to worry about Daniel forgetting to put the seat d
own, or Phillip forgetting to lif
t it
.
Parker smiles at me, then nudges
my knee with his. “I’m just trying to make you feel sorry for me. Is it working?”
“Yes, I feel c
ompletely sorry for you,” I say
, rolling my eyes,
voice laced w
ith sarcasm. I
do
feel s
o
rry for him, actually, but I do
n’t think he’d appreciate knowing that.
“Good. So how are we going to divide up these papers?”
I unzip
my
bag and
shift
things around, searching for my English notebook and a p
en.
Already I
can feel my shoulders relaxing,
the tension
in my neck and back fading
,
coiled muscles loosening. I exhale, letting go of the demons that plagued me the entire day.
“Well, we have to do a summary, bio on the author, three character analyses, three themes, and an oral analysi
s on what we
learned,” I say
, reading the list
on our requirements sheet
. “Aren’t you so glad you have me as yo
ur partner to help out?” I tease
.
“Of course, because God knows I
can’t
complete a
project without you,” he
replies
,
eyes shining. B
righ
t
.
“Be serious.” I laugh,
cheeks warming,
balling my fist and
punching
him playfully on the shoulder
. “You
need
me.”
In the next moment
Parker
perks
up,
glancing
at
the door
a
nd pulling back in his seat.
“What?” I ask
.
He clears
his throat.
“Jaden?”
I freeze
at the s
ound of Blake’s voice behind me,
his footsteps thuddi
ng against the carpet as he moves
closer.
My heart fumbles a beat.
“
What’s going on? I
w
aited
for
you in the parking lot,” he says
, pointing his thumb toward the door
.
There’s a jealous edge to his voice.
“I’m sorry. I, um . . .
I
thou
ght you had practice,” I reply
,
voice trembling
. T
he guilt
simmering inside has to
be
smeared across
my face, revealing
everything Parker and I have done together since we started this project
.
I can feel Parker’s eyes evaluating me
Blake’s
brow furrows
, eyes guarded
.
“
Season’s over, r
emember?”
No, I do
n’t remembe
r,
actually, but I nod, and agree
, pretending it slipped my mind. “You c
an sit down if you want,” I say
, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite make it to my lips
. “We’re just trying to divide up these assignments, you know, for our English project.
We’re almost done.
” I talk
quickly,
the
nervousness
dancing
i
n the pit of my stomach affecting
my speech patterns. I try
to take anoth
er breath, but
nearly choke
on it
.
Parker and I a
re sitting
so close
: sid
e by side, knee to knee. How did
I
not notice this?
But more importantly: does Blake notice?
I clear
my throat. “
Oh.
Parker, this is Blake. Blake
,
this is Parker.”
A formal introduction is
a good place to start
.
“What’s up?” Blake asks
coolly.
“Not much,” Parker replies
.
“So
,
what did you decide to do your project on ag
ain?” Blake asks
, not takin
g his eyes off Parker. I glance back and forth between them. The tension in the air is palpab
le . . . or maybe it isn’t,
and I’m
making too b
ig a deal of all
this. I’m no
t quite s
ure. T
he entire wo
rld is ti
l
t
ed,
off kilter.
“
Ethan
Frome
,” Parker answers
. “You?”
“
Animal Farm
,” says
Blake.
“Good choice.”
“Yeah,” he agrees
. “Since we read it in
tenth
, we figured it would be a piece of cake.”
I steal
a quick glance
in Parker’s direction. He raises
a
n eyebrow, but his lips remain
sealed together in a perfect line.
I sw
allow hard. “So
,
um, topics,” I say
, sitting up and tucking my hair behind my ears, wishing for the
hundredth time I could just pull
it back in a ponytail and get it off my face
,
already.
“Do you want the summary
or the author bio?” Parker asks
, turning hi
s attention back to me. There’
s something in his tone—
this civil iciness. I recognize
it instantly from our first
encounters—this d
etached indifference. It’s not
the Parker I’ve
gotten to know over the past fe
w weeks, and I can’t say I like
it—or th
at I’m
happy with Blake for making it return.
“I’ll take either,” I say. I wipe
my damp
palms across my jeans, ignoring
the
thick
knot
woven inside
my stomach.
“How about I do the summary and you write
about the author?” he suggests
.
“Sounds goo
d,” I agree
,
breathless,
noting this on my paper. “Who should our characters be?”
“There are really only three major characters:
Zeena
, Mattie, and Ethan.
And not to be pushy, but I want Ethan.”
“That’s fine. If you don’t mind doing two of the themes, then I’ll take care of
Zeena
and Mattie.”
“That works,” he says
. “What themes did we decide on?”
Out
of the co
rner of my eye I can see Blake,
feel
his
stony glare
piercing us.
I
mmediately
I
imagine
the worst
:
Savannah spilled my secret, or
I
wasn’t
as discrete as
I
originally thought. I work
to keep my breathing steady and my heart beating at a no
rmal pace. As awkward as this is, I ca
n’t let Blake think I’m nervous. This i
s a simple library study group . . . the end.
I glanc
e
over the notes I took
during one of our previous sessions. “I like the idea of winter . . . and isolation. I mean, I kno
w it was yours,” I quickly add
, “but since I really don’t like it—u
m, winter, I mean—I kind of feel like I relate
to Ethan in that way.”