Sometimes It Happens (22 page)

“Are you crazy?” Rosie asks. “Of course Mr. Davies is around, it’s the first day of school and he’s a guidance counselor!” Rosie looks like she should sound like a Valley girl, but in actuality she has a very posh voice. It kind of sounds like someone who’s spent some time in England, but hasn’t quite mastered the accent. You know, like Madonna when she’s trying to sound British?

“Thank you, Rosie,” I say, then start walking toward the chairs in the corner.

“Stop right there!” she says. “Where do you think you’re
going
?”

“I’m going to sit over there,” I say, pointing to the chairs against the wall. “And wait for Mr. Davies.”

“Mr. Davies cannot see you,” she says. “Mr. Davies is very busy. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s the first day of school.”

“But it’s an emergency!” I wail.

“What sort?”

Something tells me “I need to drop my social media class
so that I can sit and veg out in study hall because I slept with my best friend’s boyfriend last night and then told her about it” isn’t really going to get me what I want.

“It’s a personal problem,” I say, lowering my eyes and hoping I look like the kind of girl who has a shameful secret. Which, actually, is true. I do have a shameful secret. Well, I guess it’s not really a secret anymore, since I already told the one person I didn’t want to find out. But either way, it’s still shameful.

“What kind of personal problem?” she asks.

“It’s
personal
.” Duh.

“Fine,” Rosie relents. She looks me up and down and then smirks, probably because she likes it when people are miserable. Maybe she broke up with her rich, older boyfriend and now she wants everyone else to be upset, too. Although she
is
wearing a Gucci sweater, so I’m assuming her wishing bad things on others is just a personality trait.

I plop myself down on one of the chairs in the corner, across from a girl wearing a pink miniskirt and a boy who’s sleeping. The good thing is that it appears most of the kids trying to get into guidance are getting turned away by Rosie the Guidance Nazi, so there are plenty of chairs for those of us somehow deemed good enough to make it past. Hopefully the wait time won’t be that long, and I can sneak out of here and get to the library in time to spend study hall alone. God, this is really the worst first day of school ever.
Only four more periods to go,
I tell myself,
and then I’ll be out of here.

I decide to pull out my iPod and see if I can get away with secretly listening to a few songs while I wait. I’m thinking no, but then again, there is a boy sleeping over there. Maybe that means Rosie gets drunk with power at the door and then doesn’t really care what goes on inside. (Right now she’s in the process of making a freshman girl almost cry because the girl’s somehow been scheduled for three sections of gym, something Rosie apparently thinks is totally acceptable.)

Still. I don’t want to take any chances, so I look down and try to covertly rummage through my bag and then slip in my ear buds without anyone noticing. Which is why, at first, I don’t notice the shoes: the beat up, black boots that Sebastian always wears. Followed by the black jeans he always wears. Followed by the black T-shirt he always wears.

“Hey,” he says.

“Oh,” I say. “Um, hi.” Before this morning, I hadn’t talked to Sebastian since that night in July, the night he came over, the night he told me he wanted to get back together. After I caught him in the lie about Jemima being a one-time thing, I kicked him out of my house. He tried calling me a bunch of times after that, but I refused to answer.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, sitting down in the seat next to me like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like the last time we talked he wasn’t at my house at one in the morning, maybe drunk and trying to make out with me, the whole time lying about his cheating being a one time thing. And if he’s wondering why he couldn’t find me this
morning after homeroom, he doesn’t say anything.

“Trying to add a study hall,” I say.

“Me too,” he says, grinning.

“Really?” I remember how Sebastian and I met in study hall, how the first time I saw him he was reading
Pride and Prejudice
, and how I thought that was really sexy. Of course, I would come to find out later that it was the only book he’d read, like, ever, and the only reason he was reading it was to impress some college girl he’d met at a party the weekend before. That should have been a sign that maybe he and I weren’t going to be the best match.

“Yeah. Maybe we’ll be in the same one.”

“Maybe.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence, and I look up and catch the girl who’s sitting across from us trying to listen in on our conversation. Probably she’s a sophomore. Probably she’s friends with Jemima. I remember how I threatened her just a little while ago. Definitely not my best moment. Although she did kind of deserve it for hooking up with my boyfriend. And besides, it’s not like I’m really going to sue her or anything.

Sebastian notices the girl too, so he opens up his binder to a fresh sheet of paper, then takes out a pen and writes, “I still really miss you.”

I don’t say anything, because I’m not sure what to do. And then Sebastian reaches over and takes my hand. I want to pull away, I
know
I should pull away, but I don’t because for
just one second, it feels nice—safe and secure, even though it’s a false sense of safety I know won’t last. But right now Sebastian’s really the only person who wants to be around me, who actually misses me, who’s actually trying to be nice.

I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of his hand around mine just for a second. And then I open my eyes and pull my hand away. But it’s not fast enough. Because when I look up, there’s Noah, standing in the doorway of the guidance office, right in front of Rosie’s desk, watching me and Sebastian.

“What did he want?” Noah asks the next morning. He’s standing in my driveway at five a.m., a full hour before we have to be at work. Not that he was supposed to pick me up anyway, so it makes no sense that he’s here. The only reason I’m even up at this hour is because after I kicked Sebastian out last night, I couldn’t fall asleep. I was tossing and turning until I finally gave up and spent the rest of the night writing in my journal and messing around online.

My head was a complete and total mess. I couldn’t stop thinking about why Noah was at my house at one a.m., about what he wanted to say, about what he was thinking. I wasn’t even thinking that much about Sebastian. And at about four this morning, I decided I definitely need to stay away from Noah because nothing good can come out of the situation. Although my new plan to stay away from him isn’t off to a very good start since he’s, you know, in my driveway.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. I’m standing on the porch, barefoot and in my pajamas, because when I heard
Noah’s car pull up, I ran outside, not even bothering to put on shoes. Now he’s standing halfway out of his car with the door open, and a song I’ve never heard is playing through his iPod.

“What did he want?” Noah asks again.

“To talk,” I say.

“So why’d you let him in?”

He sounds angry, which makes
me
angry, and the next thing I know, I’m yelling. “You know, you have a lot of nerve showing up here at five in the morning questioning my choices,” I say. “Newsflash, Noah. I can talk to whoever I want, whenever I want.” I stop and take a breath. “And besides, what were
you
doing here at one in the morning? And what are you doing here now? I thought we weren’t supposed to talk ever again, remember?”

“I never said that,” he says.

I turn around and open the front door, so done with this.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“I have to get ready for work,” I yell over my shoulder. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Okay,” he says, sounding amicable. “I’ll just wait here for you.”

“No, thank you,” I tell him. “Lacey will be here in an hour.” Or an hour and fifteen minutes, or whenever Lacey feels like she can finally pull herself out of bed. But Noah doesn’t need to know that.

“No she won’t,” he says when I’m almost out of earshot. “I told her not to come.”

I whirl around. “You what?”

“I texted her and told her that I would pick you up.” He shrugs and then lopes up the cobblestone walk after me, checking his watch. “Starbucks is open,” he says. “Do you want to go with me?”

So half an hour later, against my total and complete better judgment, we’re standing in line at Starbucks, which is surprisingly busy for five-thirty in the morning. I mean, what are all these people
doing
here? I guess they’re all on their way to work. And some of them look really perky. A few of them are even in workout clothes, which is just wrong. Although, now that I’m back on the market maybe I should start thinking about working out a little more. Or, you know, a lot more since right now I don’t work out at all. It never hurts to get in shape.

“The usual?” Noah asks when we’re almost at the front of the line.

“No,” I say, mostly because I’m annoyed with him and in a cranky mood. He still hasn’t told me why he showed up at my house last night. And the way he says it, the way he just
asks
me if I want the usual, it’s almost like he
wants
me to order the same old boring thing. So I decide to shock him and get something completely different. “I’m going to have a soy latte.”

“A
soy
latte?” he looks at me skeptically.

“Yes,” I say emphatically. “A soy latte. I’ve decided that I’m limiting my intake of diary products.”

“You do realize that ice cream is a dairy product, right?”

I ignore him and shuffle forward with the line. But he’s kind of persistent. “Do you even know what soy is?”

“Of course,” I say, rolling my eyes. Which isn’t really true. I mean, I know that soy milk isn’t dairy, and that people who are vegan drink it. But I don’t know exactly where it comes from or why it’s supposed to be so good for you. “Do you have some kind of problem with soy?”

“No,” he says. “It’s just surprising, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“Because usually the only people who drink soy milk are, like, thirty-year-old hippies who are into being green.”

“I’m into being green,” I say. The line moves forward again. “And I might just become a hippie. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“So your ageism when it comes to food is limited to peanut butter and jelly?”

“I don’t eat things,” I say, looking him right in the eye, “that are childish. I’m very mature for my age.” Which is a total contradiction, since that’s actually a very childish thing to say.

When it’s our turn to order, I’m so excited about my soy latte that I step right up to the cashier and blurt it out, “One large soy latte.” I almost add, “with cream and sugar” but
then remember that if I’m limiting my dairy, I wouldn’t be adding cream. Plus, I’m not sure you can even add cream to a soy latte, since I’m not sure how that would taste. Is it like mixing Splenda with regular sugar? Or worse?

“You mean a Venti,” Riker Strong says from behind the cash register, giving me a smile and punching in my order. I didn’t realize he was the one taking my order, otherwise I wouldn’t have been so cheerful when I gave it. I would have given him the cold shoulder that he deserves.

“What?” I ask

“A Venti,” he says. “That’s what we call larges here. You know that, Hannah.”

“Well, whatever,” I say, my bad mood deepening. “Whatever you call them, that’s what I want.” They should just call them larges. How stupid.

“And what can I get for you, Noah?” Riker asks.

“I’ll have a Tall caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “Isn’t that kind of girly?”

“Oh, so now you’re sexist when it comes to food as well as ageist?”

I glare at him, then take my drink from where Riker has slid it across the counter, and march over to the condiment station where I dump four sugars and a bunch of cocoa and cinnamon into it. Since I have no idea what soy milk tastes like, I figure it’s probably wise to mask the taste as much as I can. I take a small sip. Not bad, although not as good as real milk. Not even close.

Up at the counter, Noah’s holding his Grande-Venti-caramel-whatever while he and Riker hold up the line and joke around like they’re good friends. What a jerk. I mean, you’d think that Noah would show a little more respect. He shouldn’t be palling around with some guy that stalked Ava and cheated on Lacey.

I can’t even watch this ridiculousness, so after another minute I stomp over to a table in the corner and sit down.

“Hey,” Noah says a few minutes later. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” I walk out the door and head toward the car. “I was waiting for you. And why were you talking to him anyway?”

“Who?” Noah asks.

“Riker!”

“Why wouldn’t I talk to him? Because of what happened with him and Ava?”

“Yes!” Seriously, is he that stupid? Probably. I mean, if there’s anything I’ve learned about teenage boys in my (admittedly very limited) experience, it’s that they’re pretty oblivious.

“I don’t care that he broke up with her,” he says, shrugging. “Ava’s over it, so shouldn’t I be, too?”

“He didn’t break up with her.” We’re at the car now, and Noah unlocks the doors. I slide in, being careful not to spill my latte. I wait for Noah to get in, and as soon as he does I say,
“She
broke up with
him.
And then he totally stalked her for, like, ever.”

Noah sighs, then shifts the car into gear. “No, he didn’t.
He broke up with her, and Ava was really upset about it.”