Stella
Joss bought me a small package of chocolate donuts, a purple glitter pen, a folder with a picture of fluffy white kittens in a basket on the front and a Monster High notebook. The one with the vampire chick, in fact. Her note said the chick’s hair reminded her of mine.
She must have purchased it at the twenty-four-hour Walmart on her way home from work. I heard her roll in this morning around 4:30 a.m. She smelled of smoke, whisky and that weird combination of body odor and sex. For her sake, I pretended to sleep through her entrance. Joss doesn’t like to talk after a night at the club. She prefers to take a shower then cry in bed.
With our morning ritual intact and my new presents sitting on my desk in the back corner of class, I have to acknowledge that American Literature seems to have absolutely no point. Joss went to this high school. When she saw my schedule, she admitted to taking the same classes. In other words, American Literature and the picture of Edgar Allen Poe glaring at me from over the white board at the front of class didn’t change the course of her life.
My stupid stubbornness in clinging to hope appears rather futile.
A gaggle of girls walk in huddled together as if they are sharing the most important secret in the world. Next period will be better. Victoria’s in there and the two of us get along just fine.
The girls file in, and a few steps behind, Jonah fills the entire door. His light brown hair is cut close on the sides and is a little longer on the top. I like it. More than I should. The moment his blue eyes catch mine, I direct my gaze down to the kittens falling asleep in the wicker basket.
The desk to my left screeches against the floor as someone settles into it, and my heart pounds hard when I spot Jonah in the seat gawking at me. I tap the glitter pen against the top of the desk, and the top pops off and bounces onto the floor. Just crap.
I shift to reach for it, but Jonah’s faster and his massive hand holds the cap to me. “Here.”
I suck in air and inhale the scent of his cologne. It’s not overwhelming, it’s just right, and it makes my mouth water. I swallow before retrieving the top of the pen. “Thanks.”
The cap doesn’t move from his grip, and when I pull like I’m playing tug-of-war, my eyes flash to his. Oh heck, those are some beautiful Siberian husky eyes.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says.
And he had to go and ruin the moment by speaking. I yank hard and the top slips from his fingers. I snap it back on the pen and fix my line of sight straight ahead. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.” I glance around the room and note the number of other open seats he could have chosen. More importantly, two guys from his group are doing the same room scan and notice the vacant seat next to them.
Cooper, a blond who is the bane of my existence, stretches out his arms in a what-the-heck motion. “Jonah, you blind, man? Your seat’s here.”
“Must have missed you.” But Jonah makes no effort to move.
The bell rings and they continue to stare at each other through the mass influx of students entering class. A girl eases into the seat meant for Jonah and the redheaded friend from Jonah’s group loses his concentration as he gives the girl a sly smile and leans in like he’s got a shot at asking her out. Cooper keeps his attention trained on us.
Jonah assesses me and I quickly focus on anything else, not wanting him to think I was interested in him or the interaction with his friends.
“I am sorry,” says Jonah.
“You’ve already said that.” Edgar Allen Poe’s eyes are seriously freaky, but if I look away, I’ll be tempted to peek at Jonah and that’ll be bad.
A second. Then two. I can feel the heat of his gaze and my cheeks redden with each passing moment.
“Stella.” I feel the rumble of his deep voice down to my toes.
Don’t respond. Just don’t respond. Cooper is watching and this could be some sort of setup. One that will be a freaking great way to start off my senior year. The goal is to coast through without being noticed. I can’t do that if I talk to the one guy who belongs to an attention-seeking group.
“Come on, Stella,” he says so only I can hear.
The kittens on my folder become interesting again and I blow out an unsteady stream of air. “Yeah?”
“I don’t want to, but I’ll end up back at the cemetery. I was thinking about it last night and I remembered seeing you there before so I know you go often, too.”
Feeling inadequate, I touch the rose barrette holding up the side of my violet hair. It’s still in place and so are the nerves from this one-sided conversation.
“I’ll be there again today,” Jonah admits. “And I was hoping you’d be there. I...I need to talk to someone and...you’re the only person I’ve been able to talk to.”
Joss said people couldn’t change. I shouldn’t agree to this, but there’s an ache in his voice that I can’t deny. “Okay. But will you do me a favor?”