Dale nudged me and I turned to look at him, distraught. He pointed to the beige surface of the table where he’d written, I’ll get it back for you.
I nodded stiffly, but couldn’t take my eyes off the edge of my notebook sticking out of the top of the garbage can. I wanted to run up and rescue it. I glanced at the clock. It was nearing time to go, thank God.
Dale touched my knee with his, getting my attention. He pointed to the table again.
U OK?
I shook my head, taking the pencil and scribbling beneath his words.
It’s important.
I felt my throat closing up, like I was going to cry, and fought it, blinking back tears and looking at the clock. Time couldn’t move fast enough. Woodall was passing back our pop quizzes, nearing our table.
Dale shifted toward me again, his knee against mine, nodding at the table. I looked down.
I promise.
He’d underlined that twice too.
He was writing again when Woodall slapped my pop quiz down in front of me with a big, fat D+ in red circled at the top, turning to move on to the Flashdance twins, and then he glanced back, seeing the writing on the table, his face going from puzzled to incredulous to furious in the space of about two seconds.
“You’re both staying after to wash these desks!” Woodall’s voice was actually shaking with anger, his face so red it was nearly purple. “This is inexcusable!”
I just nodded in agreement, nudging Dale under the table when he went to open his mouth and say something. Whatever it was couldn’t be good and would just serve to get us into more trouble. And we were already in deep enough. All I wanted to do was pass this class—and a D+ was passing.
I bit my lip and looked at Dale. He shrugged and when Woodall wasn’t looking, he crossed his eyes. I smiled in spite of the sick feeling in my stomach. Woodall continued to pass out graded quizzes, shaking his head and grumbling. Dale dug in his pocket, pulling out the Skittles again. He poured some into his palm, fishing through and using all the red ones to make a little heart on the desk.
I couldn’t help smiling at the gesture. He nodded toward them with that same “Go on,” cock of his head and when I swept them into my hand, I noticed the last thing he had written.
Make it up to you? I can get you front row seats.
My mouth, already full of red Skittles, dropped open. I only closed it again to keep all the candy from falling onto the floor. I think my eyes held the question—are you serious?—when I turned to him, because he smiled and dropped me a wink.
Glancing back at Woodall, Dale grabbed the pencil, daring to scribble again on the table.
#?
For a minute I felt faint again. There was a buzzing in my ears.
Instead of risking the table again, I grabbed my purse, digging through and finding a red pen. I reached over and took his hand, feeling calluses on his fingers as I turned it over, the touch of our hands making my body sing, so I could write on the back of it: Sara 263-3231
When I drew a fat, red heart around it, he smiled.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Hey, thanks for the ride.” Dale looked at me over the red-and-Bondo-colored hood of my Dodge Dart in the late afternoon sunshine. In the light, his dark hair was a thick, blue-black—not unlike a certain rock star—and it made my heart skip in just the same way. The flash of his smile showed that dimple again, like a secret wink. “I’m sorry I got your notebook thrown out.”
“Forget it.” I opened the driver’s side door, tossing my notebook and purse in the back seat. “You got it back, that’s all that matters.”
We’d spent half an hour after class spraying the tables with Windex and wiping them down with paper towel. I was worried about Aimee. I was supposed to meet her in the parking lot—I was her ride home. Dale offered to skip out and find her, risking Woodall’s wrath, but I wouldn’t let him. If I turned up missing, I knew she would catch a ride with Carrie and Wendy, if she didn’t make the city bus. I’d just have to hear about it later.
Woodall gave us both an extra assignment for good measure but had been thankfully been called to the office over the P.A. before he could finish his lecture, and that’s when we grabbed my notebook, leaving the Windex and paper towels on his desk, and took off, practically running through the empty hallways and breaking out of the back doors like two prisoners escaping a maximum security prison.
“Free at last!” Dale shouted, pumping his fist in the air, making me laugh as we made our way across the practically empty parking lot toward my beat-up car.
“So where to?” I asked as Dale got in and immediately went for the radio.
“Kensington Gardens.”