Lindsey. Relief sweeps through me. Someone I know. Or have met.
Unfortunately, she’s talking to him, and I’m basically alone, sticking out like an extremely tall, frizzy-haired sore thumb.
The thick-necked guy looks at me while ravenously tearing into a giant sandwich. He chews, his cheeks bulging, and seems to have trouble swallowing. I unfold my brown paper bag and take out my turkey sandwich, silently thanking God that I have such inoffensive tastes. The beefy, staring guy is eating something that looks like it has about half a pound of onions sliding out the side.
“Hey,” he says, his voice a low growl. “Todd.”
I assume he’s telling me his name, so I respond accordingly. “Sky.”
“Huh?” he says, giving me a blank look. I start to panic. Maybe he was talking to someone else. Face burning, I duck my head. I’ve been here two minutes, and I’ve already made a fool of myself.
Chase laughs and drapes an arm over my shoulder. I hadn’t noticed that he was listening. “This,” he says slowly, “is Sky. Sky, meet Todd.”
Todd narrows his eyes and says through a mouthful of food, “Your name isSky?”
“Seems so.”
“Look at her, she’s so cute. She’s, like, constantly red,” Chase says, and my blush comes flaming back, hotter than ever.
I’m pretty sure the electrical charge I get from his arm would be enough to power the entire school for the rest of the day. His hand is hanging against my arm, and a hot tingle moves from his masculine, tan fingers and spreads over my skin. God, I’m such a freak. Even his hand is somehow a turn-on. And just let me mention, I am not a weirdo with a hand fetish. But myGodhis hands are gorgeous.
My body purrs with his nearness, supplying my brain with an image of those hands sliding over my skin, feverishly hot and so full of need that it aches inside me. No matter how cheap Meghan makes it sound, I know we had a connection that night. A desperation in both of us that only the other could fill.
But he didn’t. He left.
Now he’s pulling me back, and I don’t know why. Is he going to disappear again, leave me lost and reeling?
Lindsey says something to Chase. He takes his arm off me and stands, lifts his lunch over my head, and nudges me to move over a seat to where he was sitting. I slide over, and he takes my unoccupied spot.
“We’ve met,” Lindsey says.
“Lindsey Darling, class president,” I say. “I remember.”
She smiles sweetly and gestures across the table. “This is Daria and Elaine.”
Then she nods towards the guys. “Don’t mind them. They’re just being boys.”
She says this like I’m in on a little secret, like I’d know what boys do. I want to hate her for putting herself between me and Chase, or even for having perfect hair, but I already like her.
“Thanks,” I say. Daria smiles at me but continues her conversation with Elaine, who doesn’t even glance my way.
“So,” Lindsey says, “Chase tells me you’re his research partner for Lit?”
“It’s just for class,” I say quickly, as if she might read my mind, see that there’s a history there. That I haven’t let go of it, even if he has.
Of course it’s for class, dumbass. She just said that.
But he’s the hottest guy in school, and I don’t want anyone, especially not girls like this, to see me as competition.
Lindsey talks to me for the rest of lunch, friendly but a bit reserved, about the paper and our classes. She’s a cheerleader as well as her other extracurriculars. Daria is also a cheerleader, and Elaine is the captain of the cheer squad.
Even though they’re higher caliber than anyone I’ve worked with on school projects, this is the kind of friend I’ve always had—a school friend discussing school. I’m comfortable. I expected Lindsey to be a bit of a snob, but these can’t be the mean girls. She doesn’t seem like a spoiled rich girl or a bitchy cheerleader. She seems like anyone else.
Still, I’m intimidated by her presence and that of her friends. The three of them look like they just stepped out of a college brochure on Greek Life. They have the same long straight hair, the same flawless skin, the same makeup. It’s impossible to imagine any of them having a breakout or even a split end. Elaine has the most perfect milky complexion I’ve ever seen, which stands out against her razor straight dark red hair. She gives me a look that says she’s less than thrilled to have my wild, unmanageable curls disturbing the harmony of their perfect hair club, but she doesn’t tell me to leave.
At the end of lunch, after completely ignoring me for thirty minutes, she tosses a silky lock of hair over her shoulder and picks up her books. “I’ll see you girls at cheer this afternoon.”
She looks at me as if to emphasize that I’m the only one not going to be there. I can’t blame her—why should she like me? Elaine’s cheer captain and looks like she’s never been embarrassed in her whole life. Here I am, a literal nobody, joining her like me and my awkward social anxiety belong.