Call It What You Want(14)

My dad has this thing he does when my sister or I get emotional. He’ll put a hand on our shoulder and kind of turn us away, then say, “Take a minute.” He means for it to be reassuring, for us to get ourselves together before facing him. As if we need that minute to preserve our dignity. I’m sure it’s a cop thing, something he learned for when a crime was too much to bear, but he couldn’t break down in front of his officers.

He had to do it last spring, when I stood shaking in the principal’s office, wondering if cheating on the SATs was going to ruin my life.

It didn’t, but it’s never felt right to be on the receiving end of that momentary dismissal. I’ve never been able to put my finger on why, until this moment, when Rob’s rich-kid-jock facade slips a notch and I see a glimmer of vulnerability underneath.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Maybe … we can start over.”

His eyes search my face. “Fine.” He puts out a hand like a businessman. “Rob Lachlan. Non-slacker.”

“Maegan Day.” I shake his hand. Most boys at school shake hands with the passivity of a trained cocker spaniel, but Rob’s fingers close around mine securely. I can feel the strength in his grip. I have to swallow. “Overly judgmental.”

His eyes flinch a little, and he lets go. “It’s not all your fault. I’m not easy to get along with lately.”

I glance at the coffee bar beside the staircase. “Want to get some coffee?”

He hesitates. “Okay.”

At the counter, I order a white chocolate mocha and pay for myself. Dad hates overpriced coffee drinks, but Mom loves them, so I slap down five dollars without thinking about it. Then I step aside and watch Rob survey the menu board on the wall.

After a moment he says, “I’ll have a small coffee.”

It costs him a dollar. There are three ones in his wallet. No credit cards that I can see. I don’t know why this feels significant, but it does.

Maybe because he slips out a dollar like he’s extracting a kidney from his abdomen.

My heart kicks with adrenaline, but I’m not sure which kind.

“It’s on me,” I say quickly, jerking my wallet back out of my backpack. “I owe you, after what I said.”

He goes still. His fingers tighten on the currency. “You don’t have to do that.”

The cashier glances between us. We both have a dollar in hand.

I thrust mine forward. “Here.”

After a moment, Rob shoves his back in his wallet. His jaw is set. He says nothing.

The girl hands him a cup to fill from one of the dozen carafes lining the wall, and he turns away. He chooses the Christmas blend—Snickerdoodle—and pours two inches of cream into the top of it, then dumps in a ton of sugar. Every motion is slow and controlled.

“Miss? Your drink …?”

I turn and realize the barista has been trying to get my attention.

Rob is waiting when I turn, cup in hand.

“Do you want to go back upstairs?” I say.

“I’m not sure I trust you on stairs with a hot drink.”

His voice is low, and it takes me a second to realize he’s making a joke.

Before I can react, he says, “We can sit down here. It doesn’t matter.”

So we sit in the nook under the stairs. There are two armchairs with a low table between them. We drop into them.

Tension continues to hang between us, but it’s a different tension from before. It’s not antagonistic anymore, more like we’ve both been scraped a bit raw, and our wounds are more exposed to the air.

Once we’re seated, he doesn’t touch his backpack. His hands wrap around his coffee cup, and he sits there inhaling the steam.

I couldn’t keep sitting around the house.

“You don’t really want to work on math, do you?” I say quietly.

His gaze doesn’t lift. “No.” That seems to spur him into action, though, because he tugs at the zipper of his backpack. “But we can.”

“No! No. It’s fine.” I hesitate. “I really don’t have a lot of time anyway. I kind of had to sneak out of the house.”

That startles him. His eyes finally meet mine. “You snuck out of the house to meet me?”

When he says it like that, it sounds like a tryst. Like I’m crushing on him. I remember Connor Tunstall’s dismissive glance at the front of the school, and my cheeks burn. “No! I mean—yes. I mean—I snuck out of the house to do calculus.”

Yeah, that’s better. Go me.

He’s looking at me like I need a psych evaluation. “You really didn’t have to come out.”

“It’s fine. I was up.” I pause. “I snuck out because I didn’t want a lot of questions. My dad’s weird about us being out late. He’s a cop.”

A breath of time passes, and then Rob says, “I know who your father is.”

Oh. Right. I knew that. And I know why I knew it.

Rob’s voice turns dry again, but there’s no real humor in it. “I’m sure you know who mine is, too.” He takes a sip of his coffee.

I bite at my lip. “Yeah.”

This is so awkward. I have no idea how we’re going to do a whole project together. I said we don’t need to work on it, but now I wish I could pull out my textbook.