Always Never Yours(8)
“That’s not—” He shakes his head, cutting himself off. His eyebrows twitch in feigned inquisitiveness. “Do people often refuse rides with you because you smell?”
I can’t help myself—I feel my eyes flit a little wider.
Owen looks satisfied when I have no reply. “I just like to walk,” he explains. “It gives me time to think.”
I shrug, recovering. “Your loss. For your information, I even used my coconut shower gel today. I smell exceptional.” I drive past him, catching in the rearview mirror how he blinks once or twice, then takes a step forward directly into the puddle. He glances down sharply as if he’s just remembered it’s there.
* * *
Madeleine’s waiting for me in the parking lot when I pull in ten minutes later.
Even though she’s beloved by everyone and could have her pick of best friends, from the cheer captain to the future valedictorian, Madeleine’s chosen me. For whatever reason. I wouldn’t even call her popular, except in the dictionary sense of the word. I’m liked well enough, but mostly people know me because they know her.
It’s part of the reason I don’t mind being known as the school flirt. Because then I’m something. Something other than just the girl who’s friends with Madeleine.
When I reach her by the bike racks, she greets me with a gushing recap of her weekend. She spent Saturday running a bake sale for charity and Sunday indoors while it rained, building card houses and drinking hot chocolate with her sister and Tyler. Tyler never hung out with my family while we were together—not that Erin’s fun unless you enjoy wiping runny noses and repeatedly cleaning everything within reach of her admittedly adorable arms. But Tyler and Madeleine’s relationship is different. I guess when you have a relationship like that it turns even the boring things beautiful.
We walk into the locker hall, and I’m distracted immediately by Wyatt Rhodes, who’s admiring his hair in a mirror he’s hung up in his locker. It’s the vainest thing I’ve ever seen.
But I can’t blame him. I’m admiring him, too, and it’s really unfair he needs a mirror to enjoy the view the rest of us have.
“Megan.” Madeleine’s voice breaks my concentration. From her gently stern expression, I know I’m caught.
“What if he’s a great guy on the inside? We need to give people a chance,” I implore weakly.
Madeleine grabs my elbow with her perfect peach nails. “Number two. On the list,” she admonishes. She steers me past Wyatt. I don’t restrain myself from stealing a final look over my shoulder. When we’ve rounded a corner, leaving Wyatt and his arms behind, Madeleine plants us in the middle of the hall. She pulls me by the shoulders to face her.
“We’re going to the football game this week,” she says with finality.
“What? Why?” I have zero interest whatsoever in organized sports, especially in the high-school context. Unless the uniform’s a Speedo.
“Because then I’ll know you’re nowhere near Wyatt Rhodes on Friday night.”
I grimace. “You’re worse than my mom. What’s wrong with a hookup, even when it’s . . . you know, Wyatt?”
A group of junior girls I’m sure Madeleine’s hardly ever spoken to wave enthusiastically. She smiles back before her eyes return to me. “Nothing’s wrong with a hookup with Wyatt,” she replies with accusatory innocence. “What you want isn’t a hookup, Megan. It never is. You want a boyfriend, and you’re looking in desperate places because you’ve been single longer than usual. But Wyatt Rhodes wouldn’t make you happy. You know that.”
I fall silent, unable to argue. Of course she’s right. She’s Madeleine.
“I won’t go for Wyatt,” I grudgingly promise. “But I’m not going to the football game,” I declare. Madeleine gives me a wry smile.
“We’ll talk,” she says, tipping her head forward in a this-conversation’s-not-over gesture. She turns down the hallway to her first-period class.
Heading for the doorway to mine, I catch a glimpse of Owen down the hall. His sweater’s askew, probably because he had to rush to get to school on time. He’s putting a pile of papers into his locker. One falls to the floor, and I recognize an issue of the school newspaper. He must have two or three copies. It occurs to me he’s probably sending them to Jordan, figuring he might like to have a copy.
It must be hard, having your closest friend move to a different state in your senior year. Even though Madeleine gives annoyingly perfect advice, I can’t imagine how adrift I’d feel if she moved away one day and left me here. I have a feeling Owen didn’t just join drama because he’s really into Romeo and Juliet. He’s probably trying to find new friends. I make a mental note to invite him to sit with the drama kids at lunch.
He hurriedly grabs his things from his locker and races to a classroom door, only to pause right outside. As if he can’t control himself, he pulls out his notebook and jots down a quick—I don’t know what. Observation? Idea? Reminder? The Fibonacci sequence? For the flash of a moment, I wish I knew.
I reach for the door to my class, weighing Madeleine’s words. She wasn’t wrong—not only about Wyatt. I have been single for a while. I do want a boyfriend. If I survive today, I’m going to put real thought into finding someone I could care about and who could care about me.