Broken Beautiful Hearts(47)

“Christian just reacts. He doesn’t think first. Cam is the levelheaded one. He usually talks Christian out of doing crazy things, but Cam wasn’t happy with Titan, either. They’re sorry for embarrassing you.”

They do look pretty pathetic.

“I know they mean well. But they’re like puppies. If I don’t lay down the law now they’ll be out of control, swinging at every guy who talks at me.”

“You have to forgive them, or one of them will be texting me every five minutes. Consider this a purely selfish request.”

“Okay. I just want them to suffer a little bit longer.”

Grace laughs and keeps walking. “Deal.”

I stop in front of my English classroom. I’m about to spend the next fifty minutes in the same room as Owen. The way I left things yesterday didn’t mark the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Owen is already sitting at a desk in the back corner when I walk in. He’s stretched out in his chair, and my mind flashes to the sweatier and shirtless version of him. He looks up from the notebook he’s scribbling in and tries to make eye contact.

I choose the desk in the opposite corner of the classroom and pretend to check my email until the bell rings. Miss Ives walks around to the front of her desk. Today her blond dreadlocks are arranged on top of her head in an intricate bun and the metallic oxblood lipstick she’s wearing gives her light brown skin a golden glow. “I hope everyone brought in at least one object that holds special meaning for you.”

Several students reach for their backpacks while the rest of us remain frozen in place.

Miss Ives scans the room. “If you forgot, find something in the next five minutes—or expect a zero for this assignment.” The threat mobilizes us. My backpack has nothing in it except pens, two notebooks, a Dr Pepper Lip Smacker that Mom swears is the holy grail of lip products, my wallet, Ibuprofen in case my knee swells, and my cell phone. Unless I convince Miss Ives that my driver’s license has sentimental value, I’ve got nothing.

My fingers reach for the dog tags around my neck out of habit. I’ll just say they’re my dad’s. I don’t have to cough up any details. Dead parents make people uncomfortable. Lifting the chain over my head, I gently lay them on the desk.

“Find your partner from yesterday and get started,” Miss Ives calls over her shoulder as she scribbles furiously on the board.

English has officially dropped below precalc on the list of classes that suck.

Chair legs scrape across the floor and bags zip and unzip as the other students swap seats and find their partners. Not me. I’m hoping I’ll be granted with the power of invisibility before Owen comes over here.

Scooping the dog tags off the desk, I clutch them in a death grip.

Owen flips a chair around and pulls it up to my desk. He sits on the edge of the chair and leans forward, arms resting on his knees and hands clasped.

“I heard about what happened between Christian and Titan yesterday at practice. I feel like a jerk for giving you a hard time about him.”

At least we agree on one thing.

“An asshole like Titan couldn’t score a girl like you.”

The comment takes me by surprise and I look up. Huge mistake. Owen smiles at me and my anger dissolves.

“Is that a compliment?” I ask, hoping the question will distract him. If he keeps staring at me, I’ll forget that I’m supposed to be angry.

He stops fidgeting with his hands and the corner of his mouth turns up. “Why? Are you one of those girls who can’t take a compliment?”

I cover my mouth to hide a smile. “I have no issue taking one. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t another cheap shot.”

Owen smiles, and my stomach flutters.

“You’re not going to let me off easy, are you?” he asks.

“Not a chance.”

Miss Ives walks down the center aisle toward us.

I kick Owen’s foot under the desk, and he notices her a second before she descends on us.

“I don’t see anything on the desk except pencils.” She sounds disappointed.

Reluctantly, I open my hand. “I brought these.”

Miss Ives sees the dog tags and her face brightens. “Excellent, Peyton. How about you, Owen?”

“I was getting mine.” He digs through his backpack and pulls out a clean white hand wrap.

“Carry on.” Miss Ives waves her hand and moves to the next group.

I point at the wrap. “Nice save.”

Owen leans forward, so we’re eye-to-eye. “You too. Except yours looks legit. That means you get to go first.”

“You’re not serious.” I swallow hard.

He glances over his shoulder. “If we don’t turn in something, we fail, right?”

I rub a stainless-steel tag between my fingers, and the raised letters that form my father’s name press against my skin. I’ve touched them so many times that I recognize the shape of every letter and number stamped into the metal.

“These were my dad’s.”

Owen reaches across the desk and touches the edge of the tag I’m not holding. “Were?”

So much for avoiding the topic of dead parents.

“He was in the Marine Corps. He died in Iraq.” The back of my throat burns. I don’t trust myself to keep talking. It feels like someone punched a hole in my chest.