Shuffle, Repeat(13)

“What about football games?” Oliver asks. “School dances? Pep rallies?”

“Approved.” It’s an easy give, since I wouldn’t be caught dead at any of those. “If we are both present at a school-sanctioned event, it can be considered legitimate grounds for offering a proof.”

“I have one more rule to add,” Oliver says. “One shot per day. I don’t want to be overwhelmed by your screamo.” I smile at him. “What?”

“You think I’m going to win.”

“In your dreams, Rafferty.”

? ? ?

I’m waiting outside the family sciences room when Oliver emerges. He looks surprised to see me. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” I tell him. “Except for this: college.”

Oliver blinks. “College?”

“College. Classes are harder. Relationships are more important.”

“That is subjective.”

“Also, you can drink openly at a bar. My point is that everything happening now will just happen again in college but will be bigger and better. Don’t you see? College itself nullifies the importance of high school….What?”

Oliver is shaking his head. “Really? This is your opening shot?”

“It’s legit!”

“It’s weak.”

I glare at him. “You said you were going to be a gentleman about this.”

“We need a judge.”

“An impartial judge,” I remind him.

“I’ll ask around. Please consider your first proof as remaining unconfirmed.”

He heads down the hallway. “Not Theo!” I call after him, and he waves back at me over his shoulder.

? ? ?

Over lunch, Darbs regales us with a description of how Yana-the-new-girl is definitely vibing her. “It’s her hair,” she tells Itch and Lily and me.

I’m sure everyone else’s look of confusion mirrors my own. I search my memory. “Blond, right?”

“Honey blond,” Darbs says dreamily. “Golden blond. Long and straight but not too straight. A little tangled, like she’s been at the beach, lying out in the sun…” Her voice trails off. Lily and I exchange glances. Darbs shakes out of her reverie. “Except get this: today she comes into English and she picks a new seat. There are plenty of open chairs—plenty—but she doesn’t go to the one in the third row by the windows, where she’s been every other day. No, she turns left and she walks past the bookshelves, and she sits directly in front of me.”

“Is there any chance,” Itch asks through a mouthful of pizza, “any chance at all that she simply wanted a different vantage point?” I elbow him in the ribs. “What? It’s a legitimate question.”

“You’re a legitimate *,” Darbs informs him. “She made a deliberate choice to be near me. I could tell.”

We’re all thinking the same thing, but I’m the one who says it. “How?”

“I’m glad you asked,” says Darbs. “We didn’t make eye contact—”

“Huh,” says Itch.

“Shut up,” Lily tells him. “Go on, Darbs.”

“—but right after she sat down, she kind of moved her head a little so her hair would swing around. You know, so she’d have my attention.”

Darbs is definitely a little crazy, but she’s also my friend. She deserves respect. “Then what?”

“She’s got like five elastic bands around her wrist. She slides the purple one off…” Darbs gestures to her indigo head. “Purple.”

“Hold on,” Itch says. “If she’s sitting in front of you and facing forward, how can you even see any of this?”

Darbs gives him a solemn look. “She’s angled in her seat. Like just a little diagonally.”

We all sit in silence for a moment, until Lily points something out: “You were tilted forward, weren’t you? You craned.”

“Fine.” Darbs shrugs. “I craned, whatever. Anyway, she lifts her hands back to her hair, and she does it all slow and sexy-like. She pulls her hair up into a ponytail and guess what?” Darbs pauses theatrically.

“What?” This time, Lily and I both ask. Itch only shakes his head.

“Like four or maybe even five strands of her hair underneath are dyed.”

“Purple?” I ask.

“Well…blue,” says Darbs. “But dark blue. Navy blue. In the rainbow, it’s next to purple.” She sits back and folds her arms. “Totally vibing me.”

“Totally vibing you,” Lily and I agree.

“What the hell,” says Itch.

I turn to admonish him, because that’s just rude, but I see that he’s not talking to us. He’s looking at something.

It’s Shaun, making his way up the bleachers toward us, which would be totally normal, except that Oliver is following him.

Holding a tray.

For no reason whatsoever, light heat prickles up my neck and into my cheeks. I duck my head and take a bite of my sandwich to camouflage my (ridiculous) reaction.

Even the losers on the first row are watching with curiosity as Shaun and Oliver plop down with us. Shaun gives a general wave to the whole group, but Oliver greets everyone individually by name, except for Darbs. He juts out a hand to her. “I’m Oliver. I don’t think we’ve ever actually spoken.”