I Kissed Shara Wheeler(73)
“I’m gonna go study in the library,” Chloe announces loudly.
“Uh,” Brooklyn says, startled. “Okay.”
“Yep,” she says. Two lockers down, she can detect the slight shift in Shara’s shoulders as she listens in. “Should be there all afternoon.”
“Okay,” Brooklyn says again. “Thanks?”
She leaves Brooklyn staring after her and books it to her locker. From the makeup pouch, the one she once used to hold Shara’s cards, she removes something she brought to school earlier this week. It’s an escalation, for sure. A real break-glass-in-case-of-emergency type of measure.
As much fun as she’s had watching Shara blush and scowl and stare at her with those big spangly eyes, as addictive as it is to be so sweet to her that it splits like a sucked peppermint into shards that cut, as much as she knows she could keep twisting this around her finger until the heat death of the universe and never get bored, it’s time. Somebody has to make Shara answer for something, and Chloe’s going to do it. Warm that space cannon up, baby.
She checks her bangs one last time in the plastic mirror on her locker door, between a note from her mom and a photo strip of her and Georgia at the movies. God, if Georgia knew about this, she’d be so stressed out. Benjy would be game, though, he loves a scheme, and Ash would—
She shuts her locker and takes off for the library.
FROM THE BURN PILE
Scrawled in the margins of a sight-reading assignment
VALEDICTORIAN SPEECH: DRAFT #29
I would like to begin by addressing Principal Wheeler: Respectfully, sir, I’m going to find a way to ruin your life if it’s the last thing I do.
19
DAYS UNTIL GRADUATION: 9
It takes half an hour to edit her Euro history notecards down to the ones with potential for erotic subtext. Peninsula War? No. Corn laws? Absolutely not. Enlightened despot? Probably how Shara sees herself, but no. Would be really helpful if European history were less horrifying. She’s going to have to lean hard on the religious stuff.
She’s so absorbed in deciding whether Francis Bacon could possibly be sexy that she almost misses the sound of Shara entering through the side door of the library.
Her table is one of the secluded ones set aside from the main study area, so she has about a second and a half before Shara spots her. All at once, she kicks her backpack off the seat next to her, shoves her notes out of the way, flips her hair, straightens her shoulders, and, for the final touch, hooks her ankle around the empty chair and drags it a foot closer.
By the time she feels Shara’s eyes on her, she’s posed serenely over her notes with her face angled to catch the overhead fluorescents from the most flattering possible direction.
She hears Shara’s sneakers pause on the carpet, then the soft pat-pat-pat of her approach, and Shara says from beside the table, “You know, if you wanted me to meet you here, you could have asked.”
“Oh, hi, Shara,” Chloe says, blinking up at her in fake surprise.
“You didn’t have to drag Brooklyn into it,” Shara says. “That girl is one Scantron bubble away from a nervous breakdown.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chloe says, “but if you’re in the mood to confront some stuff, there are a couple of other places you could start.”
Shara bites her lip. “What’s your last exam?”
“Don’t you know?” Chloe asks.
Shara’s lip turns creamy white under her teeth, then strawberry red when she releases it. She sits in the empty chair and begins unzipping her backpack, close enough that Chloe can smell lilacs for the first time since the sailboat. She tries not to get too lost in the memory of Shara screaming and splashing around in a wet cloud of pink tulle. Seriously, top five Chloe moment.
“European history,” Shara finally concedes.
“And yours is Chem II,” Chloe says. Shara blinks, like she really thought Chloe was stupid enough not to have learned her schedule too. “Have you gotten any better at limiting reactant problems since sophomore year, or do you want some help?”
Shara sets her binder down on the table. “Have you figured out the difference between Prussia and Germany yet, or should I call your flashcards out for you?”
“Actually,” Chloe says, smiling. If this is how it feels to have a plan go perfectly, she sees why Shara likes them so much. “That would be really helpful.”
And so, because refusing would mean accepting the alternative—a deliberate and meaningful conversation about her feelings—Shara opens her hand and accepts Chloe’s stack of notecards.
Chloe, of course, already has them memorized. She props her chin on her hand and gazes into Shara’s flushed face as she recites the answers effortlessly.
“The Institutes of Christian Religion,” Shara asks.
“Written by John Calvin, 1536. Says the Bible is the only source of Christian doctrine and that there are only two sacraments: baptism and communion.”
“Defenestration of Prague.”
“1618,” Chloe says. “Protestants threw a bunch of Catholic officials out of a castle window in Bohemia. Started the Thirty Years War.”
Shara glances up from the card.
“Do you know the officials’ names?”