Leah on the Offbeat (Creekwood #2)(10)

“Do you need to go grab it?”

I look at her. “Are we . . . not coming back?”

Here’s a confession: I’ve never actually skipped school. I mean, there was a week last year where I was pissed at Simon and Nick, and I might have spent a few class periods in the music room storage closet. But I’ve never left campus. Don’t get me wrong, people do it all the time. But I’m sort of squeamish about the idea of getting in trouble. Partially because I don’t want to jeopardize my scholarship, but also—I don’t know. Maybe I’m just a giant nerd.

“Leah, it’s fine, okay?” says Morgan. “I’ve done this before. Even Bram has done this before.”

I glance back at Bram, and he smiles sheepishly.

I mean, if I’m going to skip school, today’s the day. My teachers will assume I’m missing third and fourth period for the play. Come to think of it, I actually would be missing class for the play if Nora still needed me—if Cal hadn’t been such an adorable disaster onstage.

“You okay?” Morgan asks.

I nod.

“Good. Let’s roll.”

Morgan drives a shiny, fancy Jetta with seats that smell brand-new. Her parents bought it for her eighteenth birthday and had it equipped with GPS, satellite radio, and a little video screen that shows when you’re about to hit something in reverse. Already, there’s a UGA cling sticker on the back windshield.

I take shotgun, even though Garrett’s six foot two, and I’m pretty sure that makes me an asshole. But he’s totally unfazed. He sits in the middle of the backseat, leaning forward, a hand on each of the headrests. My hair is basically draped over his arm. Sometimes I think Garrett calculates the exact most awkward way to position his body in any given moment, and then he just goes for it.

“Okay, you just have to smile and wave at the security guard,” he says. “Act like you’re allowed to leave.”

“Garrett, seniors are allowed to leave.”

“Wait, really?” He looks amazed.

Morgan inches toward the exit. She’s always driven like a terrified alien dropped on a new planet. She moves so slowly she’s practically rolling, and every traffic light and stop sign seem to surprise her. I turn up the music—a moody folk song I don’t recognize. I think I like it. I think I really like it. It’s somehow both sweet and wrenching, and the singer sings it like she means it.

“Who is this?” I ask after a moment.

Ahead, the light turns red, and Morgan crawls to a stop. “Rebecca Loebe. My new fave.” Considering yesterday’s fave was “Don’t Stop Believin’,” I’d call this the biggest level-up in the history of music.

“Morgan, you have officially redeemed yourself.”

We pull into Rio Bravo and pile out of the car, and I stand a little straighter when we step into the restaurant. Not that anyone cares. But I don’t want to look like some high school kid skipping third period—even though that’s totally, 100 percent exactly what I am. The hostess leads us to a big booth in the back, and a waiter stops by right away to drop off tortilla chips and take our drink orders. Garrett leans toward me. “Let me guess. Coke.”

“Maybe.” I smile. Bram and Anna exchange glances.

“She’ll have a Coke,” Garrett says.

“Excuse me, I can order for myself.” I smile brightly at the waiter. “I’ll have a Coke, please.” I don’t mean it as a joke—not at all—but everyone laughs, even Garrett.

“You’re funny, Burke,” he says.

I blush and turn to Morgan. “Hey, I was wondering—are you doing the campus tour and info session thing?”

Morgan grins. “I was just going to ask you. So, Abby and I were discussing it, and we were thinking maybe all three of us could go together over spring break. Did she talk to you about it yet?”

Ah. So, Abby’s question. The thing she kind of wanted to ask me. I swallow. “Pretty sure your parents will want to go to that, Morgan.”

“I know. But I’ll go twice. I don’t care.”

“You guys and Abby?” asks Anna. “Since when are you friends with Abby?”

Morgan looks confused. “We’ve always been friends with Abby.”

“Yeah, but not like that. Not like spring break road trip besties,” Anna says, pursing her lips. I shift slightly in my seat. Anna gets weird when we talk about college, and I never know what to say. On one hand, I get it. She’s the odd woman out. But on the other hand, I don’t even think she ended up applying to Georgia. She’s been obsessed with Duke since sophomore year.

“Anna Banana, we’re not replacing you,” I say.

She wrinkles her nose. “You just had to pick the girl with a four-letter A name.”

“Yeah, but she’s not you.” Morgan hugs her around the shoulders.

And it’s true. Abby could never be inner circle. Maybe once upon a time, I thought she could be. Here’s the thing: right after Abby moved here, she and I hung out a lot. Like, a lot a lot. To the point where my mom started getting twinkly-eyed and asking lots of questions. And obviously, it wasn’t like that. For one thing, Abby’s embarrassingly hetero. She’s the type who’d watch all of Sailor Moon and come away thinking Haruka and Michiru were just good friends. She probably thinks Troye Sivan’s songs are about girls.