Seven Ways We Lie(45)

“I don’t have to fake it,” he says. “Cool book, I thought.”

“I guess, if you’re, like, super into agonizing punishments.”

After a split second of silence, I realize how that sounded. “Oh my God,” I say. “I didn’t mean, like. Um.”

Matt makes a valiant try at keeping a straight face. Then he bursts into laughter.

My cheeks flood with heat. “Oh my God,” I mumble again, burying my face in my hands.

“Let’s do our presentation on that, instead,” he says. “Way better topic.”

I swat at him, and he dodges, grinning up at me.

García enters the classroom, holding a folder overflowing with papers. “Olivia, mind hopping off the desk?” he says. “People put their faces on that. Not that they’re supposed to, but they do, so . . .”

I slide off the desk, my face still burning. “Right. Yes.”

“Is—is something wrong?” García asks.

“Nope,” I say loudly, and Matt sputters back into laughter.

“I see.” García sits behind his desk, spinning in his chair.

“Hey, Mr. García,” I say, aggressively changing the subject, “how strict is the fifteen-minute rule? Like, if we have fourteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds’ worth of presentation, is that . . .”

“Fourteen fifty-nine is fine,” García says. “Fourteen fifty-eight, of course, earns an instant F.”

I laugh. He flips his folder open and adds, “By the way, I saw you’re both running for junior class president. I hope there hasn’t been too much, uh, political strife here.”

“Yeah,” I say, “get ready for the next Watergate.”

“No offense,” Matt says to me, “but I think we’re both sort of doomed, running against Juniper.”

“Nope, totally agreed.” I glance at Mr. García for an opinion, but he’s busy sorting his papers into neat little stacks.

As the class trickles in, I start feeling as nervous as Matt looks. I could probably talk in front of a whole auditorium, no problem, but there’s something about standing at the front of a classroom, people’s eyes so close and so focused, that makes me lose my shit.

The script hardly feels like five minutes, let alone fifteen, but by the time Matt and I take everyone to the nine stations, letting them sort themselves into circles of hell, we’re already pushing twenty. After a heartening round of applause, everyone moves their desks back into place with the sort of horrifying screeching that does, in fact, suggest a land of infernal torture.

As I sit down, Matt’s gaze brushes mine for a split second. I give him a thumbs-up. He smiles, a shy smile that lifts dimples into his cheeks. Weirdly, for the rest of the period, I feel his presence three rows behind me, quiet and reassuring.

When the bell rings, Matt and I file out the door beside each other. He turns the same way I do, and we walk down the hall in step, close enough that he must know I’m there, but far enough that the silence doesn’t feel uncomfortable. I want to say something about the presentation, make some sort of small talk, but the silence feels charged. I can’t make myself break it.

Finally, as we cross over into the old wing, he gives me a quick look. “Olivia?”

A flash of heat darts across my palms. “Yeah?” I say, stopping by the water fountain.

He halts a pace away, his eyes resting on mine. “You’re,” he says, “I, um. This was . . .” He looks up at the ceiling and takes a deep breath, making the boxy frame of his canvas jacket rise and fall. “I guess, I’m sort of . . .”

“Olivia!” says a voice. Claire jogs up to me, her ponytail bouncing.

“Hey, lady,” I say, not looking away from Matt. His expression is tough to read, the crease between his eyebrows half hidden by his hair. What was he going to say?

“Glad I ran into you,” Claire says. “Can we walk and talk? I’m starting to worry about Juniper’s party. I think we should set up damage control.” She glances up at Matt. “Hi.”

He lifts his head the tiniest fraction, in something that could be interpreted as a nod if someone were feeling generous.

“Come on, Liv,” Claire says, taking my arm.

“Sure, yeah,” I say, giving Matt a tentative smile. “Later?”

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “See you around.”

As Claire and I cross farther into the old wing, she says, “What was that about?”

“What, with Matt? English stuff.”

“Didn’t look like it.”

“All right, KGB, no need for the intelligence probe.” I try to say it jokingly, but my hold on my binder tightens. She’s got to get off my back.

“Hilarious,” she says, sharp and scathing. “So, what, is he one of your thousands of unwanted suitors now?”

All right, that’s it. I stop short by the stairwell and move out of the path of the crowd. “Claire, why do we keep going back to this?”

“Back to what?”

“Did you not listen to anything I said Saturday? Like, what do you want me to do at this point?” I lower my voice, scanning passing faces to make sure nobody’s listening. “You want me to, like, swear off social interactions with male humans and become a nun? You want me to say some dumb, passive-aggressive shit like, ‘Sorry guys are into me sometimes’? What is the problem here?”