Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(14)

All of a sudden I feel like a royal tool for wanting to break up with her.

Of course she was excited. I’m her first boyfriend. It’s a big deal for her. I probably acted exactly the same way with Tianna. Okay, well, maybe not exactly the same. But it’s possible I was a little overzealous. Which is maybe why she ended things with me so quickly. Maybe if she’d just given me a chance, we could have had something kinda special.

“No.” I smile at Evelyn. “You didn’t scare me off.”

I catch Coop rolling his eyes behind Evelyn’s back.

“Phew.” Evelyn’s whole body relaxes. “I thought for sure I blew it with you.”

Coop sputters. “No, no. Sean definitely would have mentioned that.”

I shoot him a death glare at the same time that Matt smacks him on the shoulder.

Evelyn smiles the vacant smile of someone who doesn’t get the joke. “Well, good. I’d really hate myself if that was the case. Can we start over, please?”

I nod. “Sure. Yeah. Okay.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” She breathes a heavy sigh of relief, then unfolds her school schedule, which I notice is decorated with a multitude of lavish SEAN-PLUS-EVELYN-filled hearts. “So, did you get in to Web Design?”

“Oh . . . uh . . . actually . . . um . . . No, actually.”

Evelyn’s face falls. “Aw, dang it.”

“Yeah.” A nervous laugh escapes my lips. I glance down at my own schedule. “Looks like they switched me into . . .” I look up and meet Evelyn’s big brown eyes. Oh, God, she knows I’m lying. “I mean, they put me in Drama instead.”

Evelyn pouts. “I was really hoping we’d get to be in a class together.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Hey!” Evelyn perks up. “Maybe I should switch into Drama.”

“No,” I blurt. “I mean . . . You don’t want to do that, because . . .” Because you’ll find out I was lying to you when I hand the drama teacher my transfer slip. “Web Design is . . . it’s going to be a great class. I so wanted to learn about that. You don’t want to miss out because of me.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Evelyn says. “Oh, hey, wait a minute. I have a good idea. Why don’t I be your private tutor?” She beams at me. “You could come over after school and I could teach you the stuff we learn in Web Design. Then it’d be almost like we were taking the class together. How’s that sound?”

“Uh, yeah.” I nod. “That sounds . . . good. Definitely. For sure.”

“Great.” She leans over and gives me another soft kiss on the cheek. “It’s a deal. Well, I better get to class. Later, gators.” Evelyn gives us all a little wave and then strolls off down the hall.

“I thought you said she was a nutcase,” Matt says, snapping his lock shut.

I blink once hard, watching Evelyn go, looking as normal as can be. “She was. I mean, she was acting like one at the rink.”

Matt shrugs. “Seems pretty normal to me.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I guess it’s like she said. She was just overeager.”

Coop grins. “That’s one of best qualities to have in a girlfriend, dawg. Right after being a gymnast.”





“OKAY, EVERYONE,” MR. NESTMAN, the drama teacher, says, walking with long purposeful strides toward the door. “I think we can get started.” He kicks away the wooden doorstop and lets the door swing shut. “Let’s all sit in a circle on the floor.” He makes a circular motion with his finger as if he’s not entirely convinced we know what shape he means. “Girl-boy if we can manage it.”

There are no chairs in the room, and so the twenty of us arrange ourselves — alternating guys and girls where possible — on the scuffed-up black-and-white tiles. By the time we’re through, we’ve formed something resembling a sloppy oval.

My body is here in this cold classroom, but my brain is only half-present. The other half is still back at the lockers, replaying the Evelyn thing over and over. Trying to reconcile the girl who nearly chewed off my neck on Saturday night with the girl who I just met in the hallway. Something doesn’t compute.

Mr. Nestman moves to the front of the room by the tiny stage and presses his hands together like he’s about to pray. “Welcome to Drama,” he says with a little bow of the head. He’s got this wispy white-blond hair that looks like a dandelion gone to seed. “I hope you’ve left all your inhibitions and insecurities out in the hall, because they will not serve you well in my class.”

He’s wearing these saggy-kneed jeans and a rumpled, tucked-in blue flannel shirt. It’s not a great look for him, to be perfectly honest. It really accentuates his dangly limbs and short torso.

“We start this morning with a name game.” He gives us a fleeting closed-mouth grin. “Each person will state their name along with something they wish to bring to our very own desert island. But there are a few catches. And they are as follows: Your item must be useful, must be portable, and must start with the same letter as your name. Oh, and you also must remember all of the names and items previously mentioned. Any questions? No. Good. I’ll begin. I am Mr. Nestman.” He strokes his lumpy pockmarked chin with his right hand, his eyes searching the ceiling. “And I will be bringing to our desert island . . . some nail clippers.”