Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(6)
The moment she realizes I’m not moving in on her guy, her demeanor changes. Suddenly, we’re best friends, and she’s hopping down onto the sidewalk in front of me. “Oh! Happy first day! I can show you to the office if you want.”
“No, that’s okay. I was just here to enroll the other day. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find my way back.” I smile and try to sound open and friendly. I’m not really good at this small talk thing, but what I am good at is adapting. “Thanks for the offer, though. It’s very kind of you.”
She responds with a warm, genuine grin, then turns back to Nicky. “Meet me here after school.” She doesn’t wait for him to answer before bouncing away.
I flick my gaze toward Nicky’s hot friend, and he’s staring back at me like I’m a puzzle he can’t figure out. “So, you’re new, huh?” His tone is casually curious. Part of me wishes he were the one into me, the one trying to flirt with me and holding me up from going into the building. But he’s not. Just his high school Casanova of a friend next to him. He’s just some do-gooder, altruistically delivering me from his friend’s misguided attempt at flirting.
Embarrassment heats my face, and my tongue is all but tied in knots inside my mouth. I need to make a quick getaway and salvage what little dignity I have left. I roll my eyes in feigned annoyance and nod in his general direction. Okay, so pretending I’m the opposite of into him isn’t my best move, but it’s all I have. I’m hardly skilled in the art of flirtation. Without sparing him another glance, I book it, aiming straight for the safety of the inside of the school building. Or anywhere else where he’s not. Maybe that will settle the swarm of butterflies tickling my insides.
Chapter Three
I pull out my phone on the way to the office and text my mother, partly because she said to and partly to hopefully look like any other student instead of the out-of-place new girl I feel like right now.
The school office is as crowded as the halls. The line to sign in is five students deep, and when I get to the log, it’s three-quarters of a page long. I’m going to be here awhile. One at a time, administrators come to the front counter and call students by name. I haven’t even made it to the chairs when a bell rings, echoing like a fire alarm out in the hall but only a long monotone inside the office. Several students give up the wait and grumble their way toward the exit. I’m quick to tuck myself into a chair against the wall in the far corner. My rushing is less about making sure I get the chair and more about making sure I don’t stick out like a sore thumb.
“Is anyone here just to get a copy of their new schedule?” a wiry woman with graying blond hair calls from her seat behind the front counter. I raise my hand, and she motions me over. I obey quickly.
“Name?” She doesn’t even look at me, instead focusing intently on her computer screen.
“Marisol Flores.”
A few keystrokes later, she mutters sotto voce, “Ah, there you are.” The printer next to her whirs to life, and a moment later, she hands me my schedule, still warm. I flip it over to view my classes while she fills out a hall pass to excuse my tardiness.
First period is precalc. My heart sinks.
I’m fluent in three languages, but I rely heavily on calculators for math. Precalculus first thing in the morning is going to make for a great start to my days. But more pressing than worrying about my worst subject is the question of how to get there. When my mother and I came to enroll me last week, they didn’t have a schedule ready, and the administrator tasked with my impromptu orientation seemed harried and overloaded. I didn’t even get a tour. “Do you have, like, a map or something? Where do I find…” I check my schedule. “Room B204?”
Miss Personality behind the counter is practically married to her computer at this point. Without looking away from it, she calls to someone behind her, “Jamie, can you show Marisol to her class, please?”
A boy with dark-rimmed glasses, bronze skin, and pale-brown eyes pokes his head up from a computer farther down the counter and eyes me. When he finally answers with, “Sure,” I can’t tell if it’s with indifference or interest. His movements are smooth as he pushes his chair back to stand and rounds the counter, stopping at my side. I hand him my schedule, and he spends a moment looking it over. “Let’s get you a map while we’re here, too.” His expression brightens into a wide smile, and I relax a little.
I let him lead me over to a wall-mounted magazine rack stocked with printouts and flyers. To me, it looks like a mess of random announcements and flyers, but Jamie reaches right for the maps partially hidden behind a bunch of flyers for the drama club’s spring tryouts. He grabs one and hands it to me, and I claim my prize quickly, antsy to make my escape to the hallway.
“Thanks for helping me. I can probably take it from here,” I tell Jamie once we’re out in the hall. But if I’m honest with myself, I don’t want him to leave me to my own devices. Even though the halls are pretty much empty, I don’t want to be that weird new girl walking around campus with her nose buried in a map.
“Nah, I’m pretty sure helping new students find their classes is in the TA job description. Plus, it gets me away from the mindless busywork Ms. Davids has waiting for me.” He follows his statement with a wink and another one of those bright smiles. Then he points to a spot near the center of the map. “We’re here. And B wing is here.” He slides his finger just less than an inch over the paper, but it feels more like a mile. I’m glad I won’t have to make the trek alone.