Don't Kiss the Messenger (Edgelake High School, #1)(23)

Mac set a tray down next to CeCe. I shut the book closed and slid it across the table.

“What kind of science are you interested in?” I asked CeCe.

“Dorkology,” Mac said as she sat down. Tyler, one of the football players, sat next to me.

“Chemistry,” CeCe corrected her.

“Same thing,” Mac pointed out.

“I want to be a chemical engineer,” CeCe told me.

“Seriously?” I said.

“No, I’m kidding. I actually want to major in Poultry Science,” she said, reminding me of the major I pinned on her the first day of Shakespeare class. We smiled at our inside joke.

Suddenly, Bryn’s long legs made their appearance. My shoulders immediately straightened and I sucked in a breath. It’s like my body was jolted with an electric charge. I hadn’t seen her since the party.

Bryn sat on the other side of Mac. I waited for her to return my gaze. But she chewed absentmindedly on the end of a carrot, like nothing had changed between us.

Mac blew out a sigh and picked at her salad. “I hate having to choose a senior year major. When I get to college I just want to major in sex.”

Tyler coughed on his foot-long sandwich after Mac’s comment.

“Or knitting,” Bryn chimed in, her face dreamy. I glanced at her and raised my eyebrows. It wasn’t the major I was expecting to hear.

“You can major in knitting in college. It’s called Family and Consumer Sciences,” CeCe told Bryn. “And there’s a sexuality studies major,” she offered to Mac.

Mac gaped. “What? Where? I’m enrolling.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s in Europe,” CeCe assumed. “Amsterdam?”

“I wonder what the courses would be like,” Mac mused.

“What kind of a job would you get after you graduated?” Bryn asked.

“I believe blow would be part of the description,” Tyler quipped.

“Who cares what job you get?” Mac said. “You’re going to land a hot husband, that’s for sure.”

“You can major in anything,” CeCe said and picked up her book. “Marijuana growing. Wizardry.”

“Beer?” Tyler asked, in between bites of his sandwich.

She nodded. “Fermentation.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” I asked. CeCe looked in my direction and shrugged. She slid her book off the table and turned in her seat. I noticed Bryn catch her arm and squeeze it.

“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice rising.

“Study group,” CeCe said.

“Now? You can’t leave.” Her eyes glanced around the table and she looked down at her tray. “Shit, that reminds me,” Bryn said. “I have a review group.”

She excused herself and I watched her throw her sandwich into a to-go bag and make a dash for the nearest exit sign.

…

CECE

I pushed the door open and when I walked outside I found Bryn huddled behind a bike rack, sitting against the stone wall. Her shoulders were slumped over her chest in a defeated slouch.

“Bryn?” I asked. “What just happened?”

She lifted her shoulders and sighed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, CeCe. He makes me so nervous.”

“Emmett? Why?”

“I just tense up. I can’t think straight when I’m around him. I get that way around really hot guys,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“You said you guys danced at the party all night. Didn’t that break the ice?” I asked.

“Dancing is my thing,” she said. “But when he wants to talk, I can barely put two words together.”

I noticed.

“He doesn’t make you feel stupid, does he?” I asked.

“He doesn’t have to! I feel stupid just fine by myself.”

“This is ridiculous,” I said. “I’ve seen you talk to plenty of guys. You flirt with Prentice all the time.”

“With Prentice it’s easy. He initiates it. But Emmett…” She shook her head. “He’s so intense. I feel like I have nothing interesting to say around him.”

I had to force myself not to nod in agreement. I blew out a sigh, frustrated that she was so frustrated. They had so much in common. Sports, college, an over-abundance of external beauty.

“You love your Portuguese class,” I said. “Why don’t you talk about that?”

“I love it because the professor gives A’s to all the athletes. I don’t have to do anything.”

“What about books?”

“I haven’t finished an entire book since freshman year. And that was Twilight.”

I winced.

She threw up her hands. “I don’t know what to say to him. He doesn’t watch YouTube videos or read magazines.”

“Try texting him. Digitally break the ice.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. You’re the only one that’s texted him. Whenever I try to write something it just sounds lame.”

“Email him,” I said.

She glared at my suggestion. “That’s even more words, CeCe.”

“Think of it as writing him a letter. You can plan it out in advance, so there’s no pressure. You guys can email back and forth for a while and get to know each other.”