Don't Kiss the Messenger (Edgelake High School, #1)(29)

I narrowed my eyes. “But wouldn’t he also argue, ‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women are merely players,’ I quoted back. She raised her eyebrows, impressed.

“‘They have their exits and their entrances,’” she continued. “‘And one man in his time plays many parts.’”

Damn. I totally set that one up.

“Choose your parts wisely, CeCe,” she told me.

I sighed and opened my assignment notebook. This was what I got for taking a random English elective my senior year. I knew the rest of my professors by first name and they always let me turn in projects when it worked out in my schedule.

I looked over at Emmett and he was staring at me.

“What was that?” he asked.

“As You Like It,” I said.

“You can randomly quote Shakespeare?” he asked me.

“I have a poetic memory,” I said, and Emmett gave me a questioning stare. “I’m not sure if it’s a real medical diagnosis,” I explained. “I just read about it somewhere.”

Emmett nodded and shoved his books in his backpack. “I’ve heard of it,” he said.

I pulled out my cell phone and Emmett and I exchanged numbers. I figured most girls would be filled with insurmountable ecstasy with the thought of adding Emmett Brady as a contact. I felt like the exchange was filled with all the budding romance of a business transaction.

“Ahem,” Professor Watford interrupted us. We looked up and she was standing at the door, tote bag in hand.

“Can you continue this outside, please? I need to leave and lock up behind me.”

We nodded and I followed Emmett out the door. My eyes passed over his outfit—a white music festival T-shirt ringed with black around the collar and sleeves. Faded blue jeans. Blue soccer shoes with orange laces. And to top it off, messy, disheveled hair, as if he just came off the stage after a rock concert. Today, he was definitely a musician. He was even carrying a black instrument case. Violin? Mandolin? Ukulele? I wondered if Bryn even knew this side of him. My eyes fell to his fingers, wrapped around the case. He glanced over at me and caught me staring. I snapped my eyes down to my phone and pressed the calendar app and looked for a blank space somewhere in my schedule.

“Can you meet later today?” I asked him as he opened the front door of the building and held it for me while I walked outside.

“We should probably read the play first,” he pointed out.

I laughed. “Right,” I said. I could feel his eyes on me, studying me. I kept my face forward, left profile exposed.

“You’ve already read the play, haven’t you?” he asked me.

“Twice,” I said. “Once freshman year and once for fun.”

“What do you read for a challenge? Russian economics? In Russian?” he joked, but I didn’t return the smile. I was frowning down at my phone, scrolling through my schedule, looking for an opening.

“Watford’s fucking delusional,” Emmett stated, looking down at the stream of students pouring onto the sidewalk.

“She’s a genius,” I defended her.

“Did you notice she isn’t married?” he asked me. “No ring.”

I looked up at him. “What does that have to do with anything? That makes her a nutcase? Because she isn’t married?” Maybe I should start looking into accommodations at mental institutions, since I planned on having the same single status throughout my life.

“She’s married to Shakespeare in her head. That’s why she’s nuts.”

That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. I fully supported imaginary relationships. More often, I preferred them to real ones. I was usually content hanging out with my fictional boyfriends. I didn’t feel the need to express this particular fact out loud.

“I wonder if she had an imaginary wedding,” I said. “Maybe we could convince her Shakespeare’s cheating on her, so she’ll get a divorce and give another guy a chance.”

He smiled and I felt myself staring at his smile for too long.

“We need to pick a study time,” I said. I scrolled through my schedule as we headed down the steps to the road. “Can you meet Sunday night?” I asked. Emmett grabbed my arm and held me back, before I almost walked into oncoming traffic at the corner.

He shook his head. “Team dinner. Coach’s house. How about Sunday morning?”

“I’ll be at the tournament,” I said.

We walked across the street, where the sidewalk was crowded with students headed to Library Mall.

“Monday night?” I asked. I hated putting off projects until the last minute, but we didn’t have many options.

“Monday’s bad,” he said simply.

I looked up at people passing us, ogling Emmett. A pack of girls actually separated in order to let us through the sidewalk. It was like the parting of the Red Sea, but instead of water, it was the separating of blue jeans and skirts. Instead of the sound of waves, it was the sound of gasps and giggles and the occasional, “Hi, Emmett.”

The nice thing about walking with people like Emmett and Bryn was that they diverted any stares away from me. Although I did catch a few unbelieving looks in my direction.

“Want to hang out on Tuesday?” I asked, loudly as we passed a group of girls gawking at Emmett and glaring at me. He didn’t seem to notice the attention. “We could try and meet before class?”