Don't Kiss the Messenger (Edgelake High School, #1)(35)

“Why don’t you guys study here?” Tuba said. “I’ll make coffee.” Before either of us could respond, Tuba turned and disappeared down the hall.

I looked over at CeCe. “Fine with me,” I said.

She sighed and clasped the towel tighter around her chest. She yanked a bra off the banister before she turned and headed up the stairs. I couldn’t help but notice it was the black bra, edged in lace.

I grabbed my backpack and followed Tuba down the hall into the kitchen. She turned on a playlist and started spooning coffee grounds into a filter. I pulled a chair back and sat down at a long, wooden table that filled up most of the kitchen space. I took out a spiral notebook and paged through Watford’s lecture notes.

“I get the feeling CeCe doesn’t want me here,” I said.

Tuba sighed. “CeCe likes to think our apartment is some kind of sequestered island.” She looked over at me. “This is good for her.”

I thought about what she said. “Did she have a bad break up or something?” I asked.

Tuba laughed. “CeCe would have to date in order for that to happen.”

Footsteps pounded down the stairs and CeCe walked in. Her dark, wet hair was combed straight. She had on a pair of blue jeans and a black T-shirt boasting the molecular composition of coffee. She pulled the chair back and Tuba handed each of us mugs big enough to be cereal bowls.

CeCe unzipped her backpack and started pulling things out. She organized the table like this was some kind of a science lab.

She set her class binder down, then two pencils which she examined to make sure they were freshly sharpened. She layed out highlighters in a row: blue, yellow, and orange. She set out pink and green Post-It notes. She grabbed a stack of note cards and tapped them into a neat pile. Finally, she pulled out a clear container of colored paperclips. She regarded her studying area with a satisfied nod.

“There,” she said.

I looked at her spread of school supplies. “Are we shooting an infomercial for Office Max?” I asked her.

She looked over at me with surprise, as if she’d forgotten I was sitting in her kitchen.

“Nerd alert,” Tuba barked in her best NASA operator impression.

“Houston, operation study is a go,” I mocked. Tuba and I laughed.

CeCe pursed her lips together and gave me a deadpan expression.

“Ninety percent of successful studying is due to organization.”

“You totally made that up,” I said. She tried to lay another poker face on me, but her face broke into smile.

“Can’t I embrace my inner nerd and be left alone about it?” she asked.

“I love your inner nerd,” Tuba said.

CeCe assessed her layout. “I think we’re ready,” she said.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe we should gear up a blank PowerPoint template for typing in some questions or feedback that comes up?”

CeCe’s eyebrows rose up in excitement. “That’s a great idea.” When she realized I was kidding, her foot found mine under the table and kicked it. Hard. Right in the toes.

I winced and shook out my foot.

“Okay, no more nerd jokes,” I promised.

“I’m telling you, this works,” she stated. She pointed to the highlighters. “Blue is for quotes, yellow is for themes, orange is for symbols and motifs.” She pointed to the Post-It’s. “For characters and pivotal plot points.” She pointed to the paper clips. “For act separations.”

“The note cards?” I asked. “Can we say overkill on three? Two, one—”

Tuba laughed and CeCe’s face broke into another smile.

“It helps for memorizing quotes,” she pointed out.

I leaned closer to her over the table. I wiggled my finger for her to come closer.

“I have a secret,” I said.

She leaned toward me and I cupped my fingers around my mouth to whisper. “It’s an open note test.”

She leaned back. “I know.” She picked her pencil up and rolled it between her fingers. “I just happen to like memorizing quotes,” she admitted.

My smile faded. I couldn’t make fun of her for that. “Me, too,” I said. I tapped my pen against the paper. “It’s just the sun in my eyes, staring too long, but half in shadow I can bear it.”

CeCe’s pencil froze on her notebook.

“Damn. That’s a good one,” Tuba said. “What’s that from?”

CeCe’s face flushed.

“It’s from one of Bryn’s emails,” I said. I couldn’t hide the giddy smile from breaking out on my face. I looked down at the table and ran my finger along the knotted pattern in the wood. “It wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“Bryn wrote that?” Tuba asked and I nodded.

CeCe’s shoulders straightened up and she started paging through her notes.

I looked over at her. “You’re not the only one who likes to memorize good lines,” I told her.

CeCe studied her notes. “You go for that sentimental chick stuff?” she asked.

“Have we met?” I asked.

“You’re a football player,” she said.

“And a songwriter,” I reminded her. “I know good lines when I hear them.”