The Pretty One(25)

He brushes a lock of his thick hair out of his eyes. “Oh yeah, I heard there was a movie. I’ll bet it wasn’t as good as the books though.”

My smile fades away. I suddenly feel the need to say something really, really smart. I think of Albert Einstein and for some reason I think of his closet, which I once read was filled with set after set of the same shirts and the same pants.

“I’ve been meaning to see it, though,” he adds quickly, for what I’m hoping is my benefit. “So what are you doing here so late?”

How do I weave Albert Einstein’s clothes into that? Suddenly, I can’t remember what he just said. And so I say “What?,” which I don’t think helps me seem more intellectual.

“You’re here late. I was asking why.”

Oh yeah.

“I had a meeting with Mrs. Pritchie. Even though I took precal with my tutor, she’s worried that I won’t be able to keep up with the class.” Um, hello? Did I really need to share that tidbit? What happened to sounding intelligent?

“I see,” he says politely.

I glance back at my locker, not trusting myself to speak.

“Nice,” he says, nodding toward my sister’s sign. The tone of his voice is hard to read and I can’t tell whether he’s being sarcastic or complimentary. I wouldn’t blame him for being sarcastic. The sign is a little stupid. I only left it up because I’m not sure what to replace it with. Last year I coated the inside of my locker with pictures of me and Simon and Lucy, but it seemed weird to put them back up when I don’t look anything like that anymore.

Drew leans up against the locker next to me, as if he’s planning on staying a while. This is strange. Didn’t Lucy say a long time ago that he “didn’t let anyone get close to him” and that he “kept to himself”? Maybe Drew has changed since last year. Not like I have of course, but still. I’m curious.

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to you since you came back. How has everything been going for you?”

“Okay, I guess.”

Drew kind of raises his eyebrows like he (a) doesn’t quite believe me or (b) he wants me to elaborate. In either case, I intend to deliver. “Actually, not really. Things have been really weird.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Everyone says hello to me now.”

“And they didn’t before?”

“I’d say the number of friendly hellos has increased about ninety-five percent.”

“Wild. You’re quite the celebrity.”

Did I just imply that I think I’m a celebrity? “No, no,” I say quickly, forcing myself to look away from his eyes. “It’s not just the hellos. Everything seems, well, different. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just my imagination.”

“I doubt it,” he says. “The accident, the surgery, missing all that school. That’s a ton.”

Wow. Ever since I got back to CSPA, everyone has been telling me how different I look with my new face and body and how happy I must be about how everything turned out. Drew is the first person who seems to get how overwhelming this situation is. This settles it. There is a definite, almost otherworldly connection between us. In other words, we’re meant for each other. It’s kismet.

Then suddenly Drew does something familiar. He averts his gaze and glances down at his beat-up black boots. I follow suit, looking at them, too. His feet must have stopped growing a long time ago because I’m pretty sure his boots are the same pair he was wearing at the beginning of last year. I recognize some of the scuffs.

“I guess I should get going,” he says finally, a hint of awkwardness in his voice. “It’s nice to have you back.”

Drew takes a few steps away from me without saying another word, like he’s trying to keep his distance.

What? He’s leaving? Already?

I slam my locker and hurry to catch up with him. “So I hear you got into the senior independent study. That’s great. What’s your play about?”

“It’s called The End,” he says, as we walk down the marble staircase. I look at his hand grasping the polished wooden banister and wonder how it would feel to hold it. “It’s a pretty simple one act about a guy who’s breaking up with a girl. At least, he’s trying to.”

“Sounds interesting,” I say. Quite frankly, he could’ve told me it was about a girl feeding her dog and I would’ve said the same thing.

“It’s not really about a breakup. It’s more about how sometimes we don’t see people for who they really are until it’s too late.”

“Wow,” I say. Wow? Did I just say wow? Smart, Megan. Think smart! “Sounds good!” Ugh. Just as bad as wow. I am only hoping it doesn’t get worse, that I don’t suddenly start picking my nose or yodeling.

Drew gets to the door first and holds it open for me, just like Simon did the previous day. Only this time, instead of being annoyed, I’m flattered. As I walk past him, my arm brushes up against his chest and a tingle runs down my spine.

“I haven’t forgotten that you still owe me an audition,” he says, after the door slams shut behind us.

He remembered. Almost one year after the fact and he still remembered that he had asked me to audition. Once again: kismet.

“Are you up for it?” he asks.