Chapter 2

Three Years Later

"How long until we have to go in?"

Savvy checks the dashboard clock. "Three minutes."

I stare out the window, watching people walk across the parking garage. The bell is going to ring, and I don't want to move a single muscle. I'm not serious when I suggest it, but I really don't feel like school today. "We should ditch."

"We? Please. I ditch. You don't ditch."

"Maybe today I'll surprise you."

"Oh yeah?"

Instead of admitting defeat, I pull down the visor and peer into the mirror. Hazel eyes stare back, along with yesterday's mascara. Great. I slept in, and now the entire school will know I didn't take a shower. But I'm not a total wreck. I managed to throw on my good pair of jeans with the purple Converse I love, but my dark tee-shirt probably should've gone through the wash first. It's speckled with paint I would have noticed if I'd had more than ten minutes to get ready.

But Jesus Christ my hair.

Matted and in need of a serious brushing, it's still in yesterday's braid, sandy blonde frizz sticking out all over. So not cute. I flip the visor back into place, trying to forget the image. "I look like crap."

"Well," Savvy dabs on lip-gloss with her pinkie, "what did you expect after five minutes of prep?"

"I think it was more like two minutes."

"And why is that?"

I sigh, already knowing what's coming. "I forgot to set the alarm again."

She pockets the shiny tube and smacks her lips together. "Look, there's nothing wrong with staying up to paint, but you have to remember to set your alarm, girl. Otherwise, you'll feel like shit in the morning."

Like always, Savvy has her blonde-black locks pulled into a ponytail, the platinum top revealing all her natural dark beneath it. She's applied a fresh coat of smoky make-up to go with her dark ensemble: navy shorts with a plum tank, ankle boots, and black fishnets. She looks put together in the super-hot kind of way, far from the day-old artist vibe that I've got going on.

"Two minutes," she reads the dashboard, tapping her fingers along the bottom of the steering wheel. Her head rolls toward mine, something mischievous in them. "You know, if you're serious about skipping, you wouldn't have had to rush. We could've just chilled and spent the day at your house."

"I have a quiz in Algebra."

"So? I have a test in American Government. We can just make it up tomorrow."

"Gonzalez doesn't allow make-ups."

"And?"

I shake my head against the seat. "Need to keep my grades up. It's the one thing keeping me from having a live-in nanny who - believe me - nobody wants."

"Come on. Aunt Milly can't be that bad."

If only Savvy knew.

My mother's older sister, Mildred, came to live with us after dad left, just as mom was starting her stewardess career. The transition from mom and dad to barely seeing mom and having a strange woman in the house was difficult enough, but all the strict rules made everything worse. Half an hour of playtime. No television for any reason. Bedtime at seven o'clock sharp.

"Believe me, the second I do something she doesn't like - bam! She's on the phone with my mom and we can't hang out any more."

Savvy scowls.

"I can't risk that, or my painting time." I look at her, conveying the message. "Grades are vital here, Sav."

She opens her mouth but stops when her eyes catch the rearview mirror. Her lips twist into a smile. "Look."

Alex Wolf is heading for the stairwell, about to come up behind the car. I'm only allotted this little bit of time - just these few seconds to take him in - so that's what I do.

I want to know why, after three years, he still looks at me like it's my fault, like I'm the reason Leo Warskowski did what he did. Exposed his feelings like that. It must be far from the way he feels about me now because all I get from Alex Wolf are glares of death. And anger. And accusation. It's like he hates me, like he blames me for the whole thing.

As usual, his wardrobe revolves around the same dark jeans and gray hoodie, the hood a darker shade. It's over his head, blocking most of his face with headphone cords sneaking down both sides and disappearing into his pockets. And, like usual, he keeps his black bookbag high on his back, the thing almost flat.

Passing behind us, he flashes the rearview mirror a glance.

Technically, a glare.

It's sharp and strong and makes me feel the same every time I'm hit with it: like I'm trespassing, like I'm not allowed to notice him, even though it's far from the other way around.

"Jesus," Savvy whispers. "If looks could kill."

"Welcome to my life."

Alex reaches the main stairwell with the last few stragglers. I take it as my cue to get out of the car and stretch.

"Must be all that pent up sexual frustration." She grabs her bag. I reach for mine, joining her around the side of the car. "You should probably just make out with him."

"Okay. Sure."

"I'm telling you," she leads us to the stairwell, "all he needs is a good rub and tug, and he'll be smiling."

"Yeah. I'll get right on that."

"You should." Her tone changes slightly, growing more serious. Great. I know where this is going and I really wish she wouldn't because we've gone over it, like, a thousand times. Savvy looks at me with those big blue puppy-dog eyes. Here it comes. "He's been in love with you for such a long time. Probably forever. I know you think he hates you - "

"Did you not see the glare we just got?"

"But it's really this repressed sexual thing. Just kiss him a little and - you know he has a tongue-ring, right?"

"How could I forget?" I skip down the steps, eager to get away from this conversation. Again. "You remind me every day."

"Well," she sprints to keep up with me, "it's because none of the other boys here are in the market for one, so I need to live vicariously through you and your steamy, steamy make-out session so please," she clasps her hands in mock prayer, "do us both a favor and French the boy."

"French him yourself."

"I would. But I'm not the one he's in love with."

"Stop."

"What? It's true. The entire school knows - "

"Savvy." I reach the bottom of the stairs. Obviously, I have to say this a hundred and one times for it to sink in, but if that's what it takes, so be it. "It's been like, forever, and I'm pretty sure he'd rather I get hit by a car then hook up. Besides..." I look away because honestly, I'm still not sure how I feel about it, "...they were just drawings."

"Yeah. Lots of them. A freaky amount."

I throw her a halfhearted smile. "I've got class."

"So? Let's ditch. Let's make today special. Let's make it the day something different happened."

I seriously consider the offer. I've already started this Thursday off on the wrong foot; it'd be great to go home and sleep - or maybe paint some more - but Mr. Gonzalez only allows makeups if there's a doctor's note and I'm not sure I can produce one in time for tomorrow. And there's no way I'm willing to let my grades drop if it means having to deal with Aunt Milly again.

"Can't."

Savvy doesn't seem surprised. "One day you will. And it's going to blow your mind how awesome it feels."

I walk backwards, offering a wave. "See you in fourth?"

She nods and heads for homeroom.

***

By fifth period, I'm ready to go.

I have two more classes after Family Planning & Development, and then it's home. But I have to get through next period first. It's not that its bad; it's just kind of boring. All I do is listen to Mr. Mitchell ramble on about what it's like to be an adult. Simple note-taking at its best.

Sliding into my usual chair, I glance out the window. It's nice to look outside when Mr. Mitchell goes off-topic, encouraged by people asking about his personal life. I wish they'd leave the guy alone. He's single and not unattractive, which is apparently the recipe for the ‘it's okay to ask your teacher anything' vibe we've established. But as interested as I am in how Ted's date went with Becky from the gym, I'm more concerned with getting an A.

I need an A.

The bell rings and I slip my notebook from my bag, flipping to yesterday's notes. They mainly consist of doodles and I want to kick everyone in the class for distracting him again. We have a test in two weeks and I'd really like to go over the material at some point.

"Ah, Mr. Wolf. So nice of you to join us."

I look up.

Alex stands in the doorway, the gray hood pulled over his head, a notebook under his arm. Sometimes, I forget that he shares this class with me. He never says a word and always sits in the back, usually with his head down. I must not be the only one who's noticed.

"Is today the day we'll finally get some participation out of you?"

Unamused - and without an answer - Alex walks past our teacher and makes his way down the aisle beside mine. As always, I stiffen at his approach, holding my breath until he passes. He selects the seat behind mine, automatically laying his head on the desk.

"Alright," Mr. Mitchell closes the door and moves to the front of the room, "a couple things, guys. First, I want to remind you all about the talent competition in two weeks - you've seen the banners around school; you know what I'm talking about. Now, this thing is a pretty big deal, so I'm encouraging everyone to enter."

No one says a word.

This must not be the reaction he expected because his brow dips. "Has...anyone in here entered?"

Silence.

"Really, guys? This is the annual talent contest. You're telling me no one in here has signed up? No one plans to enter?"

"What's in it for us?" someone asks.

"How about a letter of recommendation from Principal Harris, huh? That'll come in handy when it's time to apply for college."

Again, quiet.

Mr. Mitchell waits and when the room remains silent, he rolls his eye. "But...since I'm talking to a room of teenagers...you're probably more interested in the cash prize."

"Cash prize?" someone else asks.

"Yep. Two hundred big ones. I'm sure this probably won't sweeten the deal any, but you'll also get extra credit from me. So...just...think about it, okay? Secondly," he clears his throat, "I've been asked to remind everyone that skateboarding is not allowed on school property. Don't do it. Don't think about doing it. If you are caught - during school hours or after - you will be slapped with In-School-Suspension. It's not worth it. Just...save it for home.

"And third." He rubs his hands, thrilled to get to the good part. I don't like it. There's something too giddy about the way he's grinning us. "Remember at the beginning of the semester when I told you I'd be giving out a project that would constitute one-third of your grade?"

The entire class groans.

"You guessed it - today is the day we're going to talk about it! Now..." he paces in front of the room, "...the goal of this class is to learn what it's like being an adult. The difficulties...the struggles of creating a budget...maintaining a job in an unstable economy...and so on and so on. Because of this, we're going to simulate scenarios for each of you, all including one central conflict. I've divided you into pairs and before you ask - no swapping. I've chosen them for a reason, and your partner is your partner."

This is not good.

This is so not good.

I can deal with most people in here, but please for the love of God don't let it be Ian McGrady again. I suppress a groan at the memory of our last partnership. Right. As if I could call it that. He bragged about playing varsity basketball while I did the entire project. And when he wasn't bragging, he was staring at my chest and butt. By the end of it, I was ready to punch him in the face. There is no way I'll be working with that creep again. Partner or not.

"Together," Mr. Mitchell goes on, "you'll assume the roles I've given you and the conflict at hand. Your ten-page paper," he smiles as he says it, "is due the Friday before homecoming and will outline how you worked through your individual conflict, along with a budget for your chosen home-life, and of course, there will be data supporting all your research. Now," he selects a paper off of his desk and holds it proudly in front of him, "shall we find out who your partners are?"

I sink in my seat.

Don't be Ian McGrady.

Don't be Ian McGrady.

The teacher begins rattling off names, each one belonging to someone else. I listen, trying to figure out who's left, wondering if the universe really does have it in for me by pairing me with Ian McGrady again. Because I'll fight it. No swapping or not, I'll take anyone in the class besides Ian McGrady.

Anyone.

"Autumn Sommers...and Alex Wolf."