Page 40 of The Lucky One

“I never said I was.” He tilted my face with his thumb so I was forced to look at him. I swallowed hard. He’d got me right where he wanted me.

“While you were in rehab... there was a lot of gossip about me. Madison told everyone about my breakdown. And the news spread that I cheated on Paul with you. Plus, apparently, I slept with four other random guys I don’t even know or was just being nice to. When people see that we’re together, they’ll laugh at you.”

“Who?” Jon growled. “Who said you slept with them?”

I sighed. “It doesn’t matter, Jon. Really. I don’t care what they’re saying anymore, but I care about you being dragged into it. You don’t need any more stress.”

Jon cupped my cheeks. “I can’t stand people spreading lies about my girl. I’m not ashamed of you; I’m fucking proud to be with you. They should all know that you’re mine. I don’t care what kind of crap they’re saying. We know the truth. You and me, that’s all that matters.”

My knees practically buckled. I would never get used to Jon saying things like that. It was too perfect to be true—except that it was true. I swung my arms around his neck and went for the kiss I had to fight for.

His lips closing over mine—so smooth and warm, I could stay connected to them forever...

Jon smiled when we broke away. “Ready now?”

“Yes,” I said, but there was a tremor in it.

We walked out of the janitor’s room, and immediately all eyes fell on us. People must think we did more than kiss in there. My heart shuddered, but Jon draped his arm around my shoulder and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “It’s you and me,” he reminded me. And then he kissed me on the mouth.

Suddenly I didn’t care about anyone else but us.

Even whoever was applauding?

We pulled apart, slightly startled. Mr. Stacey—or as we called him, Mr. Yellowtooth—stood in the doorframe, clapping his hands. “Finally, you two!” exclaimed our former detention supervisor. “I’ve been waiting for this moment!” He cackled weirdly, exposing his yellowed tooth. “Don’t you want detention? I’ve been missing someone to play chess with.”

Jon tugged at my arm. “Sorry, man, but nope.” We both laughed and hurried away. “Watch out,” Jon teased, “or he’ll think you’re flirting again.”

“Ew!”

We continued down the hall, not caring who saw us anymore.

With time the whispers faded, and I knew the worst was over. That day, Jon taught me that the best way to not get bad-mouthed was simply to not give a shit.

His words, not mine.

A Hundred Billion Neurons

Kiki

The teacher’s voice fell to an indistinct murmur in the backdrop of my thoughts. I already knew everything Mr. Lane was teaching us about algebra. The textbook, the equations, the problems on the board—they all seemed like a script I had rehearsed countless times before. Math bored me. It wasn’t anything I could touch or fix; just numbers with one straightforward solution. I was only taking this course because not every class could be AP or honors.

I slouched in my seat and stared off to the side—only to see Paul deep in slumber, his cheek resting on his arms. His stitches had been taken off, leaving a scar that gave him a touch of a bad boy vibe.

When he’d told me the details of his assault, something about it struck me as off. Why would anyone want to hurt him? He had no enemies.

I crumpled up a piece of paper covered in doodles—a feeble attempt to stay engaged—and sent it sailing in his direction. “Paul, snap out of it!” I hissed. Unlike me, he desperately needed to pay attention to the equations on the board.

“Huh?” His head shot up, and he squinted across the room as though awakening from a memory-wiping coma. A smile formed on his lips when he spotted me. The teacher was engrossed in writing something new on the board, so I whispered, “Didn’t get much sleep?”

He suppressed a substantial yawn in his elbow. “I watched Grey’s Anatomy with Emily last night. It got so intense, we couldn’t stop.”

“Oh...”

I redirected my attention to the front. The dynamics of Emily dating Jon while maintaining a close friendship with Paul didn’t make sense to me.

A few weeks prior, Emily had surprised me with the cherry-red lipstick I’d dropped in our chance encounter at Walmart. “Thought you might need a refill,” she said. I tried to offer her money for it but she adamantly refused. Truthfully, I would have preferred to pay for it myself. I had no desire to be friends, no matter how many lipsticks she bought me. A small part of me anticipated the day when she’d return to Germany, allowing things to revert to their pre-Emily state.

“Kiki?” Paul whispered.

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