Page 1 of Absorbed

PART ONE

Chapter One

Stacey drifted along the stucco wall in the science wing, hoping to spot Gabe in the passing mob of students. Her Doc Martens crushed Doritos bags and Pop Rocks pouches littering the sweltering hallway. Emptied of the comforting weight of her textbooks, her backpack hung limp on her shoulder. With only a few days left of school, Stacey needed reassurance this summer wouldn’t be as lonely and lame as last year. Her heart sank. No Gabe. She took a long gulp of her warm Dr. Pepper, then turned toward art.

Stacey navigated around cliques of FFA students, athletes, and drama kids as laughter echoed off open metal lockers along the breezeway. Several basketball players were huddled across the quad. Gabe, in his signature plain white T-shirt, had his back to her. She squeezed excitedly through a cluster of underclassmen, rushing toward him, squinting in the bright sunlight. The hollow whir of skateboard wheels and the blur of a body rushed at her.

“Holy shnikes!” the skater shouted, colliding into Stacey’s left shoulder. The board rammed her ankle.

She stumbled, banged into a bank of lockers and landed hard on her butt on the hot concrete. “Ow!” she shrieked.

Students clapped and cheered.

“Gnarly,” said a boy with a backward ball cap.

Stacey fought back the sting of tears.

“Sick crash, Jess!” someone called out.

Jess? When he bent to pick up his board, Stacey’s mouth fell open. Jessie Thomas turned toward her practically in slow-motion, his sun-bleached hair swinging away from his face. Golden rays reflected off his perfect, glistening teeth. Sexy, guitar-strumming, graduating-senior Jessie Thomas. The boy she’d stalked all year in Christian Club, even though she’d never belonged to a church.

“You okay?” he asked, extending his hand. His WWJD charm shone among the dozen bracelets tied round his wrist. “You came out of nowhere!”

Stacey tucked her hand into his, staring into Jessie’s crystal blue eyes. He heaved her to her feet. She sucked in her stomach and tugged her shirt down, embarrassed.

Jessie brushed a hand through his hair. “Hey, you’re…”

“Stacey,” she said. She bit her bottom lip.

“Wet.” Jessie pointed downward to the brown stain blooming across the front of her jeans. He plucked the empty Dr. Pepper bottle from the ground and pushed it at her.

Stacey felt her face flush. She opened her palm to grab it, but fumbled. The bottle fell back to the ground.

“Sorry, Stephanie. Gotta jam. I’m totally late!” Jessie bolted toward the football field, his board in his hand. Turning the corner, he waved a shaka, then disappeared.

“Stace!” Gabe jogged up, his loose Levi’s hanging low on his hips. He grasped her shoulders, scanning her up and down. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Stacey hung her head, humiliated. “I stepped in front of him.” She dusted the back of her pants and flinched, feeling the tenderness of a bruise forming.

“I saw. You sure you’re okay? Need me to grab spare gym shorts from my locker?”

“With Docs? That’d be hilarious.” Stacey tucked her long blonde hair behind her ear. “I’m alright. I only have art left. Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

“Jessie’s a dipshit. I could beat his ass if you want me to.” Gabe palmed his fist, flexing his broad shoulders while making a goofy, menacing expression. His snug tee stretched across his pecs. Stacey felt her cheeks flush again and looked away.

Gabe picked up her backpack and handed it to her. She held it in front of her wet pants. He shot the empty Dr. Pepper bottle at a trash can 15 feet away, and it disappeared noiselessly. “Nothin’ but net.”

“Nice shot.”

The warning bell rang.

“Shit, we better go. Call me later,” he hollered over his shoulder, jogging toward his chemistry final.

The art room was loud with chatter. While Stacey focused on shading the veins of a leaf with her pencil, the other students signed yearbooks with colorful pens. Stacey’s knees were pulled up against the edge of the desk, a graphite sunflower blossoming over the sketch paper pad covering the stain on her jeans. Someone nudged her elbow and the pencil scratched across the page.

Beside her, Amanda’s freckled nose bobbed upward, directing Stacey to the front of the room.

Ms. Moreno was striking a colorful, wooden instrument, her signal all year to get the class’s attention. She was in her mid-twenties, perpetually wearing splattered jeans and an apron, with a paintbrush shoved through the lopsided mass of tight curls atop her head.

---