Page 28 of Every Broken Thing

“Ben,” I greeted him.

“Silas,” he returned before focusing his attention on my awestruck friends. “Hi, I’m Ben.”

When no one spoke, I made hurried introductions. “That’s Kim, and that’s Harris and Jordan.”

Harris and Jordan bounced their eyes between us a few times before shrugging and shaking his hand in turn with similar greetings of “Hey, man.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ben said, ever the gentleman.

I snapped my fingers in front of Kim’s face. “Kim, shut your pie hole. It’s not attractive.”

“When did this happen?” Her voice was an octave higher than normal.

“When did what happen?”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you two dating?”

I choked on my sip of soda mid-swallow, and the fizz burned through my nose. I coughed and gagged, trying to breathe and talk without success. My eyes watered as the carbonation fried my sinuses.

“Fucking hell! Are you trying to kill me?” I yelled at her, my face flushing bright red as I recovered from my near-asphyxiation. Ben slapped my back, and I shoved him away violently. “And no, we aren’t… we’re just… no!”

Flustered, I glared at Kim’s confused expression. “You’re not together?”

Ben opened his mouth, most likely to say something embarrassing, but I spoke before he could. “No! We’re friends.”

Caroline finally arrived, and I used this as an excuse to force Ben out of her usual seat. She dismissed the offer with a conspiratorial grin in Kim’s direction and pulled up a chair at the end of the table.

With an interested scan of Ben’s body, she introduced herself, and I scowled as her fingers lingered on his hand. Ben grinned politely but didn’t return the once-over or notice the graze of her fingertips. Fierce pleasure buzzed through my chest, which was stupid and pathetic and many other things I needed a dictionary to explain. Ultimately it made me a sucker, and I wanted to jab myself in the throat with Kim’s plastic utensils.

“So you’re the diver.” Heavy meaning filled Caroline’s tone.

Ben squirmed in his chair. “Well, I don’t know about beingthediver, but I am a diver.”

“Aw!” Kim cooed embarrassingly.

Caroline sent me a mischievous wink. “Cute and humble. Good choice, Silas.”

“Shut up!” I tossed my chips at her as both Ben and I avoided eye contact. I glared at my friends, each in turn, my neck hot with embarrassment.

Ben sent me an apologetic smile which I returned by flipping him my middle finger, and he snorted into his Gatorade. He did nothing to stop the mockery thrown my way from my so-called friends. Psh, we would see if I ever did anything nice for him again.

Thankfully, everyone resumed lunch in a less embarrassing fashion, and other than making polite small talk, no one bothered me or Ben. When the bell rang, dismissing us from lunch, we parted ways for a few hours, meeting again outsideour sociology class. We sat beside each other and continued the easy conversation we shared last night at the drive-in until the teacher brought the class to order.

I took notes, glancing over at Ben more often than I liked, and my heart squeezed every time I found him doing the same thing. A smile played at his lips as he hunched over his desk, writing into a notebook, and a warm fuzzy tingle trickled through my chest when he glanced up from under his lashes and winked.

As the teacher’s monotone voice drifted over the classroom, paper swished as a folded white slip fluttered onto my desk. In the beginning of my high school career, I ignored any notes sent my way, knowing hurtful words lay within, and eventually people stopped sending them. I searched my surroundings sharply, giving Ben a suspicious glance, but he focused on the front of the room. In fact, he pointedly ignored me, trying way too hard to appear innocent. I skeptically unfolded the paper.

Across the top of the page, in a surprisingly elegant script for a guy, scrawled three words.

How are you?

I shook my head at the predictable question and hovered my pen over the paper for a split second before writing my response.

Fan-fucking-tastic! You?

I waited till the teacher turned his back before tossing the note back at Ben, the page landing with a soft crinkle before Ben snatched it off his desk and into his lap. I felt like a middle school kid again, passing notes in class, and I fought the insane urge to giggle manically at not getting caught.

Ben opened it silently and read it, sending me a droll stare. Moments later, the note touched back home on my desk, and I secretly unfolded the paper in my lap to read what he wrote.

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