Page 7 of Catch the Sun

Sifting through my pockets for spare change, I blink myself back to color and real time. The crumpled photograph falls to the floor when I yank out a handful of dollar bills, and I can’t help but cringe as I lean over to snatch it up.

I’m midbend when a voice blares, “Just leave it. Your maid can come by and pick it up for you.”

I’m pretty sure the voice and steroid-infected body belong to a football douche named Andy, but I might be wrong. It could be Randy. All I knowis that he was blowing spitballs at my head last period and he smells like an off-putting combination of man sweat and butterscotch pudding from the cafeteria.

“Fresh out of maids,” I shoot back. “But the position is open if you’re interested.”

“Yeah, right. It’ll take a fucking saint to clean up your brand of mess.” His buddies saunter alongside him, trying to cover up their laughter with coughs and dramatic throat-clearing.

Potential-Andy pauses then, his biceps twitching beneath the hacked-off sleeves of his white gym T-shirt. Brown-black eyes trail me from toes to top, the expression he wears brimming with distaste, as if I’m some kind of lower being. Nothing but pond scum or chewed-up taffy wedged into the sole of his shoe that he can’t scrape off.

He averts his attention to the photograph and a smirk blooms. “Is that your locker decor? It was so tasteful.”

“Was that a gift from you?” I glance boredly at my tangerine-chipped fingernails. “Charming.”

“You’re flattering yourself if you think I spend my time scouring the internet for pictures of you, Sunbury.”

“I guess I overestimated your ability to multitask. Figured you’d find some time in between Googling yourself and browsing low-budget porn sites.”

Popping a finger in the air, he perks up like he’s had a light-bulb moment. “Speaking of, wasn’t that you I saw in that video of—”

“Let’s go, Andy. She’s weird,” a gum-snapping brunette says, giving his ribs a pinch.

Confirmed-Andy sends me a wink before he jogs into one of the bustling classrooms and out of sight.

I can’t help the internal flinch as his words pierce through my armor, but I try to brush it off, grabbing the photograph off the tile and throwing it in a nearby trash can.

I’m about to twist back around to the vending machine when a bright-blond ponytail and a pink sundress zooms by. Brynn Fisher catapults herself into McKay’s arms with a squeal, and the two of them stumble back as herboyfriend catches her by the thighs and they kiss hotly in front of us, making a scene.

I fidget in place. I’ve never been kissed like that before, and I idly wonder what it would feel like.

Scratch that: I’ve never been kissed at all, period.

Double scratch that: I don’t care.

After smothering him with repetitive kisses, Brynn slides back down onto her white sneakers and reaches for the backpack she dropped at her feet. When she pops up, she throws a beaming grin in my direction. “Hey, Ella!”

She’s the bubble gum to my black licorice.

I drag the beanie off my head and smooth down my hair, startled by her use of my first name. Everyone calls meSunbury, ornew girl, orWhatever-her-name-is. And those are the kinder variations. “Hey,” I murmur, lifting my hand in a half-hearted greeting.

“Are you coming to the bonfire out by the bluffs tomorrow tonight?”

I’m fairly certain I missed that invitation. “Wasn’t planning on it. Everyone thinks I’m a loser, so that will probably make things awkward.”

“You’re not a loser.”

“The entire school thinks I’m a loser, Brynn. According to this town, I will die a loser. My tombstone is going to say, ‘She was a loser. And she lost.’” I shrug, feigning indifference, even though my heart wilts a little. “It’s fine.”

“That’s so dramatic,” Brynn replies through a laugh. “Screw them. I think you’re cool.”

A soft smile stretches on my lips just as the bell rings.

Brynn hauls her book bag over her shoulder as she skips toward me. “It starts at eight. I can pick you up if you need a ride.” Before she runs off to class, she pulls a gel-tipped pen out of her ponytail, reaches for my wrist, and scribbles seven numbers onto the underside of my forearm. “Add my number to your phone. Text me any time!”

I’m so taken aback by the gesture, by the token of friendship, that a response jumbles on my tongue and all I do is nod.

Her smile brightens twofold before she whips around, her hair following like a tail of pale honey, and she drags McKay with her down the hallway.

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