Page 9 of Catch the Sun

He didn’t choose us, and sometimes I feel like that’smyfault.

“Miss Sunbury.”

My chin is propped up on my hand as I stare blankly to the left, my mind still padlocked in a jail cell. I don’t hear Mrs. Caulfield right away. I also don’trealize I’m staring directly at Max Manning with a smidgen of drool dribbling from the corner of my mouth.

“Miss Sunbury,” she repeats, louder this time. “I’ve been told that Mr. Manning is quite the catch here at Juniper High, but that is what Instagram is for. Please be respectful and ogle on your own time, during after-school hours.”

Everyone laughs.

I straighten at my desk and start frantically swiping at my chin. My mortified eyes meet with crystalline blue across the classroom and my face heats to an inferno level, mimicking my own personal hell. “Sorry,” I fluster, inching up on my elbows. “I spaced.”

Max continues to watch me from his adjacent seat, leaning back against the sepia plastic chair, both hands twirling a pencil around in aimless circles. His jeans are ripped, his hair is dark. He’s tall and lean, towering well over six feet and a head above the guy seated behind him. A tattoo made of black ink ropes around his right bicep and his skin is bronzed from the Tennessee sun.

He runs a lot, remains unattainable and mysterious, and has perfected the smolder. I’d say he stands out among the rest of the uninspiring student body…except he has that same look everyone has when they stare at me.

The look of pity because I’m washed-up and unworthy.

The look of annoyance because I don’t belong in this town or at this school.

The look of revulsion because my blood swims with the same blood as Jonah Sunbury’s.

At the end of the day, Max is still one of them.

I dart my gaze away and focus on Mrs. Caulfield, who is now half-sitting on the edge of her meticulously organized desk. Her flaxen-blond hair is sprinkled with silver and tied up in a harsh twist, enhancing the narrow peak of her head. She’s amissusinstead of amiss, which means someone liked her enough to marry her. Good for her, because I sure don’t. She’s the one teacher who’s been a jerk to me, and if I didn’t want to draw more negative attention than I already have, I’d probably report her to the school board.

“You know, Miss Sunbury,” the teacher drawls, one of her tawny eyebrows lifting with mock consideration. “The literature we’re currently reading has some striking parallels to your own personal history.”

Her words hit me like a silver bullet to the chest.

My throat closes up. Oxygen is hard to catch.

Shifting in the squeaky chair, I part my lips and release a soundless whisper. All I do is shake my head, feeling all eyes on me. Feeling the judgment, the persecution, the slew of gavels hammering down on particleboard desks.

Guilty, guilty, guilty.

I brave another quick glance in Max’s direction, unsurprised to find he’s still boring holes into me. Boring holes intomyholes. I bet he wishes that if he glowers at me long enough, my cracks and gaps will stretch so wide that there will be nothing left of me.

Poof.

Sometimes I wish that, too. Especially right now.

I’m sure Max regrets ever being friends with me in the first place.

I clear the misery from my throat and find my voice, looking back at Mrs. Caulfield. “I wouldn’t know,” I lie. “We’ve only just started reading.”

True enough, but I know exactly what the book is about. The blurb is on the back.

“Yes, well, has anything stood out to you thus far?” she probes, and I can almost hear the smirk on her face. “Anything you’d like to discuss and share with the class, while pulling from your own real-life experiences?”

“Not really. That’s personal.”

“It made national news. Your brother’s trial was publicly broadcast.”

My chest tightens to the point of near suffocation.

This is ridiculous. It’s cruel and invasive.

Heart galloping with indignation, I start stuffing books and pencils into my bag, then zip it up as I prepare to bolt. “That’s what Instagram is for,” I fling back, using her own words against her. “Please be respectful and meddle on your own time, during after-school hours.”

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