Page 2 of All Jacked Up

Lastly, there was Gathe Bowen, also in my grade. He had an older brother, too, but he’d been a senior my freshman year, and I didn’t remember much about him. I assumed he’d also been golden within these halls.

The Carvers, Cashes, Savelles, and Bowens seemed to own this town, and their sons ran the school.

Ransom cleared his throat and cocked an eyebrow at me. When I realized how long I’d been standing there, staring at him mutely, my red cheeks only heated more.

“I, uh—yes. I tutor in here on Thursday afternoons.” I rushed out my words. “But right now, the only time I have available would be six in the evening, and I don’t think that Mr. Lemond is here that late,” I added.

“Mr. Lemond?” he asked with confusion.

“Mr. Lemond,” I repeated. “Salt-and-pepper hair, tall, limps slightly, often seen with the mop and bucket, cleaning up the messes around here.”

There was annoyance in my tone, but Ransom had been at this school for almost four years. Could he not have taken the time to know the head janitor’s name or even speak to him? I hated the way students ignored him, took him for granted. He was a person. He had grandkids. He should be respected. Appreciated.

“Bill,” he replied.

Bill? Was that Mr. Lemond’s first name?

I blinked, not sure if I should feel bad about almost scolding him or if he was making up the name Bill.

“I have football practice until five thirty. That would be perfect.I’ll speak to Bill about giving us, what, an hour? I can even lock up for him if he needs me to.”

He would speak toBill? Was that truly Mr. Lemond’s name?

“Bill, as in Mr. Lemond?” I needed clarification here.

He nodded his head. “Yes. Bill Lemond. The head custodian for the past sixteen years. He’s retiring next year though. He wants more time with his grandkids.”

Oh. Wow. Okay. I’d misjudged him, it seemed. That was more than I knew about Mr. Lemond. I, of all people, should know how judging a book by its cover was a terrible practice.

“All right,” I replied. “I, uh, can give you my number, and you can text me after you’ve spoken to him,” I said, not about to ask for his number. He was probably asked for it regularly—and not for tutoring help.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, opened it, then lifted his eyes back to mine. “I’m ready.”

I spouted out the numbers, and he tapped them into his phone, then saved it under the name Shakespeare. With a roll of my eyes he didn’t see, I tensed up, but said nothing.

“Got it,” he said, then slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“What in the world are you doing in the library?” a female asked in a flirty tone.

I shifted my gaze to the left to see Lilliana Sherbet strutting toward us—or rather, to Ransom—with a sway to her hips. When I glanced back at Ransom, his focus was on her legs, which were fully displayed in her short cheerleading uniform.

The appreciative smile that curled his lips made me envious. But I’d never be that girl. The Lillianas of the world were thin, without braces or glasses. I was the chubby nerd who stood off on the sidelines or stayed hidden in the library, where all my friends could be found stacked among the shelves.

Noa

Age Seventeen

Ransom: Happy birthday, Shakespeare.

I read the text, unable not to grin. The nickname no longer bothered me. Ransom didn’t give any other girl a nickname. Just like I was his longest female relationship. Or at least, that was what he’d said one day last spring while we were texting about my choices in college.

Me: Thanks.

Then added:

Me: Glad you remembered. I’d hate to have to block you. It would ruin your day.

My friendship with Ransom was unique. While sitting at the library table, explaining the complexities of Shakespeare to him, I had relaxed. Accepted that I wasn’t going to be a girl that he looked at with lust or interest. When I did so, I found that underneath that gorgeous, sexy outer appearance, he was likable. He wasn’t shallow or cruel. He made me laugh. We liked many of the same movies and debated on those we disagreed on.Our taste in music was almost identical, and he got my sense of humor. I couldn’t remember exactly when our texting about tutoring sessions had turned into us sharing things in life, using each other for a sounding board, having someone to vent to, but it had in the most organic way.

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