Page 22 of This I Know
“He’s kind of hot. Right?”
She nods and widens her eyes. “‘Kind of?’ Avery, do you have eyes? The boy is beautiful. Even I can see that.”
She’s got a point; Mara does have an unusual lack of interest when it comes to relationships and crushes. She’s too busy with school, trying to earn her coveted Valedictorian title before graduation.
She turns to me and slams her locker. “But good luck. He doesn’t talk to anyone.”
“He doesn’t?” I face her, my over-interest surely written all over my face.
She shrugs. “Well, I’m sure he talks, but he keeps to himself is what I mean. At least, that’s what I’ve noticed. I’ve got Home Ec with him.” She stops, reading me. “You want me to introduce you?”
I stand up straight. “No.”
“Hey, I will. Whatever gets your mind off you-know-who.”
I pretend to be mad that she said that. “No, thanks.”
“Your choice. I’ll see you later,” she says. “I just wanted to do this.”
She leans in and wraps one arm over my shoulder.
I hug her back. “I needed that.”
“I know you did. See you.”
“Later.”
To get to where I’m going, I’m going to have to pass him. I try to control it, but my heart starts to flutter inside my chest. He’s still at his locker, but this time talking to a girl. I clutch my textbook tighter to my chest. He doesn’t notice me, and when I reach him I slide by, invisibly, I’m sure, but as I pass I inhale the air around him. He smells like sandalwood. It’s a strong, masculine smell. I want more.
More of the smell, I mean. Not more of him. Because this isn’t good. The last thing I need isthison top of everything I’m going through right now. Not to mention that as far as I’m concerned, I still have a boyfriend.
I mean, I do – right? Does it count as a breakup if you never hear from the guy again?
But Ethan Harrington is gorgeous. I’m using all of my remaining strength not to develop the biggest crush on the stereotypical hot new guy.
Schoolwork and healing, Avery. Schoolwork and healing.And maybe Cole, if he ever decides to apologize.
I made it past him. That was close. Now, as long as I can avoid it, I may never have to encounter him again. That would be good. That just might work. Suddenly, my intuition kicks in. A blaze of adrenaline rushes through me. Remember that thing I said about the sensation of eyes on you, and how I’m uber-great at it? Yeah, about that: someone’s looking at me. I can feel a pair of eyes burning into the back of my head. I resist the temptation to turn around. I keep walking, just a little further until I slip away into Chemistry.
Ethan
“Ethan, if you don’t get out that door right now, I’m going to kick your ass.”
It’s my mother, yelling at me from somewhere deep inside the house. How she knows I haven’t left for school yet, I have no idea. That woman must have some kind of sixth sense.
She’s kidding, of course. She would never kick my ass. But I get her point. I’m just going this slowly because I didn’t sleep well last night, and right now I feel like acting like the stereotypical, hormonal teenager who hates school.
“I’m going,” I eventually call back.
And I am. I grab my things, making sure at the last minute that I have everything I need, and leave the house. As I make my way to school, I’m preparing myself mentally for another long day. I couldn’t believe my mother actually let me change schools, but it’s been done. That was four weeks ago, and in that time I haven’t really adjusted. But I know that things are better now than they’d be at my old school, because God knows I had my reasons for changing. I was too close to people there; my old school was where I’d grown up, from kindergarten through eleventh, and people knew me. Most importantly, they knew my dad. The risk of someone beating me up for the sins of my father was too great for me to take. And I think, secretly, my mother knew that, too.
Here at Westfield High, nobody knows who I am. They know my name. That’s it. Two simple meaningless words that give away nothing about my life. They’re words that I can try my best to hide behind. There’s still reason to worry – the name Harrington isn’t exactly Johnson or Smith, so I’m still at risk of standing out more than I’d like. But as long as I don’t tell anyone, or rather,admitto anyone the truth about my family, I should be in the clear.
I haven’t talked to my dad since the day of our jail visit, just like I told myself I wouldn’t. Because in my mind, if I can’t somehow change him, somehow force him to have some kind of life-altering event that magically makes him a new person and sorry for what he’s done, then I might as well not even try. You would have thought my little visit at the prison should have been just such a life-altering event, but apparently that wasn’t good enough. That’s his choice. And because of that choice, that’s what I’ve been doing, and what I’ll continue to do – not talk to my father, and never tell my secret to a single soul.
There’s one more class to go before lunchtime. The day is dragging on, as always, and I can’t wait to get home and do nothing except play some video games. The bell just rang. I have two minutes to run to my locker and grab the paper I forgot for next period. I hope it’s there. It should be there. If it’s not, I’m in trouble.
“Hey, Harrington.”
