Page 24 of Where the Little Birds Are (Little Bird Duet 2)

“Kinley,” he greets. “You’re still coming to the game tonight right? You promised and I’d hate to guilt trip you.”

My eyes roll as I stop at my locker. “You love guilt tripping people. You remind Corbin every week that you went to see his play on the day he didn’t show up.”

“He deserves it.”

He’s not wrong. Corbin made up missing the birthday dinner he promised me that night by taking me out the day after and then surprising me at his house with a cake that his mother made. She took pictures of all of us, but most of the ones featuring me had my messy hair in a bun, and an even messier smile painted on my face.

One of the pictures is hanging in the living room at home. Mom told me I looked pretty, but I saw past the sliver of teeth showing in the smile I gave the camera. Corbin had gotten a text from one of the girls he shot with, Dalia, and was busy talking to her about another interview they had together. I watched him the whole time his mother took pictures, trying not to be jealous or nervous that he’d forget about me because he had better people to befriend.

If I admit that Corbin’s schedule makes me nervous, my family will ask if supporting him when he leaves is worth it. I ask myself that too, but I promised to support him no matter what just like he did me. Sometimes, though, it feels like I support him more than he does me.

I think of the Oscars and the RITA Awards—of all the things we said we’d do together. It replants the seed of hope in the pit of my stomach that uprooted when doubt crept in to begin with.

I move out from under Zach’s arm as I grab my bag and stuff some books inside it. “I already told you I’d be there.”

He opens my locker door wider and examines the pictures and trinkets inside. Corbin taped a selfie of us together in the door next to a picture he took

of me writing during one of our study sessions. There’s one of just him holding up a script and giving me his signature smirk, his silver eyes full of mischief that brighten them. He also put the origami bird from winter formal on the little shelf by my pencil case.

“You guys are gross,” he states, leaning his shoulder against the locker next to mine. “I thought he was going to rip my arm off when I stole you from him during the dance.”

I giggle at the memory of a very irritated Corbin watching us dance around the room. Zach was just playing around, but Corbin made sure not to let me out of his sight the rest of the night.

My eyes go to his briefly before I finish getting ready to leave for the day. “He told me you liked me a while ago.”

He hums, face flashing with something unreadable before he actually says a word. “Is that so?”

“Yep.” When he doesn’t say anything, I close my locker and untangle my hair from my jacket and backpack straps. “I told him that was silly. We’re friends, right?”

Zach’s expression lightens as he nudges my shoulder. “Of course. Tell your guard dog he can stop trying to pee on you. The school gets it.”

My nose scrunches. “That’s disgusting.”

He shrugs and falls into step with me as we weave our way through the crowds of eager students trying to start their weekend. “It’s true though. Admit it.”

I don’t.

“You could stay for practice,” he suggests, once we’re downstairs. “Some people watch us warm up. You could just chill until the game at six.”

I look at the clock and make a disgruntled face. “That’s three hours away. What am I supposed to do for three hours?”

“Watch me. Duh.”

A new arm wraps around my shoulders, tugging me into a firm side that smells vaguely of the French vanilla coffee he consumes to stay awake these days. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Russo, but she doesn’t want to watch you more than she has to.”

Zach smirks at me. “Is he right, Kin?”

I swat Corbin until he drops his arm. “I don’t want to wait until the game starts. I’ll just come back for it. I’ve got to study anyway and try getting some writing done.”

Corbin reaches for my hand and intertwines our fingers together. Zach notices the gesture and winks at me before backing up and barking. Loudly.

My face heats as a few people start joining him for no reason other than conformity. I just shake my head and wave him off as Corbin squeezes my hand.

“I don’t know why I’m friends with him,” he muses, walking us to the front doors.

“Because he’s nice?”

The distant howling coming from the boy’s locker room behind us makes me giggle.

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