Cross My Heart (2 page)

“This project will be worth thirty perc
ent of your semester grade,” Ms
.
Tugwell
says
.
She pauses
,
adjusting
her glasses on the bridge of her nose,
and
peering
at me with slightly magnified eyes. “Nice of you to take time out of your busy ‘saving the planet’ schedule to join us, Miss
McEntyre
.”

I smile
cheerful
ly
, even
as
my classmates snicker
around me
. “Poverty doesn’t sleep, Ms.
Tugwell
. If I don’t do my part, who will?”

“
Indeed.
”

Ms.
Tugwell
i
s,
at the least, heavy set. She’
s
actually pretty large, and spends
most of her time sitting in her chai
r behind her desk. She does
n’t rea
lly walk . . . more like waddles
, and
the ground
beneath her trembles as she moves
. H
er glasses a
re at l
east thirty years out of style, and the lenses themselves
are probably
decades old, because
she wears
the same
plaid
jumpers that balloon
at her waist . . . every single day . . . with her sneakers.
She’
s a good teacher—
I
like
her—
but
every year, when a new group of idiot fresh
men boys co
me
s
in. . . .
I mean,
“
t
ugboat
”
doesn’t
sound
anything
like
Tugwell
. But that does
n’t seem to deter some people.

My teacher sha
k
es
her head, but
even so, I’m
al
most certain a tiny smile forms as she turns
her attention back to
the white board.
I breathe
a quick sigh of relief. No tardy.

“
Moving on
.
This assignment will not be turned in
for another two months, but that doesn’t mean you should wait until the last minute. You and your partner should make plans to meet as soon as possible, then regular
ly until it’s due
.  I’d suggest you get together
before the end of today, so
y
ou can decide what literary piece
you will focus on.
You’
ll find the list of acceptable works
in the information packet on your desks.
”

I
skim
the
light
blue pages,
ru
n
ning
my finger over the staple in the top left corner,
then
ra
ise
my hand. “When do we
pick partners?”

Ms.
Tugwell
re-positions
her glasses. “About three minutes ago.”

“Three
minutes
. . .
,” I trail
off.
Before I made it to class.
Partners have
already been picked
.
I force
an apologetic
smile.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t here.”

“
I know
you weren’t
, s
o I had the plea
sure of assigning you one.
” She grins knowingly, and I
sit back,
heart thudding rhythmically in my chest,
wait
ing
while she takes her time, studying
her
gradebook
,
stretching the suspense as
far as she can possibly manage, u
ntil finally:
“
You and Parker will be working together.”

Parke
r.

Parker Whalen.

For a moment my breath escapes
me.
My heart
slow
s
to a crawl, and i
t pounds
heavy in my ears.
I
glance
to my right where, two
rows over, Parker Whalen si
t
s
. He
’
s there, wearing his typi
cal jeans, typical black crew
-neck shirt, and typical black leather jacket. His motorcycle helmet,
which
for some reason he does
not
keep in his locker, res
ts
at his
feet just beside his black
bag. Stereotypical bad boy motorcycle rider—lot
s of intimidating gazes and
determined
angst
. I
heard he was in a gang, but fi
nd that completely hard
to believe because he never wears any colors, he never gets
into any tro
uble, and he never speaks
to anyone. T
he whole gang thing i
s abo
ut camaraderie anyway, and he’
s always alone
. Plus, it
’s not
like
Bedford
i
s b
rimming with criminals. There a
re what? Twelve hu
ndred people in our town? We do
n’t even have a
Wal-Mart for God’s sake—that’
s a town over (thankfully). And to actually get
any decent shopping done, we have
to drive an hour and a half into Hamilton.

Parker Whalen.

I’m not
sure why I’m
even surprised. My guess?
It took my class
mates all of ten seconds to select
their partners.
Parker would have been avoided, leaving m
e, not present at the time, as the only
viable op
tion.
I swallow
a sigh.
N
o big deal.
It’s
just a project.

There is nothing I
cannot handle
.

“Thanks,
”
I reply, forcing a smile.

I steal
a
nother
quick glance in Parker’s
direction. This time
our eyes me
et. They lock
to mine
,
slicing into me,
and
I stagger against
his
frown, smile wavering; his
hard stare, smoldering;
his
quiet intensity
as it
spark
s
through my veins
, leaving my entire body prickling in bewilderment
.
It
’
s like he hates me already, and I haven
’
t even
done
anything.
I
shift
in my chair
, uneasy.
Only
after what feels
like an eternity’s worth of awkwardness
am I able to tear my eyes away
, shrinki
ng lower in my seat as I flip
my
notebook open to a clean page.

The moment the
bell ri
ng
s I cram
my books in
to my bag and
stand
,
sli
n
ging
it over my shoulder. Not thinking, I look to
ward
Parker’s desk
. B
ut his
seat i
s
empty. I just do
see a flash of black leather as he
escapes
the room
.
I hurry
afte
r him, but by the time I reach the hallway, so has
e
veryone else. Whichever way he’s gone, Parker has
already disappeared into the
swirling mass
of stud
ents—laughing, talking, tossing
things
back and forth
—a
nd as hard as I search
—twisting, turning
,
peering
over heads—
there
’
s no sign of him.

He does
n’t re-enter my world
until lunch
.

The one thing I know for sure about Parker Whalen is that he
never
si
t
s
inside.
H
e eats
at the picnic tables on the law
n, even on days like to
day, when the wind chill hovers
just
above
freezing and the sky threatens rain. It’
s
impossible to know how he spends
our lunch period, because
he never faces
the rest of
us
.
W
e’ve
n
ever spoken. English is the only class we share
, a
nd we d
o
n’t exactly hang out
in th
e same circles. In fact, I ca
n’t
imagine
Parker Whalen hanging out with
anyone . . . for any reason . . . at all.
The truth?
The rest
of us grew
up together.
We
filtered
to one high school.
Even if we didn’t go to the same mi
ddle school,
Bedford
is a tiny town, and everyone kno
w
s
everyone, and everything
about
everyone.
W
hen Parker
arrived,
he never real
ly managed to break
into the
c
lique
s formed at birth.
Whether or not he’d even tried, he
always
remained
something of
an outsider.

“Man, I’m telling you,
they had
nothing
on you. Hey!” The
familiar voice s
i
ng
s
in my ears
, happy to see me
.

I squeeze
between Sava
nnah and Blake, my boyfriend, who
leans
over and
deposi
t
s
a wet
, barbecue potato chip
kiss
on my cheek as I si
t down.
They flame
as I
subtly
sweep
the crumbs off my face.

“Hey. What’s going on?” I ask
, tucking my
hair behind my ears
before opening my brown, paper lunch bag
.

“I was just reminding Tony of how awes
ome he was at Friday
’s
game,” Blake informs
me
, chewing
.
Blake i
s a basketbal
l player, an athlete, so I try
to forgive the little nuisances,
li
ke the fact that now my cheek i
s
all
gritty and smells
like his barbecue breath.

Savannah’s ears perk at this. “What happened?” she
asks
.

“My man Tony
scor
ed forty
points all by his
self.”

“No way! That’s
amazing
!”
she
gushes
, her
entire
face lighting
.

Tony shrugs
, una
ble to look her in the eye
s
.
I hope
it’s because of his
repressed
feelings for her. I don’t think she could be more obvious.
I don’t think he could be more oblivious.