Cross My Heart (29 page)

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he finally wh
ispers
, eyes trained to mine
.
“Well, later today,
I guess,
”
he clarifies.

I work
to hide my disappointment
.
“Okay.”

H
e
backs away, moving slowly toward the
window,
ra
i
sing
the sash.
An arctic draft whoo
shes inside.

And w
hen he
smiles at me
I just know, when I lay
my head on my pillow in a fe
w, short moments, it
’ll be the last thing I
see before
I shut
my eyes, an
d the first thing I’ll remember when I wa
ke up.

I pull
my
comforter tighter as he climbs
outside, trying to keep my body heat from
escaping, even as
goose bumps
ri
se to th
e surface of my skin. I shiver
, watching as he l
owers
himself to the second floor roof, disappearing to the o
ther side of the house. I close and lock the window, then peer
out at the street for one last glimpse.

He resurfaces
briefly under a streetlamp—hands
buried deep in his pockets,
breath smoking
, mingling
with
the frigid air—before vanishing in
to the shadows.

I’m
responding to Blake’s morning
text
message
, yawning,
when
. . .

“Good morning, Sunshine,” a low voice whispers
in my ear
.

A series of tingles race
up and down my spin
e
.
I flip
my phone shut
, forgetting to press send
, remembering a moment too late.

“No thanks to you,” I say quietly, so no one will hear. I grab
my c
alculus
book. “When I
finally got to bed,” I continue
,
“it
was li
ke, three-thirty
in the mo
rning. My alarm goes off at six-thirty
. That means if I fell asleep right away, I’m
running on three hours of sleep
. And I’m
gonna
be
honest with you:
I didn’t fall asleep right away.”

Parker lean
s
into the locker beside me,
adjusts
his b
ackpack on his shoulder, then ru
n
s
his fingers through his hair. “Yeah
,
well, you didn’t
have a ten-
minute walk or a twent
y-minute drive home,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “
I’m running on two hours.
If
I fell asleep right away.
”
Traces of darkness linger
beneath his
lower
lashes
, adding to his perpetual
shroud of
myster
y
.
A
t least I have
the luxury of
concealer
to hide my midnight escapades
.

“We sh
ould’ve just stayed up,” I muse
.

He
smiles wryly
. “Scandalous.”

I notice, as I hoist
my bag over my should
er, a few people around us a
re staring, not so s
ubtly. The
group of girls down the way? Craning their necks in our direction. The couple navigating the halls with their hands in each other’s back pockets? Slo
wing considerably as they pass
, turning their heads to
keep their eyes on us. There a
re others,
too. Gawking. Whispering.
Faces eager with curiosity.
It’
s like some
huge, irrelevant newsflash that i
s, in my opinion, hardly w
orth spreading: Parker Whalen i
s talking to Jaden
McEntyre
in the hal
lway. Big Deal. Apparently I’m the only one who feels
this way.

I inhale
,
ignoring
the ogling. “I feel sorry for everyone around me, because by lunchtime . . . it’s o
ver. I’m going to be a total
beyot
ch
.”

Parker laughs
at this. “I doubt that.”

“Don’t,” I say
seriously.

“There’s no way Jaden
McEntyre
gets bitchy in public. That’s just not happening.”

“B
elieve it, because it happens.”

“Not in public. You might go home and yel
l into your pillow or freak out in
the mirror, but you don’t lose your cool in front of people
, even if you
have
come dangerous
ly close
.”

I roll
my eyes. “I hate how yo
u think you know me,” I grumble
,
touching the Harvard crest before
shutting my locker
door
.

“Yeah
,
well, give me fair warning if you
really
plan to go postal on someone today, because I’d
pay
to see it.”

“If you’re lucky you’ll be on
the receiving end,” I threaten
.
“Oh, that reminds me. Here: take this.” I ho
ld out my purse, not thinking.
Parker stares
at the
little black
number for a moment.
“It’s just for a second,
”
I assure him.
He slowly reaches
out to take it from me. I slid
e
my
bag off my shoulder and unzip it. It ta
k
es
some
digging, but I finally find what I’m searching for. I ta
k
e
my purse back, trading it for a brown paper bag.

He eyes me suspiciously, then opens it and peers inside. “What’s this?” he asks
.

“Lunch,” I tell him
, matter of fact.

“So we’re beyond the soda and potato chips?”

“Sun Chips—there’s a difference—and yeah, I packed you everything I packed for
me
.”

“I can’t believe you’re bri
nging my lunch now,” he mutters
, expressionless.

“Would you rather eat pork rinds and beanie weenies?
” I ask.
“
God, Parker, it’s no wonder you don’t bring any food to school. And I’m sorry, but I’m officially foregoing the sodas. First, because they’re bad for yo
u, and second, Phillip was
pissed th
e other night because
they keep
dis
appearing. But more importantly:
they’re bad for you.”

“First, I didn’t tell you about the pork rinds so
you’d feel sorry for me.
And second . .
. you were right. You really are kind of
bitchy.”

I close
my eyes and
rub
the inside corners with my index finger
s.
T
hey fill
with sleep
,
dry and heavy
.
“I
told you if you weren’t careful. . . .
I swear . . . sleep deprivation brings out the worst in me.”

“You know,” he says
, peering inside the bag. “It’s okay. Because ham and cheese is my absolute favorite . . . and an apple? It’s like, the lunch of champions.”

I stifle
another yawn
.
“It doesn’t get much better than that, right?”

“
Only if you were eating with me,
”
he says.

I eye him, unconvinced, but he
’
s serious.
H
e
’s
asking me to spend my lunch break with him?
I
let out a nervous
laugh
. “I’d love to, except I got so much flack last time.
If I do it again
I’ll be forced into some kind of intervention. Why d
on’t you eat with
me
?” I brush
his jacket sleeve with my f
ingertips; the scratched, worn leather
feels
smooth against my skin.
The shabbiest areas show
patches of
gray, but the coat itself looks
warm and comforta
ble and inviting, and I wonder
what it would feel like over my shoulders.
“Come on, I’ll introduce you to Savannah and Ashley . . . they’re
so
great.”

The warning bell rings
overhead, its shrill t
imbre echoing through the halls,
bouncing off c
inderblocks,
traveling. I jump
, instinctively jerki
ng
my hand
away. R
emembering where I am
.
W
ho I’m
touching. We
walk
in step down the hallway,
heading toward English
, my ears still ringing,
humbler after having been called out.

“I doubt that would go over very well.”

It takes
me a
moment to catch on to what he’
s saying. “Oh,” I mutte
r
, struggling to control my disappointment
as we maneuver
throu
gh the crowd.
“You mean Blake.”

“I don’t think he’d appreciate my being there very much.”

I sigh
. “Probably not.”

“But if you chan
ge your mind you know where to find me
.”

We continue
wal
king in silence, letting the
hallway chatter fill the space between us.
I disregard
the occasional s
urprised expression as we pass
, keeping my eyes
straight ahead,
focused
.

“So,” I say
,
nearing
the door to Ms.
Tugwell’s
classro
om. “How long do you think it’
ll take for us
to
fall asleep in this class?”

“
Depends on how warm the room is.” H
e
reaches
for the doorknob. “Let’s at least try to stay awake long enough for her to take attendance. She wants
us to be present,” he continues
, pulling the door open and lettin
g me walk through. “S
he never said anything about
being
coherent.”

*
  
*
  
*

Following this, I experience what’s
probably the longest day of my entire life.
We do
n’t fall
asleep in English, but as the day progresse
s
the lack of rest
ca
t
ches
up
with
me. I zone
in and out of
consciousness, knowing
the notes I’m taking in my classes will
be
unintelligible when I go over them later. I keep my head low
and propped up
with my hand,
disappear
ing
behind the person in front of me, hiding (somewhat ineffectively) from my teachers. 

What’s
worse, my thoughts keep
slipping
, drifting
to the nig
ht before,
migrating to Parker.
He’
s right
: I play it safe and I’m boring. I’m
textbook
Type A
: Ivy League, pre-med, taking on every cause known to man—from feeding the stray cat to filling shoeboxes for needy kids
across entire oceans
.
Active
in the Student Government
Association.
Always v
olunteer
ing
to bake cookies, or decorate fo
r the homecoming dance. T
he first one to arrive and the last person to leave.
The
one student every teacher can
count on to do the optional reading and practice questions.