SKYLAR
Zoe and I had fifth period together. She was a gift. Like a Tiffany’s box with blue wrapping paper and a big white bow. We talked fashion and movies and made plans for a slumber party. She was beyond what I had hoped for.
“So, are we going to talk about the big glaring elephant between us or what?” Zoe’s whispered question sent my pulse into hyper speed. Did she recognize me? It’d only been five hours. I didn’t even get a whole day.
“What elephant?” I choked out, wishing our teacher would start talking, and I could avoid this conversation.
“You and Blake.” She furrowed her brow. “Why? What did you think I was talking about?”
My relief was so huge it came with muffled laughter. “No. I-I knew you meant Blake. Of course. I mean, it’s Blake.” Sheesh. I was the world’s worst liar.
Her head tilt and inquisitive stare said she didn’t believe me.
“He, um, asked me out for this Saturday.” I hadn’t planned to say anything, but desperately wanted her to stop examining me. It worked.
She sat straight, muffled a shrill, “Details, details, details!”
“Calm down. There’s nothing to tell. I told him I couldn’t go.”
A bird could have nested in her open mouth. “You said NO? To Blake Mason?” She leaned over and rested her palm against my forehead.
I slapped it away. “Stop.” She didn’t get it. Bringing a guy home to meet my dad was out of the question.
“Do have any idea how lucky you are? You were invited to the head table during your first class. It took me two months before I made any real friends.” Her eyes flickered to a girl at the front of the class, and I wondered if there was more to the story.
I suddenly felt like I should apologize. “I’m not trying to sound ungrateful. It’s just that I can’t.”
“Can’t? Can’t what?”
“Date, okay?” I put my head in my hands, embarrassed. Normal girls dated. Normal girls brought boys over for dinner and family barbeques. Normal girls didn’t have to worry about some hyped-up guy selling her story to TMZ.
Zoe tapped her finger to her lips. “Super strict parents. Should have guessed with the homeschool thing.”
“Something like that.”
Ms. Harrell flipped off the lights by the Smart Board and started to write an equation.
“Don’t worry,” Zoe whispered and winked. “I’ve got it all figured out. I don’t know Blake very well, but Chugger and I were in the same biology group last year.”
I shrank into my chair as she pulled out her phone and started furiously texting. Whatever was happening under Zoe’s fingertips scared me almost as much as cheap polyester. The lies were piling up. One after one, they multiplied. My father always said no lie was small or white or insignificant. And yet, to be normal, truth had suddenly become my enemy.
*
I leaned against the doorframe of my final class and stared at all the missing students from yesterday. One more class. One more chair to find. One more group of girls asking me about Blake Mason.
Three seats remained empty. One in the front and two in the back of the room. I chose solitude and scurried past the curious glances. For once, I understood why Daddy opted to just rent out a restaurant instead of trying to go in disguise. People were much too nosy.
My purse vibrated and I froze. Nobody had that number but my dad, Aunt Josephine and Principal Rayburn. I jerked my bag up, fumbling to make sure something wasn’t wrong.
Unknown: You have Ms. Bakerfield for sixth period? Poor thing.
I checked the room. A blond girl had her phone in her lap, and another guy had ear buds hidden under his long hair. I slouched in my desk, hiding the phone on my lap, and punched in a response.
Me: Who is this?
Unknown: The guy who did all the work in first period.
Me: Cody?
He dropped into the seat next to me, cell phone clutched in his hand. Our eyes met and he smiled. Not Chugger’s cocky smile or the confident swagger that surrounded Blake. A sweet smile, like we were old friends.
Cody: You look surprised.
Me: I am. You haven’t said more than two words to me all day.
Cody: Maybe I’m shy.
The guy could practically have a conversation with just one look. Quiet, deliberate, fascinating, yes, but nothing about his squared shoulders and searching gaze said, “shy.”
Me: I’m not buying that for a second.
Cody: Ok. Maybe I’m intrigued.
My insides fluttered and I peeked at him. He sat back, eyes locked to the front like Ms. Bakerfield was the most interesting person ever. She wasn’t, but Cody might be.
Me: How did you get my phone number?
Cody: I’m resourceful.
Me: You must be. It’s unlisted.
Cody: I’m also a pro at Google, Ms. Rock Star Princess.
My phone suddenly felt like a boulder.
Me: Does anyone else know?
I looked up after typing, my stare icy. I shouldn’t blame him, but I did. He shook his head with an answer that allowed me to take a full breath.
Cody: Don’t worry. I won’t say anything.
Maybe it was the way worry crinkled his brow or the way his shoulders fell forward, but I believed him.
Me: You’d really keep my secret?
Cody: Secret keeping is what I do best.
I inhaled deeply and tried to calm the nerves assaulting my stomach. Even if Cody did keep my secret, the truth was bound to slip out at some point. Not just that Donnie Wyld’s daughter was attending high school in North Carolina, but that the reason was because he was sick. Pictures of my dad would be plastered on every paper in every supermarket with some cheesy headline like, “Rock Star’s Days Are Numbered.”
Me: I actually thought no one would recognize me.
Cody: They probably won’t. I’m a rock junkie. Totally on another level.
I looked sideways at Cody. He had eased back in his seat, one notch above a slouch, and studied me with fascination. He flashed his rare smile and somehow it pushed the storm clouds away.
Me: That’s a bold statement. Especially to someone who knows music as well as I do.
Cody: Test me.
I bit my lip and racked my brain for something that would stump him.
Me: Colitas?
Cody: Hotel California. First verse. Means marijuana in Mexican slang.
Me: I’m impressed.
Cody: Your turn. Dec 9th, 1967. Jim Morrison.
Me: Arrested on stage for causing a riot.
Cody: You might just be my soul mate.
My burst of laughter earned a stern frown from Ms. Bakerfield. I slipped my phone into my bag, unwilling to lose it like she promised would happen my first day. But even without Cody’s words on my fingertips, my body flushed with an unfamiliar simmer. I tried to focus on the lecture. But the part of my brain in charge of analyzing and processing data was turned off. Blocked out by the brown-eyed boy who just made me regret accepting a group date with Blake.