“Prove it today at three.”
“Pass, jackass. I have cheer practice. Also, a life.”
“The whole point of cheer is to help the football team,” Esme argues, simply to defy me. She’s still butthurt about me getting cheer captain. But the thing about Esme is she fat-shames everyone into believing they can’t consume anything more than Diet Coke. Nobody wants her to be in charge of the homecoming snack menu, let alone the cheer team.
“No can do, se?or douchebag.” I grab an apple from his tray and take a bite before I realize what I’m doing.
“Cheer practice is at three thirty. You’ll make it.” Blythe munches on her lower lip. Marx, I hope teenage girls grow out of the need to form alliances with The Boys Club.
“Fine. Whatever.” I stand, grabbing my red plastic tray. Sauntering out of the cafeteria, I swallow the ball of tears in my throat. I don’t want to face Penn. I know it’s stupid because we live together now, and it’s inevitable, but I hate the look on his face when his eyes land on mine. He sees past my exterior and that scares me.
The rest of the school day is a dud even though I keep my head up and my smile extra glossy. It doesn’t help that Blythe and I show up in the same Reformation dress, and all I could think was that we also share the same taste in guys.
Only Penn was never in my bed.
He kissed me just to show me that he can. Then he ripped the sea glass necklace from my throat and told me he didn’t want my firsts.
My heart clenches with every tick, tick, tick of the clock. It’s like a ticking bomb, and when it hits three, the ring of the bell explodes in my ears. Gus waits outside my class, his elbow slumped against the doorframe, his ball cap backward. He pops his gum in people’s ears as the pupils file out of class, and when I slip out, he peeks behind my shoulder and flicks his nose with his finger, sniffing.
“Isn’t that the classroom where your parents boned?”
How does everyone know that?
Because they all have parents who are alumni. People talk. People always talk.
“Let’s just get this over with.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He pushes off the doorframe, and we both make our way toward the entrance and out the school gates. I try to tell myself that it is in Penn’s and my best interest to act as if we don’t know each other. This doesn’t have to be a disaster. If anything, it’s an opportunity to prove to Gus that nothing’s going on between us. I would die before ever admitting to dating a Las Juntas rat.
As we approach the gates, I spot Penn leaning against his brand-new silver-blue Prius. I bite down on my lip to suppress a snicker. Dad got him the car from a fair-trade coffee-sipping environmentalist who thinks white sugar is akin to pure heroin. Penn’s arms are knotted on his chest, and he is wearing a pair of Jax Teller Ray-Bans and a frown. His black shirt has a hole where the heart is, and his black skinny jeans highlight how tall and trim he is, especially for a wide receiver. Gus, in comparison, looks like a tank (and has about the same IQ as one).
Gus and I stop in front of Penn, far enough away to indicate this is not a social call on both ends. It feels like wielding a sword, and Gus hasn’t seen Penn’s yet, but it already has my blood on it from this morning when he promised to conquer my land and overthrow me.
“Howdy, asswipe.” Gus thrusts his hand Penn’s way for a fist bump.
“I see you brought some muscle,” Penn ridicules me. He leaves Gus’s fist to hang in the air until it drops. “Is she going to bore me to death talking about hair straighteners? Is that your strategy?”
Gus looks back and forth between us, whistling long and low.
“Oh, shit. I thought you two were banging for sure when Daria showed an ounce of emotion when you got your ass kicked by a sophomore. This bitch’s icy heart wouldn’t melt in a desert.”
“We are in the desert, idiot.” I roll my eyes.
“Exactly!” Gus wiggles his eyebrows. “How’re things, Penn? How’s your girl?”
Penn has a girl? That makes no sense. He kissed me yesterday. My heart starts beating way too fast.
“Not your business,” he snaps.
“Let’s get to the point. I have cheer practice.” I wave my hand.
“I think the point is you don’t belong in this conversation,” Penn says in that lazy, unaffected way that drives me nuts. “Gate’s that way, use it.” He motions for the school entrance.
Gus snickers, clapping Penn’s shoulder.
Okay, that’s it. Being a dick at home is somewhat acceptable, but in public? It’s a declaration of war.
“I think I’ll stay.” It’s my turn to cross my arms over my chest. “To translate your language to Gus. He doesn’t speak fluent white trash.”
“And you do?” Penn curves a devastatingly sophisticated eyebrow.
“Burn!” Gus fists the air, laughing. “Shit, you two hate each other. That’s hot.”
No joke.
Before I can think about the meaning of my words or their effect, they rush out of my mouth in a desperate plea to defend my honor.
“Fluent, actually. Your sister taught me.” I smirk.
In my defense, I hate myself even before the words leave my mouth. After they do, it feels like my heart is a sieve and all the poison gushes out. I can’t believe I just said that. I’m not even surprised when Penn’s face morphs from bored to fuming. His nostrils flare, and he removes his shades, his eyes narrowed into hooded slits.