This time, it’s Oliver who has an idea when I climb aboard. “We disagree about music, right?”
“Very much so.”
“And also about what constitutes meaning in our high school life.”
“Does Theo know you use big words when he’s not around?” Oliver flicks a gum wrapper at me and I flinch backward with a squeal. “Really, what do you see in that dipshit?”
“We’ve been friends since middle school,” Oliver tells me. “We have a history.”
“Our country has a history of denying women’s rights and smoking on airplanes and allowing cousins to marry. Doesn’t mean we still adhere to those things.”
“Are you going to behold my genius or what?” Oliver unlocks his phone and hands it over.
I take it with a show of trepidation and tap the screen to find that his music app is open. In the center of the screen is an icon with the title Sunrise Songs. “All I behold is a cheesy name.”
“Open it.”
I do, but it’s empty, which doesn’t make any sense. “Explanation, please.”
“This is the solution to all our problems. This is the grand prize for the person who proves that their life philosophy is true.”
“This is a playlist,” I tell him.
“Exactly.”
“Are you high?”
Oliver shakes his head. “Keeping my body pure for the football field.”
“Please don’t flex your muscles again.”
But of course he does.
“It’s our morning playlist,” he says. “We’ll listen to it on the drive to school.”
“And yet there are no songs on this playlist,” I tell him. “It’s empty.”
“That’s the part where I’m a genius.”
“That’s the part I find most hard to believe.”
“Listen,” he says. “Learn.”
“Lame,” I say, but wait for him to explain.
“You think high school doesn’t matter. I know that it does.” Oliver pokes me lightly in the arm. “Anytime one of us can find a reason to support our side of that particular conversation—”
“Argument.”
“Whatever. We get to add a song to this playlist. Then we can let it shuffle and repeat in the mornings. More wins for you means more of your screamy music on the list.”
I’m skeptical. “But the argument—”
“Conversation.”
“It’s subjective. There’s no definitive answer. I will naturally come up with brilliant ways to prove that I am right”—Oliver snorts—“but that doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll concur.”
“We’ll have a gentleman’s agreement.”
This time, I am the one who snorts. “You hang out with people who shave male parts onto people’s heads. Nothing about you is gentlemanly.”
He gives me a look of mock offense. “Everything about me is gentlemanly. But fine. We’ll just find someone who can be objective.”
“I nominate Itch,” I say.
“Then I nominate Ainsley.”
I sigh. “Obviously my answer is no.”
“And obviously mine is the same.”
I look down at his phone again. It’s a fun idea; I’ll give him that. It adds a little competition to our morning routine. I mull over the details. “I have some additional rules.”
“Hit me.”
“Don’t tempt me.” I hold up a finger. “Proofs may only be given on school premises and during school hours. First bell to last bell. I don’t want you drunk-texting me in the middle of the night.”
“What about football games?” Oliver asks. “School dances? Pep rallies?”
“Approved.” It’s an easy give, since I wouldn’t be caught dead at any of those. “If we are both present at a school-sanctioned event, it can be considered legitimate grounds for offering a proof.”
“I have one more rule to add,” Oliver says. “One shot per day. I don’t want to be overwhelmed by your screamo.” I smile at him. “What?”
“You think I’m going to win.”
“In your dreams, Rafferty.”
I’m waiting outside the family sciences room when Oliver emerges. He looks surprised to see me. “What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing,” I tell him. “Except for this: college.”
Oliver blinks. “College?”
“College. Classes are harder. Relationships are more important.”
“That is subjective.”
“Also, you can drink openly at a bar. My point is that everything happening now will just happen again in college but will be bigger and better. Don’t you see? College itself nullifies the importance of high school….What?”
Oliver is shaking his head. “Really? This is your opening shot?”
“It’s legit!”
“It’s weak.”
I glare at him. “You said you were going to be a gentleman about this.”
“We need a judge.”
“An impartial judge,” I remind him.
“I’ll ask around. Please consider your first proof as remaining unconfirmed.”
He heads down the hallway. “Not Theo!” I call after him, and he waves back at me over his shoulder.
Over lunch, Darbs regales us with a description of how Yana-the-new-girl is definitely vibing her. “It’s her hair,” she tells Itch and Lily and me.
I’m sure everyone else’s look of confusion mirrors my own. I search my memory. “Blond, right?”
“Honey blond,” Darbs says dreamily. “Golden blond. Long and straight but not too straight. A little tangled, like she’s been at the beach, lying out in the sun…” Her voice trails off. Lily and I exchange glances. Darbs shakes out of her reverie. “Except get this: today she comes into English and she picks a new seat. There are plenty of open chairs—plenty—but she doesn’t go to the one in the third row by the windows, where she’s been every other day. No, she turns left and she walks past the bookshelves, and she sits directly in front of me.”
“Is there any chance,” Itch asks through a mouthful of pizza, “any chance at all that she simply wanted a different vantage point?” I elbow him in the ribs. “What? It’s a legitimate question.”
“You’re a legitimate asshole,” Darbs informs him. “She made a deliberate choice to be near me. I could tell.”
We’re all thinking the same thing, but I’m the one who says it. “How?”
“I’m glad you asked,” says Darbs. “We didn’t make eye contact—”
“Huh,” says Itch.
“Shut up,” Lily tells him. “Go on, Darbs.”
“—but right after she sat down, she kind of moved her head a little so her hair would swing around. You know, so she’d have my attention.”
Darbs is definitely a little crazy, but she’s also my friend. She deserves respect. “Then what?”
“She’s got like five elastic bands around her wrist. She slides the purple one off…” Darbs gestures to her indigo head. “Purple.”
“Hold on,” Itch says. “If she’s sitting in front of you and facing forward, how can you even see any of this?”
Darbs gives him a solemn look. “She’s angled in her seat. Like just a little diagonally.”
We all sit in silence for a moment, until Lily points something out: “You were tilted forward, weren’t you? You craned.”
“Fine.” Darbs shrugs. “I craned, whatever. Anyway, she lifts her hands back to her hair, and she does it all slow and sexy-like. She pulls her hair up into a ponytail and guess what?” Darbs pauses theatrically.
“What?” This time, Lily and I both ask. Itch only shakes his head.
“Like four or maybe even five strands of her hair underneath are dyed.”
“Purple?” I ask.
“Well…blue,” says Darbs. “But dark blue. Navy blue. In the rainbow, it’s next to purple.” She sits back and folds her arms. “Totally vibing me.”
“Totally vibing you,” Lily and I agree.
“What the hell,” says Itch.
I turn to admonish him, because that’s just rude, but I see that he’s not talking to us. He’s looking at something.
It’s Shaun, making his way up the bleachers toward us, which would be totally normal, except that Oliver is following him.
Holding a tray.
For no reason whatsoever, light heat prickles up my neck and into my cheeks. I duck my head and take a bite of my sandwich to camouflage my (ridiculous) reaction.
Even the losers on the first row are watching with curiosity as Shaun and Oliver plop down with us. Shaun gives a general wave to the whole group, but Oliver greets everyone individually by name, except for Darbs. He juts out a hand to her. “I’m Oliver. I don’t think we’ve ever actually spoken.”
Darbs doesn’t take his hand. “I know who you are.”
Oliver lowers his arm. The moment stretches into a standoff, both of them unmoving, staring straight at each other. I catch myself wondering if Darbs is noticing the gray part of his eyes also.
She points to her head. “How do you like my hair?”
He looks her over. “Cool. Last year was green, right?”
“Turquoise.” Darbs holds out a bag. “Chips?”
“Thanks.” Oliver takes one and the moment is over.
Shaun clears his throat. “Everyone done peeing on the bleachers?”
“I am,” says Darbs.
“Me too,” says Oliver.
“I don’t have to pee,” says Lily.
Itch and I don’t say anything.
Shaun gestures at me. “Oliver asked me to settle a bet between him and June.”
I feel two things: Itch’s stare and my cheeks blazing up again.
“June,” says Oliver, “will you accept Shaun as our impartial judge?”
“It’s just a game,” I say. “And sure. Shaun is fine.”
Shaun reminds everyone of our morning carpool arrangement. Lily shakes her head. “No, really. What do you talk about?”
“They don’t,” says Shaun. “That’s why there’s a game.” He turns to me. “When are you going to get your license, anyway?”
I’m unprepared to answer that question, so I say the first thing that comes to my mind. “I’ll get to it.”
“When?” asks Itch.
“When I’m ready,” I tell him, irritated. “It’s not like I even own a car.”
“You worked at the nature center all summer,” Lily says. “You’ve got to have some cash.”
“She spent it on hookers,” says Oliver.
“And blow,” I agree.
Lily and Darbs and Shaun all laugh. Itch doesn’t. “You should get on that,” he says.
“Eh.” Oliver shrugs. “It’s just a license.”
Shaun claps his hands really loudly and we all quiet down to pay attention. He explains the game and I lay out my first proof, just like I did this morning by the family sciences room.
Shaun mulls. He considers. He strokes his chin and says “hmmm” until I kick him in the shin. “Ow!”
“Come on. Lunch is almost over.”
Shaun takes a deep breath. “Okay, I have completed my deliberations.”
“Tell us, O Masterful One,” says Lily.
“Seriously?” I ask her.
“Sorry.” She grins at me. “This is hilarious, you know.”
Shaun clears his throat. “It should be recognized that all decisions of the judge are final. No additional discourse shall be allowed once a verdict has been rendered.”
“Agreed,” says Oliver.
“Agreed,” I say.
“In the case of June Rafferty versus Oliver Flagg, I hereby pronounce in favor of…” We all wait while Shaun does some additional throat clearing and head bobbing. “Oliver Flagg.”
“What?” The word squawks from my mouth. “You’re supposed to be my friend!”
“I have been retained as an impartial judge,” Shaun reminds me. “And in this venerable magistrate’s opinion, it’s just crazy-pants to think that something repeating in the future negates what’s happening in the present. Tomorrow, I’m going to have lunch. That doesn’t mean I didn’t have lunch today.”
“He’s got a point,” says Lily.
I know she’s right but it’s super irritating. Still, I try to defend myself.
“But tomorrow’s lunch might be better than today’s,” I tell Shaun. “I could have more money. I’ll be able to afford better ingredients.”
“Or you might not,” he says. “You might be back in the cafeteria eating wilted salads and dry spaghetti.”
“I won’t.”
“But you might. And in other news,” Shaun continues, “I believe Oliver has a proof of his own to share.”
My eyes narrow. I whip my head around to glare at Oliver. “Really.”
“Why, yes. And I have you to thank for it.” Oliver gives me the sweetest of smiles. “What you said about college really hit me. You’re right, you know. All that cool stuff will happen in college. However”—he leans in close—“you know what determines what college you get into?”
My shoulders slump and I know I’ve been defeated. “High school.”
Oliver doesn’t say anything. He just raises both hands in the air and starts snapping his fingers and moving his shoulders in time to an imaginary beat.
“You have no rhythm,” I tell him.
“He’s not so bad,” says Lily, starting to snap along. Darbs grins and joins in. Shaun, too.
“This is the worst,” I inform everyone as, in the distance, the bell rings.
Oliver rises, still snapping. “Foreigner,” he says as he jumps one bleacher down from where we are. “Poison.” He jumps down another. “Warrant.”
“What are you doing?” I ask, exasperated.
“Torturing you,” Itch tells me. “Those are the names of crappy bands.”
Below, Oliver takes several leaps in a row, calling out more inscrutable words with each one. “Whitesnake! Starship! Night Ranger!” He reaches the bottom and turns to face me. “Bad English!” he yells before taking off toward the school.
I shake my head and turn to Itch. “I hate my life.”
“You should,” he says.