He grinned. “Hold my hand?”
She grabbed both of them, worry etched into her forehead.
He’d fall off a chair every day if he needed to.
3
If the walls could talk, Wyatt would have let them sing. He stood, books in hand, hip leaned into the locker below his and watched as his girl glided her way to fourth-period art. They’d spent every moment of three weeks together with no mention of any other boy. Wyatt couldn’t help the smile that grew.
A slap on the back brought him out of his reverie. He cringed and pulled his shoulders inward as the sting shot to his toes. He braced, prepared to return fire only to find his best friend.
“What gives, man? That hurt!” Wyatt reached through the top of his T-shirt and rubbed the spot between his shoulders.
“She’s lookin’ good there,” Stuart said. “Mmm, Mmm.”
“Get your eyes off her ass, idiot.” Wyatt rubbed at his back as his eyes moved to the same place as Stuart’s. “And next time, don’t hit so hard.”
With his girl secured in class, Wyatt turned back to find Stuart dumping the contents of his backpack into Wyatt’s locker. “Why?” He pointed into its ten-inch depth.
Stuart continued unloading. He whistled a breathy, out-of-tune melody only he could have found beautiful.
“So, how’s the head?” A grin accentuated his straight teeth, compliments of two full years of braces with Wyatt as the go-to for all whines and complaints.
Head comment aside, Wyatt loved Stuart like a brother. “Been ten days, man. Head’s fine.” Wyatt dug through Stuart’s pile of junk to reach the papers he needed and stuffed them into his own bag.
“Could’a had a recurrence.” Stuart added a lighter punch to Wyatt’s arm and a casual slap to the back of his head.
“What’s goin’ on, man? Why all the physical?”
“Heard you’re goin’ to her house for dinner.” Stuart flung his empty pack over his shoulder, pocketed his hands and walked away.
“Yeah. I told you. So?” Wyatt threw the locker door against its frame, so it snapped in place. Since he and Stuart were headed to the same class, it took only a few strides to catch up to him.
“You been spending every day with that girl.” Stuart’s head hung. “We gotta hang, man. We got senior stuff to do.”
“Oh. My. God.” Wyatt imitated Stuart’s younger sister. He stopped mid-stride, turning toward his friend. Wyatt moved his head back and forth. “You… are… jealous!”
Stuart waved a fist, returned it to his pocket, but not before Wyatt caught the faint smile he’d tried to hide. A girl had never come between them before. Neither dated a lot, and if they did, they doubled.
“Come with. It’s just dinner with her host family. You know, the more the merrier?”
“Nah, man. I’d be third wheel.” Stuart toed a divot in the floor as he slowed to a stop.
“You wouldn’t. She told me there were others our age there. The other girl is really hot too. And dude, it’s at the top-” The flat of Wyatt’s hand measured air above his head. “-of Turner Point.” He took a deliberate step toward Stuart, and with his own fist, punched him in the chest.
The blow knocked him back a foot. A bigger smile emerged. “’K.” Stuart bobbed his head in what Wyatt took as reluctant agreement. “I’ll go. It’s not a dress-up deal, is it?”
At peace with each other, Wyatt shook his head. They bumped shoulders as their tensions dissolved, and in a vie for entry into their class, pressed through the door like a bullet.
“Nice of you to join your fellow seniors,” Mr. Miter said.
Study hall or not, an adult presided over what would become a mêlée. In Wyatt’s case, the coolest, most hip teacher had taken on the responsibility for his senior class.
Wyatt meandered to his desk at the front of the room while Stuart bumped and boogied to his. Behind Wyatt, thirty of his fellow classmates sat, stood, leaned or otherwise engaged with each other. The colors of varsity baseball suited three. Shorts and T-shirts had become more prevalent as the days grew warmer with spring engaged in an early heat wave. Pops from forbidden gum rang out; pencils tapped steadily to unknown beats. Wyatt steeled himself for the onslaught.
He turned to the class. “Ok, guys, let me have it.” Wyatt held his hands outstretched as if to catch a basketball.
The entire class began a monotonous drone at various decibels about homework, the dance, curfews, sports and other topics thrown out all at once.
“Whoa! Who said, and I quote, ‘new girl is an alien’, end quote.” He prided himself in his ability to parse overlapping conversations and reach the real meat, but missed that one.
“Uh-uh. I heard it.” He raised his voice and silenced the entire room. “Whoever said it, fess up.” Wyatt mirrored the position of authority he’d seen his teachers take when they sought vital information.
“Julie did,” two seniors said in tandem.
“Julz?” Wyatt cocked his head in her direction.
In a posture that belied her position as head cheerleader, Julie stood. “I heard from my Dad, who heard from some guy in town.” Her gum popped between her teeth. “The family she’s living with is made up of these sort of amorphous creatures from Mars or somethin’.”
The entire class burst into loud guffaws but not Wyatt. He glared at Stuart, who coughed under his breath while the rest of the class continued their outburst.
The rap of a hand against the desk behind him signaled that they’d gotten too loud.
Wyatt pulled his arms across his chest. “Are you shitting me, Julz?”
“Watch the language, Wyatt,” Mr. Miter said.
“My Dad said it, so it has to be true.” Julie popped her knuckles along with her gum, fluttered her lashes and mirrored Wyatt’s stance.
Where her Dad had gotten that idea and why he’d passed it on to his most blonde daughter made no sense.
“Julz. Seriously. Think about it.” Wyatt gave her a second.
She slid back into her seat, laid her head on her hands.
“No further comments about our school’s guest. Wyatt spread his arms wide with a firm and complete stop at shoulder width. “What else you got?”
The din started anew.
“Lily!” Charley screeched.
Breathless, Lily appeared in the doorway to the bathroom. Charley sat on the raspberry mat, back against the ceramic claw-foot tub. She wrapped her arms around knees pulled tight to her chest as Lily scanned the room.
“What?”
“I have a zit.” Charley’s groan accompanied a drop of her forehead to her knees.
“Oh. My. God. You screamed bloody murder because you have a zit? You’re a teenager!” She motioned throughout the air with her hands, held them palm up, chest high.
Charley popped her head up. “I know… but I’m not really a teenager.”
“You are when you take the body of one.” Lily moved her hands to her hips. “Earth to Charley; come in Charley.” She pointed an accusatory finger in Charley’s direction. “You know that better than any of us.”
Charley puffed out her lip like a small child prepared to compound her unhappiness with tears if she had to. She blew out a deep breath and let her chin fall to her knees again, catching her reflection in the silver knob of the cabinet door.
Lily tapped her foot against the rosewood floor. “He’s gonna be here in ten minutes.”
Charley raised an eyebrow as she turned. “Don’t think I don’t know that already.”
Lily didn’t respond. Instead, she disappeared, leaving Charley to deal with her teenage self on her own.
“Meanie.” She rose to her feet to face the wrath of the mirror. Would it tell her anything new? Face set, she leaned over the counter, prepared to do battle.
“Ahem.” James coughed as he took Lily’s spot at the door minutes later.