“Isn’t it? I know this is going to come as a surprise, Mom, but I didn’t do any of this so I could be with Blake or so I could sit at the cool kids table in the cafeteria.”
“Okay, fine. Then why did you do it, Chloe?”
That stops me cold because I don’t have an answer. I was happy on the fringe. I wasn’t some school pariah with no social life and no prospects for the big dances. But I wasn’t popular either. And I was always fine with that.
I think of Maggie’s face in the hallway, her eyes so flinty.
God, what did I do? Is she right? Am I suddenly desperate to be cool? Was my entire summer some sort of late-onset in-crowd fever?
Mom rinses her coffee down the sink and shakes her head. “Please don’t misunderstand me. It’s been a surprise, Chloe. The tutoring, the grades, all of it. But no one’s happier about your recent choices than I am.”
I laugh weakly. “Yeah, I’m finally becoming the daughter you’ve always hoped for.”
“You’re finally living up to your potential,” she corrects without flinching. She checks the clock on the microwave and sighs. “I’d better go. I’m meeting your dad at the garden center.”
I nod because God knows this is going nowhere. Mom stops on her way out, glancing at the picture on top of the stack.
Stacey Moss, Abbey Binns, Kayla Parkerson, me…and Julien Miller.
“You must miss her,” Mom says.
I startle a little, surprised she hadn’t already left.
“What do you mean?”
“Julien. You two were pretty close before she left. I was really worried about you when she moved. You were…torn up about it.”
I shrug and hide my hands under the table. I don’t want her to see me shaking.
Mom seems a little lost in her own memories. “You never told me what you were working on that night.”
“What do you mean?”
“The night she left. I tried not to pry. I know Julien had some…issues. You didn’t ever want to talk about it. But I was scared that night.”
“Scared?”
“Yes, Chloe, scared. You locked yourself in your room and worked on your computer all night long.”
My blood runs cold in my veins. This was all news to me. I clear my throat to make sure my voice doesn’t shake like my hands.
“I just needed to work through some things,” I say. “I’m better now.”
She kisses my forehead and leaves, happy to believe me. Happy to accept anything that will convince her I am still the new, perfect girl wants me to be.
Chapter Ten
I hate the bench outside the principal’s office. Nothing good ever comes from sitting here. The first time I perched my fanny on this slab of wood, I was waiting for my mom to pick me up when my granddad died. The second time was when Maggie and I got nailed at Starbucks during school hours and had to wait for detention slips. Today, I’m waiting so I can lie to the secretary.
Mrs. Love is a thin blond who was the prom queen, the head cheerleader, and the girl everyone thought would end up in Hollywood twenty years ago. Now, she’s the school secretary. I’m never quite sure whether or not I should feel sorry for her for that.
“Chloe? Chloe Spinnaker?” she calls, as if the office is swarming with Chloes and she has to be sure she has the right one.
I approach the tall desk, tipping my head. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Mrs. Love, but I had something special I thought you might be able to help with.”
“Well, things are pretty busy. Thanksgiving’s coming.”
Mrs. Love has a serious commitment to things like pasting paper turkeys and pilgrim hats and other seasonal stuff around the school. “I know,” I say, feigning empathy. “But it’s my senior year and you know my summer study group?”
She brightens at that. “Of course I do. I was the one who framed that newspaper article about your scores. Have you seen it?”
I wince, feeling kind of guilty. “I’m sorry, I haven’t.”
“Well, it’s right in the trophy case,” she says, looking a little put off. Does she really think that anyone who isn’t wearing a letterman’s jacket ever checks the trophy case? I’ve never looked at it, unless you count using the reflection from the glass to check my teeth after lunch.
I smile anyway. “That’s sweet of you. I’ll check it out.”
“So what can I help you with?”
“I’d like to send the SAT group a Christmas card,” I tell her. “Something handmade and special. But I want to make sure I don’t leave anyone out or spell anyone’s name wrong.”
“Okay,” she says, blinking up at me with vacant eyes.
“Well, I was hoping you might have a list here at the office.”
Mrs. Love’s mouth forms a perfect pink o and then she looks around. “Now, Chloe, you really should have this information from last year, shouldn’t you?”
“I know I should. I just went a little crazy deleting emails, and I thought I had a copy, and I don’t.”
God, I’m laying it on thick. Apparently, she’s buying it though, because she gives me a tight smile and hits a few keys on her computer. Next thing I know, two sheets of paper churn out of the printer. “I think it’s good to stay connected with your school friends. You’ll never have this time again, so cherish it.”
“I promise I will,” I say, biting back the urge to tell her that it might be okay for her to stop cherishing.
“Well, good luck with it,” she says.
I thank her with the first genuine smile I’ve worn today. I don’t even give the paper a glance until I’m out of the office and away from the windows where she might see me.
The hallway clock tells me I have twelve minutes of my lunch period left, so I scan the list of names quickly. There’s more than a dozen. Maybe eighteen. I remember seeing some of them when I signed up for the group last spring. Blake, of course. Back then, he was still like a Greek god to me. Seeing his name near mine on a list was enough to make my palms sweaty.
Another name jumps out at me, though I already knew I’d see it here. Julien Miller. I find Adam’s name too, to my surprise.
I fold the papers and tuck them into my purse and head inside. I’ve got government next, which is almost as interesting as watching paint dry. I thought I was supposed to be a super study girl now, but Mr. Morris still talks like a grown-up on the Charlie Brown specials. Everything is “mwah-mwah-mwah” and I just can’t focus.
Especially when I start thinking about the names on that list.
Adam doesn’t need a study group. Blake either.
For that matter, neither did Julien, but I could kind of buy it with her. She’s a Miller for God’s sake. If there’s a committee in Ridgeview, a Miller is on it. Going to pointless meetings is in their DNA. And Blake’s always been one to go the extra mile.
But Adam? No way. His name was an inside joke on every dean’s list for the past three years. You can see the slow simmer of resentment in the teachers’ eyes when they call on him, wishing just once he’d give the wrong answer. But he never does. He never misses a beat and he never mouths off. Just delivers his response in that low, I-couldn’t-give-two-shits voice of his.
I bite my lip, thinking about the way his dark hair tends to slide into his blue eyes. God, I have it so bad for this guy. I seriously have to get my crap together.
The final bell rings. I dodge at least six people that want to discuss the weather, my hair, the truth about fair trade coffee—anything. I’ve been popular for like ten minutes, and I think I’m starting to hate it.
I’m trying to get to the bathroom when Blake rounds the corner, sporting a wide grin as he reaches for me. “There you are, babe. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”
Yeah, probably because I am avoiding him.
“I know,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“No big deal,” he says, taking my books and then pulling me in.
There’s no getting out of this kiss. I’ve avoided too many and stiff-lipped him through at least as many more.
I tip up my head, letting him catch my lips. It’s soft and warm and so damn weird. I feel my shoulders tense, my hands like dead weights at the end of my arms.