CHAPTER 14

Jessy's always early to English. This morning I am too, looking up from her seat, my arms folded. "I know you took my poem." She stops in front of me, avoiding my gaze. "I'm sorry, okay? I need to be on Carla's good side. I'm not like you. You don't need her. She knows it." I shake my head, but I can't find it in myself to be angry about the poem because I know what it feels like to want approval. "Carla's going to turn on you again if you don't give her enough to shit on people." "I think I gave her enough." she says softly. I move back to my seat, and the room fills. Brandon strides in, but there's no sign of Timothy. Where he is? "Ugh! I've been trying to finish the fourth book you sent me since he weekend." Avery says, dropping her things on her desk right before the bell. "It's just getting real, where she's blown off her entire family and set off with this guy around the world even though he's keeping secrets from her. But debate's brutal, and I was sequestered all night. And student council.." Timothy walks in the door, and suddenly Avery's talking Greek because I don't get a word after my gaze locks on his tall frame, his messy hair, his cut jaw. The casual way he drops his books on the desk, then looks toward the back of the classroom. My breath sticks in my throat when his attention lands on me and his eyes warm. "Morning." he mouths. God, strike me down if that's not the sexiest thing I've ever seen. "Hey." I mouth back. The teacher starts, and as Timothy turns toward the front of the room, I face palm. Hey? That's the best I can do? Wait. This is Timothy we're talking about. I don't need to try to impress him. Except I want to. Fuck my stupid heart, but I want him to think I'm the coolest girl he's ever met. He knows you're not cool. You walked into his pool house, yelled at him, started crying, and he still kissed you. I bite my lip as I stare at the back of his head through the rest of class. "You think Gatsby applies universally?" Avery gripes at the end. "It's about the rise and fall of the American dream." I respond, distracted. "It's more relevant now than it was in Fitzgerald's time. Today, the super-rich are people like Gatsby, new money from tech and finance, but there's more inequality than ever." "East or West, who the fuck cares? This place is full of eggheads." "Avery." I say, unable to keep it in any longer. "Timothy kissed me last night." "And it was so good you didn't call me immediately and instead lay in bed, staring out the window at the pool house, while you rubbed one out, like Gatsby looking at his damned green light?" I cock my head at her as we head out of class. "Oddly poetic." "Tell me I'm wrong," she says as we pull up next to our lockers. I flick the lock and jerk the door open. "I didn't stare out the window at the pool house while I got myself off, but I did leave the curtains open." Her laugh has me shaking my head. After leaving Timothy with Brandon last night, I tried to rehearse, to do homework, to play with Sofia while Haley worked in the kitchen and my Dad watched his favorite home reno show, but eventually I gave it up and dragged my ass upstairs. And yes, I made myself come thinking of Timothy. Its hard not to. The guy's a walking orgasm. Its not even about sex, which a few weeks ago I couldn't have cared less about but suddenly feels more important than final exams, world peace, and what's for breakfast put together. Its the feeling that every second we're in the same room and I can't touch him, can't feel the warmth of his body, can't smell his sunshine and cedar scent is a waste. Being closes to Timothy isn't something that I "want". Every part of my body insists that its necessary if I'm going to keep breathing. I know its stupid and high school, but I can't let go of it. But even if some part of him does want me, he's not impulsive like I am. He holds the world at a distance, and after learning how his Dad treated him, I understand why he has trouble trusting. And there's a more immediate problem. If my Dad finds out, he'll lose his shit, but he won't take it out on me. He'll take it out on Timothy. Which means he can't find out. "Well, if you want to know for sure what's in his head..." Avery points at a sign hanging in the hall. I laugh. "Prom is a four-letter word, Avery. And its this weekend, and we're juniors." "Timothy's not. Get him to take you. Just the thing to take the edge of exams looming a few weeks away, where boyfriends and boy toys alike come to frolic under guise of darkness." I turn to follow Avery's gaze and see a familiar outline at his locker with Brandon. Avery slams her locker and walks toward him. I trot after her, cursing. "Hey! Timothy!" Avery calls. He turns, his attention landing briefly on her before flicking to me. "Hey! Avery. Emily." His gaze travels down my body and back up again, and I want to squeeze my thighs together. I soak in the sight of him, his messy dark hair, the strong shoulders under his jacket, the loosened tie at his neck. Playing it cool, take two. Except I don't want to. I want to tell him I shaved my legs last night. I want to cup my hands around his ear and whisper the rumor I just heard about our history teacher, and I want to know if he'll laugh when I do. I want to strip the jacket off him, to unbutton his shirt, and... "So, I'm helping with tickets for Prom." Avery plows on. "How many can I put you down for? I have it on good authority you're an excellent dancer." Her eyes turn wicked. Brandon swallows a laugh. "You a good dancer, Avery?" "I'm terrible." she says proudly. "I can make up for it. Go with me." My friend blinks, taken aback. "Um... are you serious, Brandon?" I bite my cheek. "I thought I had a date, but Timothy refused to take me." Timothy flips off Brandon with a smirk. "Okay. Sure, I'd love to." Avery regains her composure, glancing toward Timothy and me. "See, children? Its not that hard." With a wink, she and Brandon set off down the hall. I'm flushed when I turn back to Timothy, tilting my chin up to meet his amused chocolate eyes. "Wow. I'm not sure what happened." I comment. "Me, either." He rummages in his locker for books. His Gatsby paperback falls out of the locker, and we both bend to grab it. My head hit his, and I groan, rubbing the spot as I straighten. "You okay?" he asks. "Knowledge is dangerous." "Not the worst excuse to avoid studying but maybe not a doctrine to live your life by." Timothy grins as he brushes the hair back from my forehead, inspecting the spot where our heads clunked. It stops hurting. Suddenly I'm thinking about how we're a foot apart and what he'd do if I stretched up onto my toes to kiss him right here. Whether he'd pull back with a warning look or exercise his right as prince of entire damned place and press me into the lockers like he didn't give a fuck who was watching. "So, I know you said you don't dance, " I say. "but you've already broken the rule..." "I'm not asking you to Prom, Six." Disappointment floods me. "This wasn't a fishing expedition for a corsage. I just figured it could be fun to go as friends. Now that we're friends again." Timothy turns away, shutting his locker with a click before rounding at me. "I don't do dances." "Right." I look past him. "Guess, I'll see you later, Tim." His mouth twitches. "Not so fast, baby. Walk me to class." I shift my bag over my shoulder, and when I drop my hand, his fingers brushes mine. Every inch of me should not be tingling. I match my steps to his, not wanting to miss that touch. "So, I tried the guitar after you left." Timothy comments. I'm distracted when his thumb starts lightly stroking the back of my hand. "The neck perfect." he goes on. "Twenty-four frets. Its a dream." "When can I see you play it? I mean, hear you play it?" I expect him to say no, but he surprises me."Tonight. After rehearsal." A shiver of anticipation buzzes through my body. "Deal." As we pull up near his class, I add. "You don't think we'll be interrupted by college girls?" We're not even dating, but the idea of him with anyone else has something white-hot streaking through me. "Not my type." Timothy turns to face me, and I miss his touch already. Its that sudden emptiness that has me asking. "I thought high school girls weren't your type?" in a coy voice that isn't mine. Timothy glances down the hall. Before I can breathe, he drags me behind the open classroom door, his hand threading through my hair as his body pins me against a locker. Oh. My. God. Timothy Adams. His kiss is fire. Hard and sharp and branding. His lips skim my jaw, making me tilt my head up to give him even more access. My mouth falls open in shock at the scrape of his teeth along my ear, my breath falling out in pants. "You're cute when you're jealous." he murmurs against my skin. With a last hot look, he slips into class and leaves me thrilled and boneless against the lockers. Rehearsal is fucking brilliant. I'm hitting every song, the dialogue and the choreography. I'm invincible. "Excellent, Emily!" Miss Norma says after we finish the hardest number and I grab my water at the corner of the stage. "Something's really clicking with you. Your costume will be ready for a final fitting the start of next week." My chest expands. "I get to keep the role, Miss Norma?" "You get to keep the role. I know I said I wanted the girl who auditioned, but you're not her. You're better, Ms. Carlton." Hell. Yes. "Thank you, Miss Norma." I want to scream it to the world. I nearly dash off a text for Timothy, but I decided to savor it for a few minutes myself. I run to the bathroom using the few minutes before we start again. When I emerge from the stall, someone's waiting for me. "I have something that belongs to you." Carla leans against the vanity, arms folded. "More poems that happened to find their way into your possession?" I don't bother to sound kind as I wash my hands. "Forget it, Carla. Its over. You lost." Her gaze narrows, cold and cruel. "You're not interested in a letter from someone named Mildred Schein? A woman who says she's your biological mother?" My hand are still under the tap, the hot water stinging my skin. Its not possible, but from her expression, I know its true. "How did you..." "Jessy knew the poem wouldn't be enough to keep me happy for long. That letter though? She can sit at my table through the end of exams for that. Let me tell you, this is some juicy stuff. My Dad has contacts in publishing who'd be very interested in the story." Sweat breaks out on my neck as I reach for a paper towel to dry my hands. "Its not true." She shrugs. "I'm sure a bit of grunt work can undercover the truth. Its amazing what a detective can do, right Emily Carlton?" Panic starts deep in my gut, but I swallow it down. She smiles, and when she lowers her voice conspiratorially, I almost think its genuine. "We all call our parents names, give them hell for their choices. But at the end of the day, its our dirty laundry. And its one thing to argue at the dinner table but something else for the world to tear down your walls, rip away your privacy. Isn't it Emily, dear?!" Her words make me shiver, but I force myself to focus. "What do you want from me, Carla?" Her eyes brighten as she moves closer. "I love when you're not as stupid as you look. If you want your letter back, you'll back out the musical." "No way! Are you fucking insane, Carla?! Opening night's in a week. If I back down, I'll look like an asshole to the entire cast and crew. Miss Norma will never cast me in anything again." "Its not my problem, Emily. Its yours. Think about it idiot?!" My entire body tingles as if my brain's stopped sending blood to my fingers, my toes. "You're doing this for a role? You know how fucked up that is, Carla! You are the one who is idiot!" She smiles. "You're considering letting your entire family get ripped to shreds for role. You know how fucked up that is? I warned you, my dear Emily." she goes on. "Don't take things that don't belong to you. The role. Chris Albright and Timothy Adams." Her eyes flash, and my nails dig into my palms until I swear they draw blood. She brushes past me but stops at the door. "I'll give you until this weekend to decide. I'll have a lot of rehearsing to catch up one. Think about it. Bye, Emily Carlton."