Hunter on everything from whether he owned a pet—no—to his favorite singer—Jack Johnson—before we’d even turned the corner. Of course, his monosyllabic answers gave her plenty of time to talk.
Instead of listening to her, I watched him. He walked gracefully, like an athlete. He had a tiny mole on his left cheek, just where a dimple would be, and whenever Kaylee asked him a question that seemed this side of too personal—like did he get along with his parents—he looked down at the ground before responding.
About five doors away from his drop-off spot, she finally abandoned the one-sided questioning and launched into telling him all about us.
“I’m from here, born and raised. Sad, isn’t it? But Mila’s not. Poor thing moved here from Philly a few weeks ago, when her dad died. We’ve been buds ever since,” she said, hooking her arm through mine and resting her head on my shoulder.
“When her dad died . . .”
I stiffened. Great. Unintentional or not, she’d managed to up my pathetic quotient and spew private details of my life, all in a few breezy sentences.
“Right,” I mumbled. Hunter stopped walking, which had a domino effect since Kaylee currently linked the three of us into some kind of crazy human chain. Kaylee jerked to a stop first, then me. I looked up to see Hunter staring at me over the top of her frizzy head.
“Sorry.”
Sorry. That was all he said. It was what he didn’t say that spoke volumes. He didn’t try to change the subject, or make hasty excuses to leave, the way Kaylee’s friends usually did.
For once, I didn’t feel like having a dead parent was contagious. “Thanks.”
The slam of a nearby locker interrupted us.
“Come on, we’re going to be late.” Kaylee’s voice sounded this side of sulky while her hand tugged on us, prompting the human chain back into motion. “Oh, look. There’s Parker and Ella.” If possible, she sounded even less enthusiastic than before, and I watched in surprise as she ducked her head. Too late. The girls saw us.
Hunter’s head whipped up. I had a sudden impression of a deer in the headlights. I guess the idea of two more girls converging on him was too much to bear. Not that I could blame him, I thought, watching Parker flounce over in skinny jeans, while Ella trotted her shorter legs to keep up. It was kind of like watching a pack of piranhas descend on a particularly tasty fish.
“My classroom,” Hunter said before breaking free and loping ahead.
“Hey, will we see you at lunch?” Kaylee called after him.
He mumbled something about “dunno—forms to fill out” before escaping to the sanctuary of Room 132.
The instant he disappeared around the corner, Kaylee turned on the girls with a fierce scowl. “Less obvious next time, okay?”
I blinked. How could they be any more obvious than Kaylee herself?
But I held my tongue as Kaylee launched into a blow-by-blow of our march down the hall, instead following Hunter’s lead and slipping away to my class. Only, unlike with Hunter, I don’t think anyone noticed.
Until Parker pulled away from the group and followed me, a sly smile on her face. While I paused in surprise, she leaned in close, like she wanted to share something special.
Oh, it was special, all right. “See that?” she whispered, wiggling her fingers at someone in greeting. Even when she was talking to me, I didn’t have her full attention. “It’s happening already. Kaylee’s interest in new toys only lasts so long. You got extra mileage because you were from out of town, but now that Hunter’s around . . .”
She straightened, and her smile widened into a careless grin. “Let’s just say I’ll give you a week, tops, before you’re sitting at your own lunch table in the corner. Even less if you keep looking at Hunter like that. Kaylee doesn’t like to share.”
And then, with a satisfied sigh, she whirled and disappeared down the hall.
I shook my head and entered my classroom, wondering for the billionth time what Kaylee saw in her.
I reached the door that led to my escape path, to the lone bench in the completely ignored courtyard. No other kids to deal with there, just a patch of grass, three overgrown trees, and a slightly lopsided rendition of the school’s cartoon lion mascot.
When I pushed open the door, frigid air blasted my cheeks. The news had called for an uncharacteristically dreary fall week, and so far, the weather was cooperating. A bonus for me, since chill and drizzle never bothered me but seemed to lock the rest of the student body inside.
Well, all except for one.
The door clattered shut behind me, a noise that announced my arrival with gunshot subtlety to the lone figure commandeering my spot.
I inspected him from behind drooping tree branches, completely conscious of the curious eyes peering back at me through a kaleidoscope of red-orange-brown. Hunter didn’t sit on the bench like a normal person. Instead he perched on top of the backrest, his feet planted against the blue boards that made up the seat. His jacket hood was pulled up over his head, his elbows balanced on his knees. Cradled between his hands was a battered book. So much for those papers he had to fill out.
Okay . . . now what? I scanned the tiny oval courtyard for potential escape routes, for any other seating destination that wouldn’t make me look like a giant stalker. But there was nothing, unless I fancied sitting on the wet grass or the dirty and equally wet concrete—neither of which were particularly tempting.
Just when I’d decided that waving and then bolting for the door would be my least embarrassing option, Hunter spoke from beneath his black hood.
“Did I steal your spot?”
“Technically, no. I mean, it’s not my spot. It belongs to the school.”
Heat rushed into my cheeks. Wow. Okay, so yes, technically my words were true, but that didn’t mean I had to go all dork and say them.
Hunter’s soft laugh floated through the courtyard, loosening the knot in my stomach. A second later, my laugh joined his. “I come out here to get away sometimes, but obviously you were here first, so I’ll just leave,” I said.
He scooted over to the far edge of the bench, leaving a gaping expanse of blue wood on the side closest to me. “Plenty of room.”
I caught my lower lip with my teeth. Tempting. Especially considering the alternative—the sense of isolation that ironically grew more pronounced in a crowd. “You
