“Yes, fine,” I say. “Just…ate a bad breakfast burrito.”
“Gross…”
But it does the trick. I hear a compact snap shut and the click of shoes exiting shortly thereafter.
“Okay. Deep breath.”
I almost missed the bus this morning because I spent so much time fussing over what to wear. Figured if I’m gonna initiate a conversation with the pee-pee-paper prince, I should look as close to a million bucks as possible…but then I discovered that the most expensive thing in my closet is a forty-dollar body-con dress Mama found deeply on sale at T. J. Maxx—and the last time I wore that, my turd-brain chem lab partner held up the round-bottom glass chemical container we were using for our experiment, looked me over lasciviously, and said, “Forget back…baby got flask.”
So that was a no-go.
The bell rings, signaling the end of second lunch/beginning of third.
The time has come.
I exit the stall as a gaggle of cheerleaders come in.
Not even the vaguest peek in my direction.
I push toward the exit and, before I can think too much about it, run my hands over the front of the billowy skirt I threw on when Mama started yelling about “punctuality,” lift my chin, and make my way out into the cafeteria.
Not a single head turns. (Typical.)
Zan is sitting at the far end of his regular table, which should make this easy. Guess it depends on if he resists or not.
I reach the table, and I’m moving fast.
This whole thing is a terrible idea. Maybe I should just keep going. They probably wouldn’t even notice me speed-walking by like a freak-and-a-half.
But then I catch eyes with Jessica Barlow. Who is watching me. She smiles (so weird!), and I force a tight-lipped smile back, but as I pass her, still booking it, her head tilts—quizzically.
No turning back now.
One of the guys tells a joke, and everyone laughs. Zander says something to the black kid sitting across from him (think his name is Finesse?), then sets his water bottle down…which is when I pass behind him, grab his upper arm, and pull.
“Whoa,” he says, and I’m sure he’s looking at me, but I’m trying to maintain my forward momentum, so I don’t look back. I do, however, breathe life’s biggest sigh of relief as I feel his weight give. “Guess I’m being summoned,” he says, and he rises to let me tug him along while everyone laughs.
The sweater he’s wearing must be cashmere or something. It’s by far the softest thing I’ve ever touched. Biceps don’t feel too bad either.
It’s not until we pass through the open doors to the west stairwell that it hits me: I just pulled Zan Mega-Money Macklin from his lunch table in front of everyone. And he actually came. Holy shi—
“So is our final destination inside the building at least?” he says.
I stop and let go of his arm, but now I can’t make myself face him.
Sweet mother of pearl I did not think this through.
“Helloooooo? Kidnapper?”
I take a few breaths and turn around.
God.
The guy looks (and smells) like he just stepped off the cover of the J.Crew Christmas catalog.
It’s disgusting.
He smiles down at me. “Hi.”
“Umm, hi.” I look at my feet.
No, Rico! Chin UP, dammit!
And…Huh. I knew he was tan for a white boy, but his eyes are a lot greener than I expected. His eyebrows are super thick, and he’s got acne along his chin and the ruins of an angry erupted zit in the little crevasse beside his left nostril.
I exhale. And almost smile. “I need to talk to you,” I say.
He chuckles. “I gathered as much from the cafeteria abduction.”
“Oh.” What do I say to that? “Uh, I’m Rico, by the way.”
“Zan.”
I swallow a snort. “I know.”
“So did I,” he says.
Hmm.
“K, I’m gonna come right out with it—”
“That would be nice…Didn’t get to finish my lunch.”
Asshole. “I…need your help.”
“Do you now?” He crosses his arms.
I totally huff. Like so hard my on-the-verge-of-frizzy bangs flutter. He’s kind of frustrating. And he smells really good. It’s confusing.
“Yeah. I do.”
“Aren’t you the same girl who avoided me like the plague when I stepped into your place of employment on Christmas Eve?”
Is he for real? “My ‘place of employment’? Who even talks like that?”
“Admit it. You were totally dodging me.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“Fine.” He shrugs and turns to leave.
“Wait, no!”
“So you were avoiding me, then?”
“This is completely irrelevant to—”
“My food is waiting….”
UGH!
“Okay, fine. Yes, I was avoiding you.”
He nods. “That’s what I thought. Now how may I be of service, dear Ri—”
The bell rings.
I smack my forehead, and his brows dip just the slightest bit. The weird green eyes burn a haphazard trail as they roam all over my face, and his head drifts toward his shoulder until he looks like he’s examining a piece of abstract art from another angle or something.
It’s unnerving. Especially since he oozes wealth.
I can’t look at him anymore. “Can we talk after school maybe?” I say as my gaze falls. “I have to work four to eight, but maybe you could meet me at Tensonwood Park at three-thirty? It’s down the road from the Gas ’n’ G—”
“I know where Tensonwood Park is, Rico.”
I clench my teeth. Not sure why I wasn’t expecting him to be this arrogant.
A hundred and six MIL.LI.ON, Rico!
Gulp down my dignity and force myself to make eye contact again. “Please?”
He rubs his chin and stares up at the ceiling in pretend thought as the stairwell starts to fill. Then back at me. “No more avoidance?”
Egomaniac. “No more avoidance.”
“Promise?”