My frown deepens. I look down at the ground in thought as I walk. “You didn’t send the flowers.”
“No.” I can feel his anxiety, but I’m too preoccupied trying to figure out what’s going on to really pay much attention to it. “Maybe your mom’s boyfriend sent her flowers?”
“No, there was a card. They were meant for me.” I stop walking for a moment, searching the crowded halls for another letter jacket.
Maybe it was a prank. Maybe one of the assholes Hunter called friends sent the flowers and it was a mean-spirited gesture. I’m a little murky on their motives, though. While there are some mean ones—Mark Poplowski in particular, and his name does start with M—they aren’t intelligent enough to come up with something deeply diabolical, and I can only think of a couple ways this makes sense.
Scenario one: clueless dumb jock ordered by Hunter to make my life hell while he’s gone sends me flowers on the first day of school with messages I interpreted romantically, but meant to intimidate me with them. Let’s make this year memorable could mean, “We’re going to make your life a living hell this year.” The message about wanting me to know who I belong to could have meant, “We own your ass.” Maybe I interpreted them as possessive by mistake because they accompanied roses which automatically made me think romantic suitor, but then… if this is the motive, this is a lot more effort than these guys have ever put into making high school miserable for me. Up until now, it has mostly been about isolating me and ignoring me; Valerie has been evil, but the guys have never actually been aggressive with me.
Scenario two: jock who isn’t dumb or clueless found out about me and Anderson going out and decided to sabotage our new relationship with the roses. Two ways this could work: one, Anderson could simply get really offended and threatened that another guy sent me roses (which he would find out when I inevitably thanked him for them); or two, I would be turned off by someone I’m barely dating coming on too strong too fast and it would cause a fight.
This is the most diabolical scenario, certainly, but it also seems far less likely since it would require the sender of the roses to know me on a much deeper level than any of those boneheads do.
Scenario three: I don’t have one yet, but surely there’s a scenario I haven’t landed on yet, because really, neither of my first two seem entirely plausible.
“Hello, Earth to Riley.”
My gaze snaps back to Anderson when he waves his hand in front of my face. “Sorry. I disappeared for a second there.”
“Yeah, I noticed. Who sent you flowers?”
“I don’t know. I assumed it was you so I didn’t look any deeper. Now that I know it wasn’t, I’ll find out. I’ll stop by the florist where the order originated after school and ask who sent them.”
They might not tell me. In my head, I start thinking about the area surrounding the florist. We have a quaint little downtown area so there are lots of shops across from each other. If a store across the street had a camera pointed at their door, I could probably see people coming and going into the florist shop. Sure, it could have been an online or phone order, but someone would have had to drop off the necklace. How can I convince whatever business is across the street to let me look at their security tapes?
Anderson snaps his fingers. I look at him, and this time he seems mildly unimpressed. “You disappeared again.”
“Sorry, sorry.” I shake it off. “My inner reporter took over. I was getting ahead of myself, it’s good you stopped me. I’m sure the florist will tell me who sent the flowers if I just ask. I probably won’t have to get all 007 on anyone.”
Cocking an eyebrow, he asks, “Can you get all 007 on people?”
I shrug. “Probably. I might be a little shy in the delivery, but I’m an excellent researcher.”
We slow to a stop outside my classroom, since presumably Anderson is not in the same class. I meant to compare our schedules this morning so we’d know if we’d see each other again besides lunch, but the flower delivery has hijacked my mind all morning and I forgot.
Since he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave and I feel a bit bad for being standoffish with him this morning, we linger outside the classroom and compare schedules now. Unfortunately, we don’t have a single class together.
“Well, that sucks.”
“That does suck,” he says, frowning. “I won’t see you all day.”
“I guess we’ll see each other at lunch,” I offer. “Unless you sit with the jocks, of course. Which you totally can, I didn’t mean I assumed you would sit with me. You don’t have to sit by me if you don’t want to. Actually, it’s probably better if you don’t.”
He frowns. “What? Why would that be better?”
“For you,” I say, realizing I explained that poorly. “The jocks and I aren’t exactly friends, as I’m sure you’ll find out if anyone sees you with me.”
“Why?”
“Really stupid reasons. I had a dust-up with one of them in 8th grade. He doesn’t even go here anymore, but he was their alpha and they’re pack animals, so…”
His frown deepens. “What kind of dust-up?”
“It doesn’t matter, it’s old news. Just… for the sake of making your life easier, it’s probably best to keep it quiet that you’re even hanging out with me until we’re really sure this is going to work. You’re new here and you’re nice; I don’t want to put a target on your back.”
Clearly not taking me as seriously as he should, Anderson rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. You don’t think you’re being a little dramatic? A target on my back?” He laughs, and the sound fills me with a maybe unwarranted sense of dread.
Maybe Anderson is right. Maybe I am making too much of it. Maybe now that it’s senior year, people will be more worried about living their own lives than carrying out the vendettas of a guy none of us have even seen in four years.
“You can sit by me if you want to, but if anyone talks shit about me at your next practice, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I think I’ll take my chances. I still want to know more about this dust-up,” Anderson tells me as I inch toward the doorway. “You’ll have to tell me about it when we sit together at lunch.”
“It’s nothing. He told a lie about me and everyone believed it. It’s boring, really.”
“It must be something if just being seen with you is gonna put a target on my back,” he teases.
I roll my eyes, backing into the doorway of my first class. “All right, I get it, you think I’m being ridiculously overdramatic.” In a show of drama, I throw my arm in the air wistfully. “Be gone, handsome suitor, I have to attend to my studies now.”
“What was I thinking? You’re not dramatic at all.”
“Clearly, you weren’t.” Just as I’m about to turn away, I’m caught off guard by Anderson’s arm around my waist. He tugs me in and my eyes widen in alarm. What is he doing? He can’t hug me goodbye in the doorway. We’re at school, for God’s sake.
I only get a brief glimpse of the fondness in his eyes before he begins lowering his face toward mine. I’m too stunned to react as he briefly presses his lips against mine in an all too casual kiss. Like I’m his to kiss. Like we’ve done it before. Like he has an inherent right to kiss me.