“Are we seriously still doing this?”
“What, being chivalrous?” I offer her my arm. She denies me and pushes past, heading towards the main courtyard.
“If that’s what you want to call yourself, then live it up, Hawthorne, but you and I both know you are anything but.” She glances over her shoulder. A small hint of a smile has me moving towards her.
“Hungry?” I circle her and start to walk backwards, watching Palmer try to not be amused by me.
“You’re going to run into someone.” Her eyes widen, and she gasps.
I check the pathway and find it clear. She giggles, knowing she got me.
“Will you have lunch with me?” I ask.
“That depends. Will you stop showing up after class, acting like a possessive boyfriend, and making everyone stare at me?” She twirls her finger in the air, warning me to turn around.
I spin and avoid smacking into a group of dancers practicing in the courtyard. Palmer laughs under her breath, and suddenly, I am transported to before, before it all happened. Little moments of light make me believe one day she won’t look at me like the savage we both know I am.
“Please have lunch with me.” I open the door to the cafeteria, holding it for Palmer. “It won’t kill you.”
“No, but maybe you’d like another chance.” Heavy steps carry her to the nearest table, and she slides into the booth, running her fingers over the silverware. “I’m sure there’s something sharp in here that you could slice my flesh with.” She yields a butter knife in her hand, circling it midair in my face.
I bend down, one hand on the table and the other on the back of the booth. She hisses as I rest my mouth against her ear. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
When I stand, I expect her to drive the dull edge into my thigh, but instead, I’m greeted with a surprising smile.
“I’ll take a pretzel,” she says, swallowing heavily with a shallow breath. She opens her mouth again, but I cut her off.
“With all the sauces.” I nod. “I know what you want, Palmer.”
“Okay, then.” She relaxes, turning her attention to the window.
As she watches the snow begin to fall, a magical gleam fills her eyes, experiencing winter from the warmth of the cafeteria. I’ve only seen one other person admire the wonderment of the season like Palmer.
Distracted by a girl who, for all intents and purposes, hates me, I’m jerked back to stark reality by a tap on the shoulder.
“That girl has you boys all twisted up,” Dillon says, reaching past me for a bottle of water and a giant slice of pizza.
“What do you know about it, Johnson?” I cut my eyes at him. “And you’ll play like shit if you eat all that garbage.”
“What I eat isn’t any of your concern. Plus, I don’t play like shit, ever.” He walks around me. “And word is you and the boys found themselves in quite the situation because of her.”
On campus, mouths are always flapping. The shit everyone’s made up after the rooftop incident hasn’t surprised me one bit. People have claimed to witness things that never happened, and others offering their opinions have created quite the storyline for them to try to sort out.
What it’s done is put a bigger target on Palmer’s back. Whoever is out to get her, whoever killed Reed, is still out there. The fucking police in this town are useless.
“Let me guess, dear old dad, has had plenty to say.” I order a pretzel with sauces from the lady behind the counter before facing Dillon again.
“Actually, he hasn’t said a word. Says your girl’s full of shit, and she’s using her poor sister’s death as a way to justify all her lies.” He sidesteps me, the plate in his hands giving me an evil idea. “You always did like the crazy ones. Is their mother next?”
“Fuck you.” I walk past him and slam my closed fist on his tray. The glass plate shatters at his feet, and food splatters across his uniform and shoes. “I take care of my own, Dillon. You would be wise to remember that. It would suck if someone didn’t block for you tonight.”
“Is that a threat?” he yells across the cafeteria.
I stop at Palmer’s side and place her food in front of her. Twelve steps bring me back in Dillon’s face, nose to nose. My fists itch, ready to throw a punch. One quick check over my shoulder, and I know I can’t. Palmer’s eyes beg me not to do what instinct tells me needs to happen.
“She’s got you soft, Hawthorne.” He chuckles. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Nothing about me is soft, and I never make threats. Watch your back, asshole.” I rush back to Palmer, and try to relax. My heart thumps against my chest, angry and fueled up for a fight.
“That killed you, didn’t it, not throwing that punch he clearly deserved?” Palmer finally says. She pushes the plate across the table to me. “Maybe you’re hangry.”
“He was running his mouth is all.” I pull off a piece. “You see this?” I run my finger over the delicate knots. “This is how you make me feel. Twisted up, knotted in all the right places, to the point of gooey, soft perfection. The old me, the one before you, would have taken him to an inch of his life.”
“But maybe you’re capable of change.”
“Those who respect you don’t ask you to change, Palmer.” I stand. “Enjoy your pretzel.” I pause for a split second and hate myself for it.
What do I expect her to do? Stop me and apologize for something she doesn’t even realize she’s doing? No, and I’m in no position to demand anything of her. This will have to go at her pace with little interference from me.
I’m not a patient boy. She will come off the shelf again, but this time, she’ll be something cherished. Not a toy. Not a collectible. She’ll always be something more than that.
******
“You’ve walked me to and from class for the last three days, Marek.” Palmer stops on the steps of her dorm. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed you making yourself late for football practice. State championships are tonight, right?”
I lower my head and hide my eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Marek, give me a little credit. Your coach is having your ass, isn’t he?”
I glance up and grin, holding my fingers a tiny space apart. “Maybe a little bit.”
She laughs, and it isn’t forced like the few she’s slipped over the last couple of days. Our time together is short-lived here lately. Every second we spend together makes me feel like I can breathe a little easier. I said I’d keep this at her pace, but every day we aren’t together makes the possibility feel less likely. Waiting is something most girls make me do.
“I’ll make you a deal.” She pulls the strap of her backpack a little tighter, gripping it like it will somehow make whatever she has to say easier. “Since you didn’t catch the hint on Monday when you said you’d end this charade, if you stop walking me to and from class like some rabid watchdog, I’ll come to your game tonight,” she offers.
“Seriously?” I lift my eyes, not trying to hide how happy that makes me.
“Will it get you to stop making yourself late?” Her eyes soften as she inspects me.