“She’s amazing. Quirky, but amazing.”
“And who’s Stella? Wait . . . does she coach volleyball, too?”
I nod. “Yes. Stella Garcia. She teaches Spanish.”
“Ahhh.” A large smile crosses her face.
“What do you know?” I ask. “I barely know any gossip around here since I’m new, and my two friends tend to stay out of it.”
“You’re probably aware that Arlo’s best friends are Gunner and Romeo?”
“Hard to miss that,” I say, picking up my sandwich and taking a bite. Oddly, I offer it to her, but she just laughs and shakes her head. Yeah, didn’t think so, but it’s nice to be polite.
“The boys come over on occasion, and I like to sit at the top of the stairs and listen to their conversations.”
“Like any good sister would.” I laugh.
“Obviously. As a little sister, I have responsibilities, eavesdropping being one of them. Anyway, I’ve heard Romeo mention Stella a few times.”
“Really?” I grow closer to my desk, a huge smile on my face. “Like . . . romantically?”
“Well, they haven’t done anything, at least not that I know of. All I know is that Romeo has the hots for her.”
“The hots.” I laugh out loud. “That’s amazing.” I go to take another bite of my sandwich but pause. “You know, I’ve noticed a little affection when those two are around each other, but I’m not sure anything is going on. Stella would have told me by now.”
“He’s totally pining after her. I’ve never seen her, but all I’ve heard is what a great ass she has.”
“I mean, she does have a terrific butt.” Leaning back, I say, “I’m so glad you came into my classroom.”
“Me too. This lunch is way better than the one I planned on having with Arlo. And can we point out how rude it is that he’s not here? He’s standing me up.”
“Not sure if he’s standing you up. More like trying to get to the bottom of the pranks . . .”
Oh shit, my words trail off and fear immediately creeps up the back of my neck as I slowly look up at Cora.
“Pranks as in . . . the stink bomb?”
I swallow hard. “Uh, yeah, something like that.”
“Hold on.” She lays her palms flat on the desk in front of her. “Are you telling me you know something about the pranks Arlo has been bitching about for the last three weeks?”
I twist my lips to the side, contemplating what to say. At this point, there’s some association with me since I mentioned it, so might as well see how strong this bond can be with Arlo’s sister.
“What’s your take on girl code? Is it being upheld right now?”
“Are you kidding? I need friends other than my moody brother. Please let me prove to you how strong my girl code is.”
I chuckle. “I’m trusting you,” I say playfully.
She crosses her heart. “I am your human vault of information. Lay it on me.”
On a deep breath, I say, “I’m the one who’s been pranking Arlo.”
Throwing her head back, she lets out an enormous laugh and then claps her hands, her bracelets jangling against her wrists, making the outburst even louder. “Oh, that’s amazing. So, the girl he can’t stand, the one who he calls names, she’s the one who has been pranking him this entire time? The stink bomb, the chipmunk voice . . . the blue pee, that was all you?”
“I had help, but yes.”
“Oh my God, you’re my new hero.” She laughs some more and then reaches into the brown paper bag, pulls out a wrapped-up sub, and unravels the foil. “Do you realize how much you’ve aggravated him? He was telling me just last night after the whole peeing blue incident—which, by the way, best thing I’ve ever heard—that he was starting to worry about going into school.”
“He did not say that.”
Exaggerating, she nods with gusto. “Oh, yes, he did. Is that why he’s with Romeo and Gunner right now?”
“I’m assuming that’s the case. Keiko might have let it slip about the pranks yesterday, and he’s sniffing out the culprits. I’m hoping the boys take the blame. They were part of it, after all.”
“How so?”
“They helped distract him so I could do the dirty work. Had to trade in my time with the teachers’ league—”
“Ugh, that stupid thing. Arlo talks about it every year, how they never win and how they could use the ten thousand dollars.” She haphazardly waves her hand in the air. “He ends up donating the money anyway.”
That gives me pause.
“He donates ten thousand dollars to the school every year?”
“Don’t think that’s any of your business,” Arlo snaps from the doorway of my classroom.
Crap.
Heat floods through my veins as embarrassment washes over me from being caught talking about him without him being present.
“There you are,” Cora says, wrapping up the sub and plopping it in the bag. “Way to stand your sister up after you begged her to bring you lunch.”
Eyes trained on me, irritation clear, he says, “I didn’t beg you, and I had some business to take care of.”
“Well, that business forced me to start eating without you.”
I quiver under his stare as he says, “Coraline, meet me in my classroom. I won’t be long.”
“Uh . . .” She glances between the two of us. “You’re not going to be mean to her again, are you? You know she’s more than just a babysitter.” Cora’s eyes widen and she turns to me quickly. “Oh shit, that wasn’t part of the girl code, was it? I swear I’m better than that.”
“No, he knows he said that already.”
“Okay, good.” She picks up a pen off my desk and jots a number down on a Post-it note. “Call me, Greer. I’d love to hang out some more.”
“You two are not hanging out,” Arlo seethes.
Calm and collected, Cora walks up to her brother and pats him gently on the cheek. “You’re cute, thinking you can control our lives. Don’t be long, brother, I might just dive into your sandwich as well.”
Cora gives me a quick wave and then is out the door, shutting it behind her.
Trying not to wilt under his stare, I stand from my desk, round it, and sit on the corner. His eyes travel my body, not hiding the blatant once-over. And even though I wish I could say the way his eyes travel up my body—greedy, hungry, angry—doesn’t affect me . . . it does.
It causes my chest to quake, my throat to tighten up, and my palms to break out in a sweat.
Under his stare, I flatten my hands down the front of my dress, wishing I could read his mind. Wishing I knew how to change this hate-hate relationship to something that isn’t so volatile.
But from the determination in his eyes to speak with me, I’m going to guess we’re continuing down the hate-hate path.
He closes the distance between us, and the intoxicating smell of his leather and spice scent pushes into my breathing space, taking up unwanted room. His deep, intimidating voice seethes through the dense quiet of my classroom when he says, “I know it was you.”