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Pen and I cross to the front doors, me carrying her bag so she can haul her box. Packs of uniformed students laugh and shout in thehalls.
On the way to our lockers, my gaze lands on a poster. “Musical auditions are happening next week.The LittleMermaid.”
“You gonna do it?” Pen asks, dropping the box on the floor and yanking open herlocker.
I recall Tyler’s incredulity that I haven’t been doing any music lately. I love music, and I have a decent voice. As a kid, I took the entire conservatory piano curriculum. And I can mess around on guitar, though not “win a Grammy every other year” well, which seems to be the median in myhousehold.
But there’s something different about being on stage. It always seems reserved for people like my dad, people with charisma and charm andfearlessness.
“Maybe I will audition,” I hear myself say. The words send a little thrill throughme.
Pen squeals in delight. “You should. You’re better than all ofthem.”
“Carly and her minions have a lock on theater. Auditioning would not endear me tothem.”
“She’s a bitch, but what can she really do, taunt you todeath?”
“We both know it’s more than that.” She rules the school with an iron fist and sharp, airbrushed talons. “Her dad’s head of the school board. She gets away with murder while the rest of us play by therules.”
What I want is to get good grades and get out of here. I can go somewhere that people care about the world outside of money and success, somewhere I’m out from behind my dad’s mile-longshadow.
I open my locker, pull out my phone, and dash off atext.
Annie:Saw your bike in the parking lot. Gold star for making it toschool.
Idropthe notebooks for my afternoon classes and grab my pencil case. My phone buzzes, and the response makes mesmile.
Tyler:Thanks for checking up on me. At the office finishing a mountain of paperworknow.
“Good luck in civics,”I tell Pen as I tuck the phone away. “Need help with yourbox?”
“By seventeen, a woman should be able to take care of her ownbox.”
I laugh. “I’ll see you secondperiod.”
I leave my friend and take the long way toclass.
My choice is rewarded when I see Tyler emerging from the headmaster’soffice.
He looks out of place here. He’s too big, too graceful, too composed. It’s as if he’s not really interacting with this world but living in another one insidehimself.
Tyler’s gaze locks on mine, and he grins, hitching his bag over one shoulder. “Hey,stranger.”
Damn, he looks hot in thatuniform.
I’m no artist but I suddenly feel moved to draw him, painthim.
Possibly with mytongue.
“Hey, I was just on my way to English. Need anescort?”
“I might. How’d you know my bike washere?”
“It’s the only one in thelot.”
He tells me about the drive in, jokes about the cars in the lot, and as we walk I realize how good this is going tobe.
Last night, I lay awake staring at the lights of the pool house, and decided that no matter what’s between us, Tyler’s here and I’m so damnedglad.
