by Jenna Scott
“I’m not scared.” With that, I’d climbed up the rickety ladder and found myself on a shady platform where Hunter had laid out a blanket and set up a mini picnic of sliced apples, peanut butter, cheese, and spicy pumpkin seeds.
“Did Harry help you with the picnic?” I teased.
“Nope, did it all myself,” he said.
After we ate he leaned back, put his head on my lap, and closed his eyes. Leaning down to kiss him was my natural reaction—I swear, it’s like he has his own center of gravity, and I can’t help being pulled in. We’d spent all afternoon kissing in a tree, just like the schoolyard song, and then I’d snuck back home to finish up my homework, still dazed and with my lips feeling swollen and bruised.
Now I look over at Hunter from the corner of my eye. With him focused on the road, it’s easier to get away with staring. The straight slope of his nose. Those cheekbones that seem like they could cut glass. His shapely lips and how they so perfectly fit against mine.
“You’re blushing,” Hunter observes, glancing over. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” I say, quickly looking out the window.
“Bet I know,” he teases, his hand coming over to trace a line from my knee up my thigh.
I swat him away, and he laughs, pulling into the school parking lot. Which is, of course, packed full of cars and students and roving eyes.
“Do you think you should just drop me off?” I ask, suddenly nervous.
Hunter’s been decent this weekend, but there’s still part of me that expects him to turn back into a jerk at any moment. This car and his house are Switzerland, and for all I know, the territory outside of it could change everything.
“Not a chance, Hanson,” he says. “You’re stuck with me.”
I force a smile, but my stomach is full of butterflies, and once we’ve parked, I don’t make a move to get out. “I can’t do this,” I say.
He leans over, dropping his hand to my chin and turning me to face him. “What do you say we skip first period then?”
That’s when he bites my neck, softly, just below the corner of my jaw. That’s another thing he’s learned over the weekend: various ways of making me melt without actually diving under my clothes. He’s wickedly good at it.
I may be instantly distracted, but not enough to forget that my scholarship is at risk. “I’m not skipping class to make out with you. But thank you.”
“Shame.” Hunter pouts. “Let’s go then.”
He gives me one last kiss and deepens it, making me question my decision to tell him I wouldn’t skip first period. Mercifully, he pulls away.
“School,” I mumble weakly.
“Yup. Let’s go.” Hunter gets out of the car and races around to my side to open the door for me on the passenger side.
“Playing the gentleman?” I say. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”
I’m only half kidding, but as we start toward Oak Academy, he makes a point of matching me step for step, his arm brushing mine as we walk. There’s no way anyone could mistake us for simply heading to school side by side. My mouth is dry. This is it.
“What’s your first class?” he asks.
“World History. Second floor.”
“Cool,” he says. “I’ll walk you.”
Here’s the thing about Hunter Beck. When it’s me crossing the front lawn of the school and heading up the steps, I have to constantly dodge to keep out of people’s way. But with Hunter at my side, the crowd just…parts. Students are gawking at us, and they’re noticing me, and they’re whispering. This amount of attention isn’t something I’m used to at all. I’m not even sure if I like it or if I just want to be invisible again.
I don’t realize I’ve subconsciously scooted closer and closer to Hunter until my hand brushes his. When I step away, trying to shrug it off as the accident it was, I feel his fingers wrap around mine.
My surprise is so strong I have to bite down a smile as I squeeze his hand in return. This is good. Holding hands with him feels solid, and being with him like this, like we don’t care what anybody else thinks, makes me happy. It’s a subtle message: what happens between us is our business, and no one is going to ruin it.
“Are you used to people staring at you wherever you go?” I ask as we make a quick stop at my locker so I can switch my books out and grab everything I need for my pre-lunch classes.
“Downside of being over six feet tall,” he says breezily, like it’s no big deal. He has a point with the height, but it’s not just that, and we both know it.
Conversations stop dead in their tracks when we walk by. Jaws literally drop. Eyes follow us for as long as they can, and so do the whispers. It’s making me paranoid, gluing my gaze to the floor like I always do whenever I can tell people are staring at me.
We finally come to a halt outside my classroom door. Hunter steps in front of me, and I can tell he wants to kiss me. But the academy has strict rules on student conduct, and sucking face in the hallways is verboten. Not that students don’t hook up on campus, they just do it out of sight. Or try to. I learned the hard way never to walk into one of the private study rooms on the library’s second floor without knocking—even if the lights are off. Especially if the lights are off.
“Catch up with you later?” he says.
I’m already smiling when I answer, “Yeah.”
With that, he gives my hair a little tug that sends tingles from my scalp to my toes and then saunters away. I head into World History floating on a cloud.
Chapter Thirty-One
Camilla
I’m on my way to second period with Emmett when my phone buzzes from my blazer pocket. I slip it out and see a handful of unread texts from Isabel.
Heard some very intéressantes rumors about you and Hunty walking into school together...such as might potentially indicate coupledom?? Gasp!
T/F?
Then, right after, text me baaaack, I am DYING (insert dead emoji with Xs for eyes). Don’t let me be the last to knowww
The third text was sent just minutes ago, presumably when she got out of class. Someone just asked me to verify if you guys were holding hands in the hall this AM. wtf
And lastly, MILLA! You get a pass bc I know your phone is off for class (fair), but if you think I’m waiting all the way until lunchtime for answers, prepare to be called into the main office to take an “emergency” phone call from your “Auntie Isa.”
After that, it’s a slew of GIFs depicting tea being spilled or poured. I shake my head with a grin. Always with the drama, that girl.
“What is it?” Emmett asks, kindly making an effort to not look at my screen.
“Just Isabel being Isabel,” I tell him.
I don’t want to gossip with Emmett about whatever is going on with me and Hunter, and the only reason I haven’t mentioned it to Isabel yet is because I wanted to see what would happen after the weekend was over and we had to be out in public.
But something is happening. There’s no denying it now.
Quickly, I tap out a response. We’re sort of trying to be together? Or something. But we don’t have a name for it.
HA! she responds immediately. Neither does the rest of the school, but that hasn’t kept them from speculating…
Which btw you’re gonna have some nasty gossip coming your way.
That worry, in the back of my mind for the last couple of days, rushes to the forefront. I know Isabel shares first period with one of Hillary’s friends. As Isabel has put it before, Minion Emma is quite capable of using her brain academically, but when it comes to everything else, she’s incapable of independent thought. Either that, or she’s terrified of what Hillary will do if they have a difference of opinion.
But that’s just too bad. I’m not going to let anyone shit-talk me out of this. If things with Hunter fall apart, it will be because of us, not them.
“Everything okay?” Emmett asks after grabbing my bag and using it to steer me around a group of students I was jus
t about to plow into.
“Yeah. Just girl stuff,” I tell him, sliding my phone back in my pocket. “Tell me about your weekend.”
“Meh, same old. Mom’s been on my ass about committing to a college even though my acceptance letters haven’t all come in yet. I mean, seriously. Like rushing my decision is going to help her cause. I know she just wants me to stay close. You?”
“I got into Cal Lutheran, which was a safety school anyway. Still waiting on my UCs and CSUs,” I gripe. “Lemme know when you want to study-buddy again.”
“Oh, please. We all know you’re just after my cookies,” he jokes.
“Guilty as charged.”
We pull up to the glass-walled walkway where I go straight and Emmett has to hang a right.
“Enjoy statistics. See you in a bit,” I tell him with a wave goodbye.
“Cool cool,” he says, and then we part ways.
Luckily, AP Bio is so hard that I don’t have time to think about my personal life, lest I spill a vial of methanol on my shoes. When my lab partner drops her voice to whisper, “Are you dating Hunter Beck?” midway through our experiment, I just laugh.
“I’m not sure that’s the right word,” I tell her, which seems pretty accurate. “But I mean, he’s not dating anyone else.”
She nods and smiles, but something tells me I’ve just confirmed all the gossip despite my careful response.
When the bell rings, I pack my things and steel myself for whatever’s waiting outside the door. I try not to listen to the voices around me as I walk to the next class.
I try, and I fail.
Come lunchtime, I stop at my locker so I can drop off my stuff. I have no idea what’s up with Hunter. Do I wait for him? Find him out in the quad once I have my food? I’m anxious at the thought that he won’t be there, and I’ll be left awkwardly lurking around his group of friends (who I’m sure will have something to say to me).
“Hanson!”
Glancing over, I spot Hunter heading my way from the other end of the hall, aloof to everyone else who walks by, their eyes glued to him—I mean, how can you not, he’s over six feet and looking like that—but when he comes up to me, he’s all smiles.
“Lunch?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. And just like that, all my fears evaporate.
My heart skips a beat when he holds out his arm. I try to keep myself from seeming too eager, but the truth is, I take it like it’s a lifeline. Walking to class with him was already a nightmare, and I’ll need this support if I’m going to last through lunch.
After we grab our food from the lunch line—sushi for Hunter, and a veggie sandwich with fries for me—we head out to the quad. He leads the way to an empty table on the far side of the fountain that features a knight, the school’s mascot, and I let out a relieved sigh when we set our things down. Maybe it’ll just be the two of us today.
We make small talk about our classes, and soon enough, my nerves are the furthest thing from my mind.
“Hey, is it cool if Isabel joins us?” I ask, realizing I should invite her.
Hunter shrugs. “Whatever you want. She’s cool.”
“What about Emmett?” I challenge.
“Is this a test?” Hunter asks.
“No. It’s just me making sure that my friends are also welcome wherever I am,” I say honestly. “Otherwise, I’ll have to split all my lunches between you guys fifty-fifty.”
“Sure. Ortega too, then,” he says.
I smile. But when I text Isabel, she tells me she’s already heading off campus with Emmett. Still, I’m glad this talk is out of the way. Hunter’s making an effort to be civil, and I’m sure once he sees how Emmett and I act when we’re together, he’ll relax.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Hunter handling his chopsticks with the efficiency of someone who’s been using them since the day they were born. Not surprising in the least. Meanwhile, I’ve never even had sushi—it’s expensive, and besides that, I’ve never been convinced that raw fish can actually taste good.
Suddenly there’s a piece of salmon and rice in front of my face. “Wanna try?” Hunter asks. “It’s salmon nigiri.”
Any hesitation I might have is negated by the fact that he’s actually feeding me. Something I find strangely endearing but which also activates those butterflies in my stomach. I open my mouth, and he gently places the piece on my tongue.
He watches me chew, tilting my head as I do. The hint of soy sauce and wasabi goes perfectly with the salmon, which has so much more flavor than when it’s cooked.
“So?” he asks.
I shrug. “Not bad for my first sushi.”
“That was your first sushi ever?” When I nod, he laughs. “And you’re already a connoisseur. I should take you to my favorite spot. It’s this place in La Jolla Village that is insane. If you think this stuff is good, wait until you try actual good sushi.”
“Sounds good to me,” I answer, assuming it’s one of those “someday” things.
“How about Wednesday? We can go after our session with Spencer.”
Record scratch. “Does that mean you’re actually planning to show up for our mandatory debate tutoring?” I’m dubious.
“It means I’d be waiting for you to get out anyway, so I might as well be there.”
An evil idea hits me.
“You know, if you wanted to study together more often, we could probably manage a lot more alone time…”
“That’s blackmail, Milla.”
“It’s an incentive,” I quip.
“Is it?” His blue eyes narrow, and his free hand finds my knee under the table. “I don’t think you realize the promise you’re making.”
I’m trying to come up with something smart to say, but his fingers being where they are, I find myself unable to think past it.
Suddenly, there’s a hubbub around us, and I look up to see Hunter’s group of friends looming over us. Steve Howard, Matt Mason, and another guy who’s either a Tom or a Tim. Their faces are full of judgment.
“Huh. We were about to send out a search party for you,” Steve says with a smirk. “Only to find you out here, hiding in the corner with your maid. What happened, did she forget to clean your room?”
They all laugh.
My fingers tighten around my iced tea.
I’m about ready to just get up and walk away when beside me, Hunter says, “Camilla’s not my maid.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard him correct any of his friends. Following his lead, I make myself seem as unbothered as I can, and add, “Technically, I’m the sitter.”
“Right.” The corner of Hunter’s lips rises for a second. “And if that’s all you came over here to say, you can fuck directly off.”
Steve blinks. “Beck, you serious?” He gives me a pointed look. “Her?”
A single word that encapsulates everything they think about me. I’m not a person, I’m a creature that’s beneath them, someone that registers so barely on their radar, I’m just her? with a question mark.
Hunter covers the hand I have on top of the table with his own. “Yes, her.”
There’s a loud snort from Steve. “Fine. But she better be the best pussy you’ve ever had because—”
Hunter stands, towering over Steve. “I’d be real careful if I were you.”
They look at each other for a moment, and I realize the entire quad has gone silent, all of them staring in our direction.
“C’mon, man,” Matt says, tugging at Steve’s arm. “Let’s go.”
With a loud laugh that can only be for show, Steve shakes his head and walks away, Matt in tow. Hunter’s other friend holds out his hand to me.
“I’m Tom.”
I take his hand and shake it, firm but gentle. “Camilla.”
“Nice to officially meet you,” he says, sliding into the seat across from me and Hunter and throwing down his backpack. “Hey man, you see the Lakers play the Clippers last night?”
“Dominated,” Hunter says,
and I get the impression that this conversation is about more than basketball.
They fall into sports talk, and in between bites of my sandwich, I chime in where I’m able to follow. When Tom gets up to throw out his trash, he says to me, “Sorry the other guys were shitty to you before.”
I shrug. “They’ll get over it.”
Hunter wraps his arm around me. “And if not, it’s their loss. Nobody tells me what to do. I’m a big boy.”
“Right on,” Tom says. “Though that’s not what your last girl told me. Oh!!”
Dick jokes aside, Tom seems like a pretty good guy. However, I can’t help noticing that people in the quad are still watching us. Hunter takes it in.
“Glad you’re all enjoying the show,” he shouts, “but I hope you have actual lives to return to!”
Immediately, I feel the weight of their attention dropping, and my heart, which had been racing, falls into a steady beat. Although I’m no damsel in need of rescuing, having him step up for us feels nice.
“You want to get out of here?” he says.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Camilla
Hunter’s fingers interlace with mine as we leave the quad together. My steps feel lighter somehow, but imagining all the reasons why he might want to be alone together has me a bit jittery. We walk from one end of the school to the other and then head up the stairs.
“Where are we going?” I whisper as we reach the second floor.
“Somewhere quieter.”
“Yes, but where?”
He looks over his shoulder and then pulls up short outside an unmarked door. “May I present…” He gives the knob a jiggle, and the door pops open. “The janitor’s closet.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Are you serious? This is the most cliché thing I’ve ever heard of.”
He leads me inside and shuts the door behind us. We’re in a glorified cubicle with shelves stacked against opposite walls, dusty and bare, though I see a few ladders and mops and other odds and ends. At the other end of the room, a small window looks out onto leafy tree branches, so we’re not completely in the dark.
