by A. M. Rose
I spin back around. Telling Dylan about everything that happened yesterday will have to wait.
“So where did we leave off?” Mrs. Notting scowls as Maddox strolls into class late. “Mr. Georgas, I hope we’re not going to make a habit of this.”
Maddox pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to her.
She nods and gestures for him to take his seat. “Very well.”
Along the way, his eyes catch mine and he winks. Something flutters in my stomach and my skin prickles. The memory of his ever-so-daring rescue in the bookstore races to the front of my mind. Why was I even thinking about kissing him? That was dumb. Idiotic even. I glance toward him and he’s already looking at me. Sure he’s…intriguing. But… I turn away, confused and a little embarrassed. That’ll never happen.
“So, does the play within a play in Act Five have any relevance to the main story?” Mrs. Notting asks, checking around trying to find her target. Bull’s-eye. “Mr. Jordonson.” She eyes him as he looks up from his lap and slides his hands on top of his desk, like he wasn’t texting two seconds ago.
“Of course it’s relevant. It’s parallel to the outlining story being told.” His arrogant smile doesn’t impress Mrs. Notting. He’s good, but he’s so wrong.
I blurt out, “No. It’s just a comical interlude.”
Mrs. Notting’s eyebrows raise. Her mouth drops open.
Maddox sits up in his seat. “Comical yes, but the tragic premise is relevant.”
I tip my head to the side, my pulse steadily increasing. “Really, how so?”
He doesn’t look away. “It follows the overall arch of the story. You don’t think that is relevant?”
I lean toward Maddox, and bewitching eyes stare back at me. My stomach rolls around, those goose bumps dance along my arms, but I don’t let them bother me. He’s joking, right? Thinking that both stories have some sort of bearing on each other. For a brief moment, Maddox and I are the only two people in the room. Staring—eyes taunting each other. “What more have you got?”
I grin. Oh, he’s going down. “Maybe. But it has no impact on the plot. If it didn’t exist the story would continue.”
He smiles back, exposing those pearly white teeth, and arches his brows. I’m ready for his comeback, for him to argue with me, but he doesn’t. We sit in silence.
“Marvelous, Ms. Smith, I can see you and Mr. Georgas must’ve spent some time on this.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I focus on the book on my desk instead of at Mrs. Notting.
“Yes ma’am.” Maddox’s voice sounds sweet, but the look on his face stirs something inside me, like he really means “You might have won this one but the next one won’t be as easy.”
We’ll see about that.
Dylan nudges me and I break eye contact. “Okay. Where did that come from?” he whispers as Mrs. Notting scopes out her next victim.
I shrug. He’s right. Before yesterday the only time I participated in class was when I was unwillingly called on. A grin the size of Kansas threatens to erupt, so I bite my lip to prevent it. What’s going on with me? Last month I was iffy on “It is the east and Juliet is the sun” and now this?
After my impromptu baking session last night I’d hit the internet, searching for clues about anything that could explain my sudden ability to understand Spanish or the way I raced through those books at the bookstore and retained everything. I read about a guy in Switzerland who was in a coma for thirty days and when he woke up he could recite any passage from the Bible. Any passage. I wasn’t in a coma, but maybe the car accident had shaken something loose.
“I’m not sure.” Or maybe… I glance at Maddox. He’s busy texting under his desk. It all started when he came yesterday. The way he touched my hand. Spanish class. The surfing and book store, those were his ideas. Could this have something to do with him?
I turn back to Dylan. “Do you think…” Mrs. Notting flashes me the evil eye, so I whisper, “We’ll talk later.”
The rest of class continues in basically the same way. As much as I try, I can’t resist myself. It’s like when I’m taking pictures and the lighting is perfect, I can’t seem to stop. Maddox and I get into some heated debates around the plot, characters, and meaning of Shakespeare’s language. It’s a tennis match with the playful back and forth banter; he scores one point, I score one point. It’s awesome. Exhilarating.
More than once I have to stop myself from standing up. And Mrs. Notting reminds me several times to use my inside voice. I can’t help it. This is the best time I’ve had in English class. Hell, any class for as long as I can remember.
I grip the book in my hand, teetering at the edge of my seat. “The next thing you’re gonna say is that King Lear is a comedy of errors, and Romeo and Juliet were just a couple of kids in love.”
Maddox laughs. “Romeo and—”
The bell rings, and my heart sinks a little that class is over.
Mrs. Notting waves her hands in the air as we all pack up our stuff. “Great class today, everyone. Don’t forget: quiz tomorrow.”
I toss my book into my bag and head for the door. Great class? More like amazing class. And the idea of a test isn’t making me want to puke. This is seriously awesome.
Dylan grabs my arm as soon as we exit the classroom. “So do you want to tell me what that was all about?”
I stop and stare. It takes me a second to realize what he’s talking about, but then it hits me. Sure, I have my theories, but… “I have no idea.” I wish I did. I was answering those questions like I had read the play. Actually studied, even, and I haven’t. I didn’t even think to look it up last night when I was online. Knowing something I’ve only been familiar with, but don’t really know. I’m not sure how it’s possible. “Do you—”
Dylan pulls me across the hall and stops next to the lockers. “So you and Maddox are hanging out now. When did this happen?”
Hang on. Is that what he’s talking about? “What’s your—”
Maddox steps up next to us. “Yeah, and we had a great time, too.”
“I didn’t ask you.” Dylan turns his back to Maddox.
Maddox takes a step in to face Dylan. “Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean I can’t answer.”
My gaze shifts between them. “What are you guys—”
“We’re having a private conversation here.” Dylan steps around Maddox. “Does your mom know about this?” He raises his eyebrows.
What the hell is going on? This is so stupid. Of course Dylan would ask if Mom knows. I’m the perpetual little sister, always needing someone to take care of me. Plus, I can handle Dylan; I don’t need Maddox’s help. If anything, he’s going to make things worse.
“Actually, I do mind. You’re talking about me, aren’t you?”
Their voices keep getting louder. And people linger around, watching this all unfold, the word “fight” whispered under their breaths. They’re just as stupid. No way will Dylan start fighting. That isn’t who he is. He’s too level-headed for that.
Dylan clenches and unclenches his fists. “Look, fuckboy, you need to back off.”
My jaw drops. He’s never talked like that before. “Dylan…” I grab his arm, but he shakes me away.
“Really, Romeo, last time I checked you weren’t her boyfriend. Drea can make her own decisions,” Maddox yells back.
This is going nowhere good—fast. “Stop. Both of you,” I say, but I might as well not be standing here.
Dylan takes a step toward Maddox. “Stay away from her.”
“Is that a threat?” Maddox lowers his voice, standing a little taller.
What the hell? A nervous giggle threatens to erupt as I check around for clues that this is a stupid joke. They’re too angry, though, and dead serious. Dylan’s face is red, the muscles in his jaw working furiously. The vein on the side of Maddox’s neck is sticking out.
What the hell am I supposed to do? “Come on. Let’s—”
“You’ve picked the wro
ng girl to screw with,” Dylan snaps.
Maddox puffs his chest. “Fuck you, Princess.”
“You guys, this is—” So intent on stopping this, I don’t understand until it’s too late that the ante has been upped. Maddox takes a swing at Dylan, just as I slide between them. A blast of heat starts from my right eye and spreads across my face, throwing me into Dylan. Maddox’s face morphs into oh-shit when he sees what he’s done. Dylan’s arms wrap around me and keeps me from falling to the ground. Jesus. It hurts. The crowd of onlookers gasps and feet scramble around us.
“Drea, are you okay?” Dylan’s voice is drenched with concern. “What the fuck, man?” he barks at Maddox.
It only takes a second for the dizziness to stop and my vision to clear. But the right side of my face pulses. That’s definitely going to leave a mark.
“Drea, I’m so sorry…I didn’t see you. Shit—are you okay? Please be okay.” Maddox grabs my arm. His hands shake as he pulls me back to my feet.
“Don’t touch her,” Dylan snaps.
“Break it up, break it up— What’s happening over here?” Mr. Simons, my freshman year English teacher and Dylan’s lacrosse coach, pushes his way through the crowd. “What’s going on, boys? Do we need to take a trip to the principal’s office?” His eyes fall on Dylan and his face flushes white, then turns bright red.
This isn’t good. If Dylan gets caught fighting, he could be kicked off the team. Although he won’t admit it, he’s their best player and they need to win their game this weekend to make the playoffs. It’s all everyone’s talked about.
“Well—” Dylan rubs the back of his neck.
“No. It’s nothing, Mr. Simons.” I step in front of the boys, shaking off the pain and squaring my shoulders. “I was walking along and ran into one of the lockers when someone was opening it. Maddox and Dylan were trying to help me. You remember how clumsy I am.” I go to laugh it off, but I sound slightly demented, so I stop. “Remember that time I tripped over my own flip-flop and knocked your coffee all over your desk?” I’m not sure what makes me say it; reliving that memory sucks. Mr. Simons was so pissed. I had to help him spread all his coffee-soaked papers along the back of the classroom to dry with him scowling at me the whole time. But I don’t want Maddox or Dylan getting into trouble. Especially when the fight was about me.
“That’s not—” Dylan starts.
Mr. Simons wraps his arm around my shoulder and lowers his voice. “Are you sure nothing else happened here, Alexandrea? You know it’s safe to tell me. You won’t be in any trouble.” His voice is calm, but if looks could kill, Dylan would be dead.
What the hell is Dylan doing? I’m saving his ass here. I want to say “shut up” but I can’t. So I do what Mr. Simons did and pretend he didn’t try to say anything. “I’m positive. If I was going to lie about it, I’d come up with something better than running into a locker, don’t you think?” I rub my hand over my face. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore. Promise.”
“Well, if you want to talk about it later, you know where to find me.” Mr. Simons gazes behind me to the boys. “Now I suggest you all get to class. Alexandrea, you should have the nurse check that out.”
“I’ll stop by on my way to class.” That’s what I say, at least. I’m fine. Mom could always look at it later, but I don’t want to argue about it.
“Great,” he says. “Dylan, this way, now!” He points and his jaw tightens.
“Yes, Coach,” Dylan responds, his voice lower than usual, and steps forward. “Are you sure you’re okay, Drea?” His eyes drift toward the spot where Maddox’s fist made contact.
“I’m sure. Go—we can talk about it later.” My voice is firm, but I keep it low so Mr. Simons doesn’t hear. “And believe me, we’re going to talk about it.”
Dylan nods. “Yeah. Listen, I—”
“Now, Mr. Alonzo.” Bad sign. Mr. Simons only uses last names when he’s super stressed.
Dylan takes a few steps toward Mr. Simons then glances at me again with a defeated expression. He knows I’m mad, and he’s upset about leaving me alone with Maddox; it’s obvious the way his eyes slide between the two of us. But there’s nothing he can do, so he turns and follows Mr. Simons.
I’m not sure what Dylan’s thinking. And getting kicked off the lacrosse team means no scholarships and maybe no college.
“I really am so sorry, Drea.” Maddox’s eyes scan where his fist made impact and he scrunches his brow. My face must look twice as bad as it feels. He tries to touch it, but I bat his hand away. I don’t even want to think about it. I’m too angry at both of them to care about how I look.
I let out a huff and walk down the hall toward class, kicking someone’s abandoned soda can along the way. It flies across the hall and ricochets off a locker with a satisfying bang. “So do you want to tell me what you were thinking?”
He quickly catches up to me. “It’s not cool. We had a great time yesterday, and it’s none of his business who you hang out with.”
True, on all fronts, but that still doesn’t give him the right. “You let me deal with Dylan.”
“I thought you said the two of you weren’t dating.”
My heart sinks. Thanks for that reminder. “We’re not.” To be specific, I’ve been friend-zoned. But I don’t say that.
Maddox shoves his hands in his pockets. “He sure is the jealous type.”
Jealous? Ha. He’d have to have feelings for me besides “sister figure” to be jealous. “He’s just protective. I’ve known him forever.”
Best friends. Nothing more.
An awkward silence floats between us as we make our way toward class. Maddox digs his hands in his back pockets and glances at me from the corner of his eye. I concentrate on my shoes and the sound each makes as they flip-flop down the hall. Maybe I should ask him if he’s behind all this somehow. If he’s the one making my head feel like it’s in The Twilight Zone. But how do I even start that conversation without sounding like a total lunatic? I want to scream. Punch something. But instead I clench my teeth together and keep walking.
“I suppose you did it to protect Dylan.”
My head jerks back. “Did what?”
“Lied about what happened. You didn’t want him to get into trouble.”
That’s not it. Or rather, that’s not entirely it. It wasn’t just about Dylan. “I didn’t want either of you to get into trouble.” Dylan, of course, will always matter. I’ve known him forever. He’s my rock, the paste that holds me together. But there’s something going on with Maddox, too. Since yesterday, everything’s been so…so…I don’t know.
He smiles. Not even to me or at me. Just a little smile to himself, barely noticeable, but it’s there.
The awkwardness sort of disappears as we keep walking to class. For the first time since I got hit, I can breathe.
“Can I ask you something?” That sweet tone he had in class before fills his voice.
“Sure.”
“Did you happen to see if you grabbed a red notebook from my car last night?”
I picture the stack of books l left in the kitchen. After I set them down I never looked at them again; I didn’t need to. I had them all memorized. I shrug. “I don’t remember seeing one. But I’ll check—”
“That’d be great,” he says in a rush, almost before I’m done talking, then seems to blush at his completely uncool reaction. “I mean…” He runs a hand through his hair again. “I mean, whenever you have time. It’s no big deal or whatever. Just let me know.”
We get to class and he stops me in the doorway. Once again we’re face-to-face. His warm breath rolls across my skin. “I can’t tell you again how sorry I am about earlier…you’ll have to let me make it up to you somehow.” He moves slowly, giving me time to back up, to turn my head, even. But I don’t. Whatever power he has over me is strong. And maybe it’s sick and twisted, but I kind of like it.
Maddox’s gaze moves to where he hit me, his expression filled with remorse. “So sorry,”
he says, more to himself than to me. Then he walks into the classroom.
I suck in a breath, not even sure if what happened really happened. But the expression on Sophie’s face as she mouths “hot damn” says I didn’t just imagine it.
But instead of overanalyzing it, I slide into my seat and my eyes immediately find him. He’s checking out his hand. It’s swollen, a huge black-and-blue bruise already forming across his knuckles. My God, if his hand is that bad… When I hit my face against that wood plank I looked like a boxer. This has got to be worse. I pull out a small mirror from my backpack to survey the damage.
And it’s…not that bad. My right eye is a little red, and a small area is starting to turn black and blue. That’s it. I snap the mirror shut. Not that bad.
But… How’s that possible? The damage on his hand doesn’t match my face. Maybe he bruises easily, or maybe he sucks at fighting. I run my hand over my cheek.
This is too much. All these things running through my head don’t make any sense. I don’t even like Maddox, like that. I’m starting to feel like an imposter. Like I’m living someone else’s life. I’ve always been less than the understudy, more like the assistant’s assistant. I’m not the girl who jumps in the middle of a fight. Or the girl boys say things to like “let me make it up to you.”
Am I going crazy? I mean, I’ve always wanted to be that girl. The confident girl. The one the boy likes. But even if Maddox does like me, and it’s not some hallucination like the Green-eyed man, I’m not sure who I am. So, although my head is screaming at me to speak out in Spanish, I hold it in. Just until I figure out what’s going on with me.
It’s easy not to concentrate in class when Maddox is sitting across the room. Though staying quiet has nothing to do with him, it’s at least partially a lie.
I flip my notebook open, let my mind wander, and draw. What is it about Maddox? Ever since he got here something inside me has changed. Maybe it isn’t even him. Maybe it’s me. Maybe he doesn’t have secret superpowers. It’s like the mosaic pieces of my life are finally starting to fit together to create one picture. But what the picture is still remains a mystery.
