I slap them half-heartedly.
“Are things still strained between your dad and Catarina?” she asks somberly.
So much for hiding my feelings from my BFSF. “Yeah.” My eyes heat with impending tears. “Can we not talk about this right now? You’re going to make me cry. Seniors aren’t supposed to cry on the first day of school. I don’t want to look like a wimpy freshman.”
“As if, Skye. You’re too sexy hot to look like a freshman. Nice legs, girl.”
I’m wearing denim short shorts, strappy sandals, and a baggy lace panel tee. “Thanks,” I don’t feel sexy anything today. The outfit is purely functional. It’s the tail end of summer and I don’t want to roast during class because our school doesn’t have A/C.
“Let’s go,” she smiles, hopping out of the car. “I can’t wait to see which guys got hotter over the summer.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, dragging myself from my seat.
We walk across the parking lot toward the sprawl of one story buildings that make up North Valley High. Well, the gym is two stories, but everything else is one story. Since this is California, we don’t have indoor hallways or multiple floors. Just plain boxes connected by covered walkways. It used to rain more often in California, but with the drought we’ve been having lately, the covered walkways seem unnecessary. All the same, the school is a familiar sight that brings up scattered memories of my last three years here. Despite my morose mood, it actually feels good to be back. I wonder what senior year has in store for me?
The warning bell rings five minutes before the start of school.
“Don’t forget to ask for a different locker if yours isn’t next to the senior lawn,” Rox reminds me.
Seniors don’t get to pick their exact lockers, but they can choose which section they’re in. Everyone wants a locker next to the senior lawn. It’s a circle of grass with benches around it. Supposedly, only seniors get to use the lawn. Exceptions are made for popular juniors or the boyfriends and girlfriends of seniors, but that’s it. If you want to be close to the social action at North Valley High, you want your locker by the senior lawn. “Yeah, okay.”
“See you after homeroom!” she waves while walking across the quad, heading toward her homeroom. Our homerooms are assigned by last name, so Rox is in the room for kids with S last names and I’m in the one for A and B last names.
When I get to homeroom, I sit in my alphabetically assigned seat. After taking attendance, the homeroom teacher hands out locker assignments. I can tell my number is one of the lockers by the senior lawn. I hope it’s near Rox’s locker. The teacher also passes out our class schedules. Mine includes:
Trigonometry (I don’t know how I managed to pass Algebra 2 last year, but I did)
AP English Literature & Composition (which I’m looking forward to)
Chemistry (not so much)
Spanish 4 (muy bien!)
AP U.S. Government (snore)
AP Psychology (I can finally figure out why I’m crazy)
Photography (My Instagram needs all the help it can get)
Yes, it’s a tough schedule. When I planned it out with Dad, I suggested Study Hall for both electives instead of Psych and Photography, but he wasn’t having any of that. Yeah, yeah, colleges don’t want you slacking off senior year. At the time, I didn’t argue. Today, I feel like I could use six periods of Study Hall. Not gonna happen.
Does cutting classes look bad on your transcript? Bland sarcasm.
When they let us out of homeroom, I sigh and trudge toward the quad to check out my locker and make sure my combination works. “Shit,” I grumble when I find it. It may be at the edge of the senior lawn, but it’s a bottom locker. I examine the locker assignment paper to make sure I have the number right. Yup, this is it. I guess I’ll have to squat down below whoever has the top locker. This is annoying. I sure hope it’s somebody nice.
“Excuse me, Nightlight,” Ashley Masters says, bumping me aside. “You’re in my way.” She deftly twirls the combination on the locker above mine and opens the door. She pulls a round mirror out of her purse and peels plastic strips off the adhesive backing and presses the mirror to the inside of her locker door. Then she checks her hair and lip gloss, both of which are perfect.
O.M.Great. She’s already moving in and I can’t even get to my locker because she’s in the way.
Ashley smiles at herself, pleased with the results of her primping. Then her eyes flick toward me and her face sours. “Can I help you, Nightlight?”
“No,” I growl, crumpling my locker assignment in my hand.
She glances at it and chuckles. “Don’t tell me that your locker is below mine.”
My face collapses despite my every effort to shore up my decaying mood.
“How fitting,” Ashley smirks. “I’m your top. I always knew you were a bottom, Nightlight.”
She’s making some kind of BDSM reference. I’m not sure how it applies here. From what I understand, BDSM relationships are consensual, and I don’t consent to acknowledging Ashley’s existence, much less being her bottom.
Before I can respond, Ashley closes her locker and sashays off with a satisfied grin beaming from her face.
I spin and march straight to the main office. Inside it’s bustling with tons of students complaining about one thing or another. I have to wait in line behind two kids who didn’t even get lockers. Eventually, I get to the front.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. O’Neal, the school secretary says, her voice overly buoyant. She sits behind her desk wearing a prim Peter Pan collar blouse that is très irritating. She looks 50 but acts like a peppy 15 year old. “The senior class is rather large this year. I’m afraid we don’t have any extra upper lockers. If you can find someone to switch with, you could do that. Would that work?”
I can guarantee that no one on campus will want to trade for a locker below Ashley Masters. “There are zero other lockers?” I ask desperately. I can’t spend senior year at Ashley Masters’ feet. I may as well bend down and kiss her toes every morning.
Mrs. O’Neal palms her mouse and clicks around on her computer screen. She glances around furtively then leans forward conspiratorially. “If you can’t make do with a lower, we do have a few freshman uppers. I can get you one by the Biology wing.” She smiles at me like she just shared a national secret.
I groan. There’s no way I’m going to slum it with all the incoming children. I doubt even Rox would come visit me way out in the boonies by the Biology wing. But we’re talking Ashley Masters. “Fine.” I roll my eyes. “Give me a freshman upper.”
Mrs. O’Neal lights up. “See how easy that was? You’ll be very happy with a freshman upper. Think of those other freshman who don’t even have lockers. They’ll have to carry all their books around in backpacks like pack mules. Can you imagine? Poor things.” She smiles and jots down a locker number and combination on a 3 x 5 card and hands it to me.
“Thanks.” I take the card and skulk out of the office.
“There you are!” Rox blurts, strolling toward me. “Where’s your locker? You got one by the senior lawn, right?”
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” I fake laugh. “Would you believe my locker was below Ashley Masters?”
“No way!” she gasps.
oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O
“No way,” a boy faced freshman gawks when I open my locker right next to his.
I grimace at him as politely as possible. He’s shorter than me and I’m not exactly tall myself.
“Is this your locker?” he asks hopefully.
“I guess so,” I groan.
“You mean your locker is next to mine?”
“That’s what I just said,” I grumble.
“No way.” His eyes are literally goggling behind his thick glasses. He’s kind of cute in a band camp meets the geek squad sort of way. His World Of Warcraft T-shirt doesn’t do anything to age him up. In other words, he looks like he still belongs in middle school.
I try to ignore him.
“Wh
at’s your name?” he asks. He’s not making this any easier.
I want to say that I don’t fraternize with freshman, but I’m not a bitch like Ashley Masters. I sigh, “Skye.”
“My name’s Jason Carpenter. Nice to meet you, Skye.” He offers his hand.
Still not being a bitch, I shake his hand, which is clammy. I end our shake as quickly as I can without being rude, then turn to my locker to open it. I spin the dial back and forth, matching the combo Mrs. O’Neal wrote on the card. I squeeze the thumb latch on the door and try to lift it. It’s totally stuck. “Damn it,” I groan.
“Let me try,” Jason says.
“Sure.”
Jason has tiny twig arms and matchstick fingers. If he can open it, I’m going to be embarrassed. He grasps the latch and tries it. No luck. He uses both hands and puts his shoulder into it. “Wow, that’s really stuck.”
“I’ve got it,” a big hand reaches between me and Jason and pops the locker open.
Luke Nash smiles at me with a scintillating grin.
“Luke!” I blurt. Luke is my Ex. We dated for most of junior year.
He has chaotic black hair that spikes out in every direction in black blades. A small silver spike pierces the corner of his right eyebrow and two more silver spikes poke from his earlobes. Faded black skinny jeans hang from his narrow hips and a chain dangles from his belt. A Daft Punk logo is splashed across his black T-shirt. People might think he’s a weepy emo, but he’s always smiling and has a lot of friends. Luke wants to be a DJ like Skrillex or Deadmau5. He DJs for a lot of high school parties. It’s the cool thing to have Luke be your DJ. He’s actually really good. I think I was attracted to him because he does his own thing. But he’s also really popular. The weird thing is, he manages to transcend all cliques without being ostracized by any of them. He can make friends with anybody.
“Hey, Jason,” Luke says.
Jason’s eyes light up with bromantic hope. “Hey, Luke!”
“You know him?” I ask Luke.
“Yeah. Jason’s older brother is a junior. Nate Carpenter? Nate runs track every year?”
“Oh! Right!” I have no idea who Nate Carpenter is. But somehow Luke makes me feel like I should, just out of politeness. It’s weird. Luke can do that.
“You all settled in, Jason?” Luke asks.
“Yeah. Thanks, man.” Jason grins from ear to ear.
“Any seniors giving you shit?”
“No way,” Jason says nervously, shoving his hands in his pockets. He’s totally acting like he’s one of the cool kids. It’s kind of sweet.
“If you have any trouble, let me know.” Luke winks at him. “We’ll shitbag the locker of anyone who gets up in your grill.”
Jason’s eyes gleam with adoration. “Okay, yeah!”
Luke grins at him, taking it all in stride. I’m surprised he doesn’t ruffle the kids hair or something.
Everyone loves Luke’s laid back attitude and friendly personality. He grew out of the high school bullshit a long time ago. You would think I would still be with him because he’s so awesome. But Luke’s popularity was the reason I broke up with him. Yes, I ended it. Luke always had so much going on in his life, I could never escape the feeling that I was just one more thing on his To Do list. I don’t mean like I was a notch on his belt or bed post. Just that he was always busy. Yes, he made time for me. Yes, we did fun stuff together. Yes, we had sex. But something was lacking. Looking back, I think we were buddies more than boyfriend-girlfriend. I wasn’t clingy or anything. I never made an issue of it. But I got sick of him pushing off our dates because he had to DJ a party or hang out with some group or other. We split after junior prom, which we went to together. It wasn’t a romantic evening like I’d hoped. Just another party for Luke to be the life of. I know he had a blast. I was… I don’t know… bored? So the next weekend I told Luke I wanted to break up. He was really cool about it. Very understanding. I don’t think that’s what I was expecting. I guess expected him to object, to fight, to beg me to stay. Or something. Not just, “Okay. If that’s how you feel.”
Immediately afterward, I became suspicious that he had been cheating on me. It was the only explanation I could think of for why he was so easy-going about the breakup. But I never found any evidence that he was. Neither did Rox or any of our other friends. By all accounts, Luke is a stand up guy. He stayed single all the way through the end of junior year, which was the last time I saw him until today. The truth is, I don’t think I missed him. I never thought about him all summer.
BRIIIIIIIIINGGGG!!!
The five minute bell.
“See you guys later,” Jason says hopefully. He’s gearing up to walk away, but not actually leaving.
“Catch you on the down low,” Luke says to him.
“Nice meeting you, Jason,” I smile. I doubt I would’ve said anything more than “Bye” if Luke hadn’t been here. But like I said, Luke does that to you.
“Yeah!” Jason smiles at me, his eyes all starry. “You too!” He’s still standing there.
“Bye,” I wave suggestively. Time to go, young man.
Finally, he turns and scurries off down the hallway, bouncing with every step.
I hope Jason isn’t developing a crush on me. It wouldn’t be an issue if his locker wasn’t next to mine. But I don’t want him getting all weird during the year.
“Jason’s a cool kid,” Luke says.
“Yeah,” I say dismissively.
“Can I walk you to class?”
“Sure.”
“Where are you going?”
“Trig.”
“Mr. Mendez?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“I had him last year. He’s great. You’ll like him.” Luke is also one of the kids who can talk to adults like they’re besties. I don’t know how he does it. “Hey, how was your summer?”
“Don’t ask,” I groan.
“Why not?” he chuckles.
“My dad made me study for the SATs all summer.”
“That’s rough. Your dad is a total dictator.”
I snicker. “Yeah.”
“Did you do anything fun?”
“No.”
“Nothing? Not one fun thing?”
An image of my day at Blazing Waters with Dante flashes across my mind. I push it away. If I think about Dante, I’m going to go start feeling miserable again. “No. Just studying.”
“That blows. We need to arrange something fun for you. I’m DJing a party this weekend at Josh Parker’s house. His parents are out of town. You wanna come by?”
“If my dad will let me,” I groan.
“I’ll talk to him. He’ll let you go.”
Believe it or not, Luke and my dad got along great. It took awhile for Dad to warm up to Luke’s gothish exterior, but when he realized that Luke got good grades and took AP classes like I did, and that his charming personality wasn’t just an act to impress the adults, Dad really started to like him. Dad was actually bummed when I told him I broke up with Luke. Oh well. It’s not like grades and AP classes are my top priority when it comes to who I date.
We arrive outside Mr. Mendez’s classroom. The door is open and students are milling around inside.
“This is me,” I sigh.
“Yeah.” Luke runs his hand through his hair, which causes his T-shirt sleeve to climb up his arm. The bottom of a tattoo peaks out beneath the sleeve.
“Did you get a tattoo?” I blurt.
“Nah,” he snorts, “I drew it with a Sharpie last night.” He pulls his sleeve up over his shoulder muscle, which is more muscular than I remember, and reveals a black tattoo of the planet Earth wearing DJ headphones. “You like it?”
“Yeah, it’s awesome!” I examine it closely. “You really drew that?”
He nods. “I had to use a mirror, but yeah.”
“It’s really good.”
“Thanks,” he says with obvious humility. Luke really is awesome. It’s not an act. “I’m trying it ou
t. My dad says I should wear it for awhile to see if I still want it after a month. If I get bored with it, he said I should wait on it.”
“Really?” Wow, I wish my dad was that cool. He would kill me if I asked about getting a tattoo. Or drew one on myself. He thinks they’re low class. “Don’t you have to be 18 to get a tattoo?”
“Yeah. You can’t even get one with parental consent. I checked. It’s a misdemeanor for anyone to tattoo a minor in California. I have to wait until I’m 18. Dad thought that was stupid, but whatever. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I won’t get one. Who knows.” He shrugs and drops his arm to his side. “For now I’ve got this one.”
The tardy bell is going to ring any second. “I should go,” I mutter.
“Hey, Skye?”
“Yeah?”
“I missed you.”
My heart pings suddenly. I wasn’t expecting this.
“It was kind of lonely this summer without you,” he says quietly.
“It was?” This is news to me. I imagined he had a full schedule of exciting activities and raging parties to DJ.
“Yeah.” He nods and frowns in a weird way that is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I thought you were done with me. I didn’t wanna harass you.”
What?! He should have harassed me. I think that’s what was lacking with us. Too much of anything, even a laid back personality, is too much. “Luke, why didn’t you say any—”
BRIIIIIIIIINGGGG!!!
The tardy bell. Luke is going to be late for the first class of senior year. The way he’s looking at me, it’s clear that’s the last thing on his mind.
“Are you coming inside, Ms. Albright?” Mr. Mendez asks, holding the door knob, about to close the door.
“Uh, yeah,” I say absently.
“You’re going to be late for class, Mr. Nash,” Mr. Mendez says to Luke with a smile.
“Yeah,” Luke grins at him.
“I wouldn’t want you to get behind on derivatives and integrals on your first day of Calculus.” Mr. Mendez says it not with judgement, but as a joke between friends. “Mrs. Liao isn’t a patient woman.”
Stepbrother Obsessed Page 13
