“You took biology already?”
“My mom and I did a home school program in Denmark last year, and we liked the earth science part so much we did the biology right after we were done.” I kept my voice monotone on purpose.
“So you were a supergeek, working round the clock on science hypotheses?” He jiggled his leg and made my sentence scrawl sideways down the page. I glared at him.
“Actually, when you cut out the textbook bull and don’t have twenty-five other apes to deal with, a lesson that takes forty-five minutes in school can take a fraction of the time at home.” My voice grew louder against my will. “For example, a government sheet that would normally take me half an hour can take three times longer to do when I have an irritating partner asking me idiotic questions every few minutes.”
He snatched his paper off of the table, dug in his pocket for a pen, and nodded at me. “Ready?” he asked
“For what?”
“You did pages four to six. I’ll do seven to nine.” He raised his eyebrows, at me. “Ready?” repeated.
I couldn’t help but like the dark gleam in his eye, and if I said I didn’t like the way his muscles pushed through his Black Lips t-shirt, I’d be lying. I had to give myself a little slack if I couldn’t stop glancing at the tears in his gray work pants, where the dark, hairy skin of his legs showed through and looked so guyish and unlike my smooth, white legs.
“I’m ready when you are.” I held my pen up expectantly.
“Page seven, question 31. Write this: “The judicial system allows for state governments to decide for themselves whether elected officials should…” his voice droned on and on. He answered every question, not pausing, not looking through the book to double check. And I was willing to bet my life that his answers were absolutely right. It was especially sickening to realize that I was more than happy to listen to Saxon’s voice recite government facts all period long. What was wrong with me?
“Done.” He flipped his half filled-in worksheet on the table.
My hand cramped with pain. I shook it out. “Thanks,” I muttered.
“You did the rest of the work.” I knew he was trying to be fair.
“Yeah, I bet that really helped you.” My voice dripped with sarcasm. “I mean, someone with a photographic memory really needs to rely on his underclassman partner to pull him through a set of questions he had memorized.”
“So maybe you’re the big fat tape worm.” He puffed his cheeks out at me, and I smiled in spite of my resolution not to.
“Call me a parasite and we’re even.”
He flicked my sleeve. “I like your shirt.” He took a minute to look at it. I rolled my eyes, fairly sure he was looking at what was contained in the shirt, but did I really have a leg to stand on there? I had been checking him out all morning.
“Thanks. I made it.” It took me a week to get the picture just right before I silk-screened it. It was a picture of my mom dancing at Thorsten’s birthday. I think she had tipped a bit too much vodka into the birthday punch, and it made for a crazy picture. I used the digital program on Thorsten’s computer to fade the image, filled it in with swirls of black and red, made a pink halo around it, then printed it, ironed it on a black shirt and flecked white paint on with a toothbrush. Mom cracked up when she saw it.
“Brenna, you made me look like some punk rocker! I was dancing to the Beatles for heaven’s sake!” she had laughed.
“You’re kidding.” He looked more closely. “Like, you added the paint?”
“No,” I said slowly. “If all I did was flick some paint on it, would I say that I’d made it?” I shook my head. “I took a picture, morphed it, made it an iron on and ironed it. Oh yeah, then I flicked some paint on it.”
“Wow.” Saxon was clearly impressed. “Really, wow. I love it.”
“Thanks. It was originally a picture of my mom dancing to ‘Yellow Submarine,’” I admitted, even though I didn’t really want to share the story with Saxon. I felt like he might think it was ridiculous.
“Your mom? Really?” His grin was completely confident. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
“She’d hate you.” I was surprised by how totally sure I was about it.
“No mom hates me.” His face radiated arrogance.
“My mom likes no boy,” I returned. “She’s very protective.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure she’s no dummy. If I had a daughter like you, I’d lock her in a closet and never let her out.” His voice pitched a few octaves deeper.
“I’m a trustworthy kid.” I ignored his innuendo. “My parents know that about me.”
“It isn’t you I’d worry about.” Saxon burned me with a long, obvious look. “It’s any guy with eyes in his head that would worry me.”
“Yeah.” I kept my voice light even though my heart pounded so hard I was sure it would rip through my super cool shirt. “I guess I am pretty ridiculously gorgeous.”
He tugged on the end of my hair. “You’re joking. I’m being serious. You’re damn gorgeous. It’s actually distracting.”
And I wanted to spar back so badly, but there was no way on this earth that I could force words to come out of my mouth, and, thankfully, I didn’t have to because the bell rang and everyone gathered their things together.
“Hand them in! I don’t care if you aren’t done! That was plenty of time!” Sanotoni yelled. “In-class writing tomorrow. This is AP kids, get used to it!”
Saxon walked with me to crafts class, and I felt a wave of relief when I spotted Kelsie. She was the wedge between us, and I needed a living, breathing, physical reminder of why I would be smart to stay far away from Saxon Maclean.
“Brenna!” Kelsie bounced over and gave me a quick hug. “I looked for you before first!”
“I was a little late this morning.” I traced a finger over her intricately beaded necklace. “I love this.” It was layers of minute glass beads threaded and twirled together.
“Thank you!” She touched it proudly. “I made it! Do you want one?”
“Really? But, Kelsie, you shouldn’t give them away. Seriously, sell these and you’ll have enough money to retire before the year is out.”
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “You’re the best, Brenna. I’m so glad you’re not in Dutchland this year.”
I didn’t bother to correct her this time.
“I love your shirt, by the way. Is it Urban Outfitters?”
“Brenna made it,” Saxon interjected.
I almost forgot that he was there. Almost.
“You have to make me one,” she ordered.
“We’ll barter,” I agreed.
Saxon and Kelsie eyed each other. Kelsie raised her eyebrows at him and looked coolly away.
“I am going to class.” I back-stepped away, my voice awkward and stilted in my own ears.
“I’ll see you in a minute.” Kelsie never took her eyes off of Saxon.
I’m sure they didn’t know that their voices would carry from the hall. Actually, it might have been just because I was eavesdropping that I even heard their conversation, because no one else in the class seemed to notice.
Kelsie’s voice was tight and mean. “That was a pretty lame date, Saxon. Half an hour at a crappy Chinese place? What’s up?”
“I told you, I was just feeling a little weird.” There was a defensive edge to his words. “Give me a break.”
“Look, this was supposed to be fun, Saxon. If it’s going to be all this drama, let’s just stop. I don’t have the time for this.” Kelsie’s voice was definitely that of a woman delivering an ultimatum.
“If that’s how you feel, fine.” Saxon’s words clinked like ice in a glass.
A second later Kelsie marched into the room.
We sat at the table next to one another, a ball of clay in front of each of us. Kelsie kneaded it violently.
“He’s such an asshole.” She punched rhythmically at the clay.
I made a sympathetic face. I knew better than to ever
agree with any girl while she ranted about a guy she might really still like.
“Last night, we go on a date, and this has been, like, a month in the works. Half an hour, Brenna! It was like he couldn’t even hear what I was saying, like he couldn’t pay any attention to me at all. I am so not going to be that desperate younger girl chasing the older brooding guy.” She scrunched her nose up. “He’s not worth it. There’s nothing behind all of that mystery bullshit anyway.”
Kelsie’s hands shaped the clay into symmetrical, even pieces and she built them up absentmindedly into something beautiful. I couldn’t do what she was doing if I gave it my full attention and effort.
She pissed and moaned about Saxon, and I sat and made noises of agreement with her sentiments without ever actually saying anything about him. I was ashamed to feel a sense of relief, like Saxon was free for me to pursue now. Because it was dangerously tempting to think of him that way.
And I knew that Kelsie was right; there wasn’t anything behind all of his mystery except a bunch of bullshit.
Hadn’t Saxon said that I could see clearly through everything?
Though if I agreed with the theory that he was full of shit, then his assessment of me kind of went out the window too.
“Ugh!” Kelsie grunted and smashed her clay into a heap.
“Kelsie!” I yelled. “Are you insane? That was beautiful.”
“I’ll make another one.” She rolled her head back on her shoulders. “I so need a girl’s night. Are you up for hanging out tonight, Brenna? It would be so fun. We can get a movie and paint each other’s toe nails,” she pleaded.
And the truth was, I didn’t have to think about it too much, because I really liked Kelsie, and I really wanted a girl to hang out with. Plus, if we got closer, Saxon got pushed farther out of my circumference by default.
And that left Jake Kelly. I felt a little flutter in my heart when I thought about him and his crooked smile and silvery eyes, quoting The Odyssey to me. Well, at least referencing it to me. I liked the rough, calloused feel of his hands and the quiet depth of his voice. He was no show off. He didn’t brood.
“I’d love to hang. Do you know what movie? Mom will probably be happy to swing by Castle Video and pick something up.”
“How about a really cheesy girl movie? One that will make us cry? Like The Notebook,” she sighed.
I got into it. “Let’s make it an awful, cheese-fest Nicholas Sparks tribute night. Let’s get A Walk to Remember and Dear John, too.”
“Love it!” Kelsie gushed. “And we’ll never tell a soul.”
“Never.” I drew an ‘x’ over my heart with my finger.
The bell rang and I rushed to gym, excited that I had plans on a Friday night that involved something other than Danish television, my parents, and a good book.
I caught sight of him as I sprinted out of the locker room, late to the track.
“Run, Forrest, run!” he called. A group of guys with him laughed and jostled. I wasn’t sure what spirit he had said it in. Was he joking with me or mocking me? I decided that my mom’s advice was the best; just ignore them and they’d go away.
Apparently, my mother never tested her theory on high school track fans. Word had gotten around that I was a decent runner and now I had a little cheering section. At the top of the hill, where the soccer game was in play, I heard hoots every time I rounded a lap.
I put them out of my mind. Students weren’t technically allowed to have iPods during gym class, but I flipped up the hood on my long-sleeve shirt and kept it in. I blasted the music and kept running, loving the feel as my muscles expanded and contracted, loving the cold air that blasted in and out of my lungs.
When I was in middle school I wasn’t fat or thin. I was average, but I was soft, undefined, and easily winded. My body felt like some awkward giant robot someone dropped a brain into. It was difficult to navigate. When I got to Denmark there wasn’t a ton to do, and everyone rode bikes everywhere, so I did, too.
My bike was my freedom, and soon Mom and Thorsten were sending me to the grocery store, the post office, the bakery, and the butcher on errands and trips. It broke up the monotony of the day. After a while, they let me take my bike to the train station where I could get on the train with my bike, put it in a storage unit, and be able to go all over; sometimes to the beach, sometimes to the bigger cities to see a movie or do some shopping.
That wasn’t the only physical change. Thorsten encouraged me to buy a lot of clothes when I was there. “I don’t want to brag,” he would brag, “but Denmark is known for the excellent quality of their clothing. You should stock up, Brenna. You can’t find things made this well back in the States.”
He was right, and I did. Which explained my eclectic wardrobe. I knew kids checked it out now that I was back in the States, but I was still too new for anybody to say anything to me. I started to think there was a downside to being a little cooler than I was before I left. Like maybe people felt that, because I dressed better, I was suddenly quiet because I got snotty.
In reality, I felt so out of place, and I had this sinking feeling like there was really never going to be much of a niche for me in high school, especially since I’d chosen to go Share Time.
In the midst of all of my memories and thoughts, I smashed into Coach Dunn on the track.
“Hello?” she bellowed. I almost knocked her over. “You have potatoes in your ears, Blixen?”
Luckily, my ear buds had popped out and fallen into the depths of my sweatshirt when I ran into her. “Sorry Coach Dunn.” I noticed I had moved up in her esteem; I went from a number to a last name.
“Try outs are in two weeks. I better see you there,” she glowered.
“I’m thinking about it seriously,” I called as I jogged back towards the locker room.
“Blixen!”
I looked back.
“You broke yesterday’s record!” She shook her head like she couldn’t believe it.
I wondered if I was suddenly good at running because I had gotten used to doing my favorite thing (zoning out and obsessing over something) while I did something physical (riding my bike) while I was in Denmark. Once my blood got pumping, I just went to that place in my head, and I let my mind wander anywhere it needed to go. I’d be awful at any sport that required I pay attention or actually think, but give me something on a track where I can just wind up and go, and I’m golden.
Saxon waited for me in the hall.
“Why don’t you wear those tiny shorts when you run, like they do in the movies?” His voice was low and sexy, and he knew it.
“Because I’m not in a movie. I know it’s confusing, since you obviously live ‘The Saxon Show’ day and night, but some of us just want to live a boring, old, normal, high school life, you know?”
“You’re the furthest thing from boring I can imagine.” He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. I actually felt all of those little hairs on my arms stand up when his fingertips brushed my ear.
The bell rang, and he put his hand back where it belonged. It didn’t even surprise me when the urge to grab his hand and lick it ran through my mind. I’d been thinking such weird things the past few days, I didn’t even acknowledge half of what passed through my brain anymore. We started walking down the hallway. “So, let’s hang out tonight.” His invitation sent a shiver down my spine.
“No,” I said simply. It was best not to let my traitorous brain think about this one too much.
“Jesus, just as friends, Brenna!” he snapped.
“Wow, as sweet as that sounds, I’ll have to pass,” I bit out. “I have plans.”
“With who?” he asked, his voice tight.
“None of your business, Saxon.” The fact that he was acting so possessive really irritated me. “You know what, you’re not my boyfriend, and even if you were, I’m not a person who likes to be questioned about my every free moment. You need to find someone else to irritate.”
“But the thought of irritatin
g you is literally what made me want to get out of bed this morning.” He gave me his best charming smile, but I kept my mouth in a straight line. He grunted. “Fine. Go out with whoever you want. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
“I can keep hoping.” I punched his arm lightly. “If you want, I’ll let you buy me an extra ice cream. I was still pretty hungry after lunch yesterday.”
“It’s a date, Blixen. I’ve seen guys on the football team eat half of what you ate yesterday at lunch.”
“I’ve got a healthy appetite.”
“So, how did you like Tech?” he asked as we made our way into the crowded lunchroom and lined up to get food.
“I loved it. I met some really nice people, and the work we’re doing is interesting.” My mind went right to Jake’s face, and I felt a dizzy rush.
“I thought it was pretty crazy when you first told me you were going,” he admitted. “I’ve never known anyone with more than a double digit IQ who went to Tech.”
“That’s a stupid thing to say,” I said calmly, thinking, again, about Jake. “People who go to Tech learn to do things that we take for granted. I mean, you laugh about the girls who cut your hair, but if you had to do it yourself, that would suck, wouldn’t it?”
“I could just let it grow out.” He refused to give me an inch.
He could, sadly. And would probably look completely sexy. “Okay. What about the students who are in the electrical program? Carpentry? Culinary arts? Auto shop?”
“Maybe I’ll convert and become Amish.” He raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, that makes sense.” I put two yogurts and a banana next to my turkey sandwich and limp-looking salad. “Leave the modern world to join a sect of people who end formal education in eighth grade to basically learn a technical skill really well.” I gave him my best sarcastic/surprised look. “Hey wait! That sounds like a whole group of Techies doesn’t it? Only you’d have to also grow a beard, wear a funny hat and pray. A lot.”
“Alright, Blix.” He grabbed two ice cream sundaes. “No one likes a show off.” He grinned at me, and I couldn’t help feeling proud and happy that I’d managed to impress him.
Double Clutch Page 5
