it’s just posturing and that’s the worst. Luckily, at themoment he’s hunched over his journal, deep into some lyric writing. Perfect.
“Hey,” I say as I reach them.
“Hey,” Caleb grunts. He doesn’t look up. When I don’t get the dark glimmer of his eyes, that three-quarter smile, I have to swallow my disappointment.
I sit down across from him. “Did you complete the operation, private?”
He just shakes his head tersely and suddenly I feel lame for continuing our joke. But maybe he’s just nervous. I would not want to be in the position of trying to apologize to one person I dumped, never mind three. And I’ve learned that Caleb takes almost everything as seriously as it’s possible to take it.
“No sign of them yet, commander,” says Jon. He’s got his black Ibanez in his lap, his fingers dancing in a near blur over the strings, making a tinny flurry of notes. He winks at me. Jon is like Caleb tonic. He keeps everything light. He’s wiry and wearing skinny black jeans and a black T-shirt with an oil-painting image of John Denver and Miss Piggy that I’ve seen down at IronicTee. His teal sneakers match his spiky teal hair. His parents are from Thailand. He was on the waiting list to get into Mount Hope High for two years, after being at the ESL high school over in the Valley, so just being here still seems like a huge thrill.
“Hey, Summer, how’d it go?” Matt is on the other side of Caleb, a tablet in his lap. He’s a cute kid. So young!Freshmen are adorable. But he’s also pretty awesome. Optimistic, and fiery, and a sick drummer, with a real edge when he plays. He’s got dirty-blond hair and easy features, a little boy-band, and for a musician, he dresses kinda skater, with plaid sneakers, a gray hoodie, and purple jeans.
“What are you watching?” I ask him.
“John Bonham drum fills. He rules. Wanna see?”
Matt smiles hopefully. He’s kind of infatuated with me. Obviously he knows I’m with Caleb, but he can’t help it. I don’t mean that to sound cocky, it’s just that he wears it right on his face and it’s cute. I can’t help but smile at him. I already feel like he’s my younger brother.
“Maybe later,” I say, smiling back. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. “But at the moment . . .” I fish into my bag. “Success!” I slide my phone over.
“Sweet!” Jon grabs my phone and immediately taps the coconuts. “Awesome.”
“Great work!” Matt holds up his hand for a high five, looking terrified, like he’ll mess it up and lose his chance with me. No worries, little brother, we can high-five.
No response from Caleb.
“Yep, it was no problem,” I say. “I just had to make out with Ari for a few minutes.”
Still nothing . . .
“Let him feel me up . . .”
Stiiill nothing . . .
“Caleb.”
Finally his eyes pop up. “What?” He’s got condition-critical Fret Face, with the bonus knotted brow of doom.
I try not to sound annoyed. “Did you hear me?”
“Summer got us the Trial,” says Jon.
It takes a second for Caleb to react, as if this is the furthest thing from his mind. “Oh, cool.” He looks past me, out into the room.
“Yep, you’re welcome,” I say. “I take it you haven’t talked to Android yet?”
“Here they come,” he mutters.
I turn and see Trevor and Cybil emerging from the practice hall, along with another guy. Trevor is all angles and zits, wearing a plaid hat atop his long, greasy hair. Cybil wears a peach-colored thrift-store dress that labors around her square frame. Her orange hair is pinned back with thick barrettes.
They have joined the short line for espressos when Trevor notices Caleb. He stiffens and says something softly to Cybil, who doesn’t look over.
Caleb stands up. “Hey, guys.” They don’t react until he steps over to them. I join him.
Trevor eyes Caleb. “What.”
“How’s it going?” Caleb asks. He shoves his hands in his pockets. I wish I could reach over and take one, but
“Hey,” I say as I reach them.
“Hey,” Caleb grunts. He doesn’t look up. When I don’t get the dark glimmer of his eyes, that three-quarter smile, I have to swallow my disappointment.
I sit down across from him. “Did you complete the operation, private?”
He just shakes his head tersely and suddenly I feel lame for continuing our joke. But maybe he’s just nervous. I would not want to be in the position of trying to apologize to one person I dumped, never mind three. And I’ve learned that Caleb takes almost everything as seriously as it’s possible to take it.
“No sign of them yet, commander,” says Jon. He’s got his black Ibanez in his lap, his fingers dancing in a near blur over the strings, making a tinny flurry of notes. He winks at me. Jon is like Caleb tonic. He keeps everything light. He’s wiry and wearing skinny black jeans and a black T-shirt with an oil-painting image of John Denver and Miss Piggy that I’ve seen down at IronicTee. His teal sneakers match his spiky teal hair. His parents are from Thailand. He was on the waiting list to get into Mount Hope High for two years, after being at the ESL high school over in the Valley, so just being here still seems like a huge thrill.
“Hey, Summer, how’d it go?” Matt is on the other side of Caleb, a tablet in his lap. He’s a cute kid. So young!Freshmen are adorable. But he’s also pretty awesome. Optimistic, and fiery, and a sick drummer, with a real edge when he plays. He’s got dirty-blond hair and easy features, a little boy-band, and for a musician, he dresses kinda skater, with plaid sneakers, a gray hoodie, and purple jeans.
“What are you watching?” I ask him.
“John Bonham drum fills. He rules. Wanna see?”
Matt smiles hopefully. He’s kind of infatuated with me. Obviously he knows I’m with Caleb, but he can’t help it. I don’t mean that to sound cocky, it’s just that he wears it right on his face and it’s cute. I can’t help but smile at him. I already feel like he’s my younger brother.
“Maybe later,” I say, smiling back. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. “But at the moment . . .” I fish into my bag. “Success!” I slide my phone over.
“Sweet!” Jon grabs my phone and immediately taps the coconuts. “Awesome.”
“Great work!” Matt holds up his hand for a high five, looking terrified, like he’ll mess it up and lose his chance with me. No worries, little brother, we can high-five.
No response from Caleb.
“Yep, it was no problem,” I say. “I just had to make out with Ari for a few minutes.”
Still nothing . . .
“Let him feel me up . . .”
Stiiill nothing . . .
“Caleb.”
Finally his eyes pop up. “What?” He’s got condition-critical Fret Face, with the bonus knotted brow of doom.
I try not to sound annoyed. “Did you hear me?”
“Summer got us the Trial,” says Jon.
It takes a second for Caleb to react, as if this is the furthest thing from his mind. “Oh, cool.” He looks past me, out into the room.
“Yep, you’re welcome,” I say. “I take it you haven’t talked to Android yet?”
“Here they come,” he mutters.
I turn and see Trevor and Cybil emerging from the practice hall, along with another guy. Trevor is all angles and zits, wearing a plaid hat atop his long, greasy hair. Cybil wears a peach-colored thrift-store dress that labors around her square frame. Her orange hair is pinned back with thick barrettes.
They have joined the short line for espressos when Trevor notices Caleb. He stiffens and says something softly to Cybil, who doesn’t look over.
Caleb stands up. “Hey, guys.” They don’t react until he steps over to them. I join him.
Trevor eyes Caleb. “What.”
“How’s it going?” Caleb asks. He shoves his hands in his pockets. I wish I could reach over and take one, but
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