black paisley cover and tore out a tiny sheet of paper. "Well," she said as she casually stuffed the note into Marcus' breast pocket. "Anytime you want a little insight into how to keep it from happening in the future, text me. Jules, what we talked about? You really should do the right thing."
Marcus blinked. "What thing?"
"It's nothing!" I blurted out. "Girl stuff that has to do with clothes and makeup and hair and–"
Marla glanced at her watch. "And I have precisely three minutes to make it to chemistry. Marcus, text me, okay? Jules, TTYL okay? Ta!"
"Ta-ta," I said, burying a sudden pang of jealousy. What the hell was Marla doing giving Marcus her phone number? The pang of jealousy suddenly morphed into a form of mild panic. What if he texted her and she spilled the beans about our talk last night? What if Marcus discovered that I was trying to sort out my feelings? I already felt like the biggest ass in the universe having embarrassed my best friend, the last thing I needed was for that same friend to learn from my girlfriend what I couldn't tell him myself! What would he think of me then?
Marcus heaved his bulky backpack off the floor and I grabbed the shoulder straps as he slipped it onto his shoulders.
"I gotta learn to keep a lower profile," he said quietly.
"Marla gave you her number. What was that about?" I asked, mildly annoyed.
"Beats me," he said, examining her note. "She probably wants me to help her study for midterms."
"Or she's into you," I said, surprised by my reaction.
"Me and Marla?" he chuckled. "Well, I'll admit that she's what the higher mortals describe as smoking hot, but Marla is a bit on the extreme side for me. I mean she has a tattoo of a scorpion on the back of her neck for crying out loud!"
I allowed myself a moment to exhale in relief.
"You know," I said, glad that Marcus wasn't attracted to Marla, "maybe she wants to give you a Goth makeover as payment for helping her with midterms – though I'm pretty sure it'll kill your mom when she sees you've turned to the dark side."
"Ha-ha," he said sourly.
I blinked. "So what precipitated Mike Olsen's affections this time?"
Marcus shrugged. "My very existence, I guess," he said quietly. "Thanks for the help, Julie, but this shit is going to continue. What just happened probably made it worse, actually."
He was right.
Mike Olsen wasn't about to slap around a girl, and since he'd been properly dressed down by yours truly, it meant that he'd be gunning for Marcus despite my threats. In defending Marcus, I'd embarrassed the meathead in front of a group of students and there was just no way in the world he was going to be fine and dandy with anything he'd view as a blight on his popularity.
I walked with Marcus to his physics class and said little because I knew that deep down inside, he really wished he could stand up for himself. I mean, he'd be fine if a confrontation were on his terms, like a debate on physics or math. Unfortunately High School isn't about academics and the search for truth despite what our teachers say, so it was pretty clear my intervention just dropped Marcus down a few more notches despite my best intentions.
"Are we still on for the Beltline?" I asked.
Marcus slid the backpack off his shoulders. "Yep. I'll meet you at your locker after school and we'll take it from there."
"See you then," I said.
Marcus disappeared into his classroom and I walked through the second floor foyer leading to my first-period math class. It was time to do that calculus exam.
Or so I thought.
No sooner had I passed the large glass display case filled with Crescent Ridge High School's academic awards when I felt a series of thin jolts charge the atmosphere inside the foyer. I instinctively stopped dead in my tracks and held out my left hand. I shut my eyes and spread my fingers wide open, increasing my focus in the hope of determining
Marcus blinked. "What thing?"
"It's nothing!" I blurted out. "Girl stuff that has to do with clothes and makeup and hair and–"
Marla glanced at her watch. "And I have precisely three minutes to make it to chemistry. Marcus, text me, okay? Jules, TTYL okay? Ta!"
"Ta-ta," I said, burying a sudden pang of jealousy. What the hell was Marla doing giving Marcus her phone number? The pang of jealousy suddenly morphed into a form of mild panic. What if he texted her and she spilled the beans about our talk last night? What if Marcus discovered that I was trying to sort out my feelings? I already felt like the biggest ass in the universe having embarrassed my best friend, the last thing I needed was for that same friend to learn from my girlfriend what I couldn't tell him myself! What would he think of me then?
Marcus heaved his bulky backpack off the floor and I grabbed the shoulder straps as he slipped it onto his shoulders.
"I gotta learn to keep a lower profile," he said quietly.
"Marla gave you her number. What was that about?" I asked, mildly annoyed.
"Beats me," he said, examining her note. "She probably wants me to help her study for midterms."
"Or she's into you," I said, surprised by my reaction.
"Me and Marla?" he chuckled. "Well, I'll admit that she's what the higher mortals describe as smoking hot, but Marla is a bit on the extreme side for me. I mean she has a tattoo of a scorpion on the back of her neck for crying out loud!"
I allowed myself a moment to exhale in relief.
"You know," I said, glad that Marcus wasn't attracted to Marla, "maybe she wants to give you a Goth makeover as payment for helping her with midterms – though I'm pretty sure it'll kill your mom when she sees you've turned to the dark side."
"Ha-ha," he said sourly.
I blinked. "So what precipitated Mike Olsen's affections this time?"
Marcus shrugged. "My very existence, I guess," he said quietly. "Thanks for the help, Julie, but this shit is going to continue. What just happened probably made it worse, actually."
He was right.
Mike Olsen wasn't about to slap around a girl, and since he'd been properly dressed down by yours truly, it meant that he'd be gunning for Marcus despite my threats. In defending Marcus, I'd embarrassed the meathead in front of a group of students and there was just no way in the world he was going to be fine and dandy with anything he'd view as a blight on his popularity.
I walked with Marcus to his physics class and said little because I knew that deep down inside, he really wished he could stand up for himself. I mean, he'd be fine if a confrontation were on his terms, like a debate on physics or math. Unfortunately High School isn't about academics and the search for truth despite what our teachers say, so it was pretty clear my intervention just dropped Marcus down a few more notches despite my best intentions.
"Are we still on for the Beltline?" I asked.
Marcus slid the backpack off his shoulders. "Yep. I'll meet you at your locker after school and we'll take it from there."
"See you then," I said.
Marcus disappeared into his classroom and I walked through the second floor foyer leading to my first-period math class. It was time to do that calculus exam.
Or so I thought.
No sooner had I passed the large glass display case filled with Crescent Ridge High School's academic awards when I felt a series of thin jolts charge the atmosphere inside the foyer. I instinctively stopped dead in my tracks and held out my left hand. I shut my eyes and spread my fingers wide open, increasing my focus in the hope of determining
Similar Books
