And it felt good.
That night, I was determined to actually study. Whatever those grades were, I was going to improve upon them in the second semester. This was exactly what I needed to get over Thomas. I would become a brain. An overachiever. I would throw myself into my work and forget about everything else. I walked determinedly into the library with my history book and my notebook and a new pen. I was going to take notes for the next day's quiz, using the advice Taylor had given me at the beginning of the year. All I had to do was copy the first and last sentence of every paragraph. That was where Mr. Barber always got his quiz questions. It was busywork. If I couldn't handle even that, I was in big trouble.
Every person I strode by stopped what they were doing to watch me go, and I felt my shoulder muscles coil, but I kept my focus dead ahead. I was tired of everyone staring at me. Whispering about me. Asking me if I was okay. But how could I blame them? In the past couple of weeks I had become a walking catastrophe. Spacing out in class. Staring at nothing in the library. Sleeping until the very last moment possible because usually those last twenty minutes were the only sleep I got. One morning I was so out of it that I was halfway across the quad before I realized I was wearing two different shoes. At Easton, that was akin to showing up naked.
Well, as of now, that was all going to change. I had to stop waiting for one of those fairy-tale godmother people to come along and hit me with a wand to the head to make me forget everything. It was up to me now.
In the center of the library, two guys from Drake House, one of the less appealing guys' dorms (nicknamed "Dreck House"), sat at the end of a long table. Neither of them looked up when I passed.
I liked them already. I sat down at the far side and opened my book.
Okay. Here we go. Work time.
"Reed?"
I blinked a couple of dozen times. My eyes stung. Finally they focused on Josh, who was sitting down across from me. I felt like I'd just been shaken awake. I glanced at my watch. Half an hour had passed. My notebook was blank.
"Hey," he said. He looked wary as he placed his messenger bag down on top of the table. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I said through my teeth. "I just wish people would stop asking me that."
Josh raised his hands. "Sorry."
I felt instantly guilty. I couldn't start snapping at my friends now. If I lost them too, I would have nothing at all. Something between a sigh and a groan parted my lips.
"No. I'm sorry." I crossed my arms over my notebook and my forehead hit my wrist. "I didn't mean to tear your head off," I said into the table.
"It's okay," Josh whispered sincerely. "What's going on?"
I felt his finger touch my pinky. It warmed me all over. One millimeter of skin on skin, and my whole body reacted. What would Thomas have thought? Was he watching me right now? Was that even possible? Did he know I was having warm and fuzzy feelings for one of his best friends? I squeezed my eyes closed and shook my head, trying to shake the thoughts out.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't. Nothing was fair.
"Reed?" His voice took on a serious, concerned tone that set every inch of me vibrating.
With a sigh I lifted my head enough so that my chin was now on my notebook. I looked up at him pathetically. I wished he would just hug me. Somehow I felt that if I could find myself in Josh's arms--just held there in his arms--I could start to feel okay. But how could I do that? How could either of us do that?
"I just wish I could get out of my head," I told him after a long moment. "It's unlivable in here."
Josh smirked. He leaned forward, bringing his face close to the table, so close to mine I could see every light freckle across his nose. "I might have an idea of how you can do that, if you're interested," he said, with a mischievous glint in his normally glint-free eyes.
Well. That was foreboding.
I sat up straight. "If you're talking about pot or
That night, I was determined to actually study. Whatever those grades were, I was going to improve upon them in the second semester. This was exactly what I needed to get over Thomas. I would become a brain. An overachiever. I would throw myself into my work and forget about everything else. I walked determinedly into the library with my history book and my notebook and a new pen. I was going to take notes for the next day's quiz, using the advice Taylor had given me at the beginning of the year. All I had to do was copy the first and last sentence of every paragraph. That was where Mr. Barber always got his quiz questions. It was busywork. If I couldn't handle even that, I was in big trouble.
Every person I strode by stopped what they were doing to watch me go, and I felt my shoulder muscles coil, but I kept my focus dead ahead. I was tired of everyone staring at me. Whispering about me. Asking me if I was okay. But how could I blame them? In the past couple of weeks I had become a walking catastrophe. Spacing out in class. Staring at nothing in the library. Sleeping until the very last moment possible because usually those last twenty minutes were the only sleep I got. One morning I was so out of it that I was halfway across the quad before I realized I was wearing two different shoes. At Easton, that was akin to showing up naked.
Well, as of now, that was all going to change. I had to stop waiting for one of those fairy-tale godmother people to come along and hit me with a wand to the head to make me forget everything. It was up to me now.
In the center of the library, two guys from Drake House, one of the less appealing guys' dorms (nicknamed "Dreck House"), sat at the end of a long table. Neither of them looked up when I passed.
I liked them already. I sat down at the far side and opened my book.
Okay. Here we go. Work time.
"Reed?"
I blinked a couple of dozen times. My eyes stung. Finally they focused on Josh, who was sitting down across from me. I felt like I'd just been shaken awake. I glanced at my watch. Half an hour had passed. My notebook was blank.
"Hey," he said. He looked wary as he placed his messenger bag down on top of the table. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I said through my teeth. "I just wish people would stop asking me that."
Josh raised his hands. "Sorry."
I felt instantly guilty. I couldn't start snapping at my friends now. If I lost them too, I would have nothing at all. Something between a sigh and a groan parted my lips.
"No. I'm sorry." I crossed my arms over my notebook and my forehead hit my wrist. "I didn't mean to tear your head off," I said into the table.
"It's okay," Josh whispered sincerely. "What's going on?"
I felt his finger touch my pinky. It warmed me all over. One millimeter of skin on skin, and my whole body reacted. What would Thomas have thought? Was he watching me right now? Was that even possible? Did he know I was having warm and fuzzy feelings for one of his best friends? I squeezed my eyes closed and shook my head, trying to shake the thoughts out.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't. Nothing was fair.
"Reed?" His voice took on a serious, concerned tone that set every inch of me vibrating.
With a sigh I lifted my head enough so that my chin was now on my notebook. I looked up at him pathetically. I wished he would just hug me. Somehow I felt that if I could find myself in Josh's arms--just held there in his arms--I could start to feel okay. But how could I do that? How could either of us do that?
"I just wish I could get out of my head," I told him after a long moment. "It's unlivable in here."
Josh smirked. He leaned forward, bringing his face close to the table, so close to mine I could see every light freckle across his nose. "I might have an idea of how you can do that, if you're interested," he said, with a mischievous glint in his normally glint-free eyes.
Well. That was foreboding.
I sat up straight. "If you're talking about pot or