cups.
Teen Vogue
magazine subscription cards, balled silver gum wrappers, and half-popped popcorn kernels were scattered across the pink shag area rug. “The DSL Daters are even messier than Dylan!”
A kernel smacked against Alicia’s zit-free forehead and Dylan burst out laughing. “Ooops, sorry.”
Alicia picked up a wood coffee stirrer off the floor and poked Dylan’s yellow-and-brown-plaid Western shirt, straight through to her fleshy bicep. “Ouch!”
Dylan tugged Alicia’s low black side-pony and let out a
“toot, toooooot!”
Her impersonation of a ship’s horn was an obvious a reference to Alicia’s navy-and-white-striped boat-neck sailor dress.
“Let’s hope we got us the right class schedule.” Massie aimed the pink-Swarovski-crystal-covered remote at the flat-screen TV and pressed POWER . “Here we go.”
Claire forced her jittery legs into the chair. Technically, this was worse than journal reading, and she couldn’t help feeling that somehow Cam would sense that she was spying.
The others took their seats just as a black-and-white image appeared on the screen.
“Eh,” said Alicia.
“Ma,” said Dylan.
“Gawd!” said Kristen.
“It works,” whisper-gasped Massie in awe. She shut off the noisy foot massager, letting her feet wade in the sudsy still water.
A semicircle of fifteen desks, each one occupied by a different Briarwood boy, flickered back at them.
Immediately, Claire scanned the room for Cam. He was sitting a few seats away from the window, next to Derrington, listening to some boy with a buzz cut who was in the middle of a rant. She shielded her eyes in case there was any possible way he could see her.
“… It’s like she swears I’m thinking certain things when I’m not thinking anything at all,” said Buzz Cut Boy.
“No way!” Alicia gasped. “That’s Miles Burke, Bella’s crush. She was crying about him today in the bathroom because she said he’s been ignoring her!”
“Shhhhh!” the girls snapped in unison, not taking their eyes off the screen.
“What kinds of things does she think you’re thinking?” boomed a deep, older male voice with a faint Southern accent.
“Ehmagawd, it’s Dr. Loni,” squealed Dylan. “He sounds just like he does on the radio.”
“Shhhhhhhh!” the girls snapped again.
“I dunno.” Miles bit the side of his pencil. “Like, last night I was supposed to call her and I didn’t, so today I get this text that says she thinks I have intimacy issues because my parents just got divorced.”
“Well?” Dr. Loni asked, expectantly.
“Well,
what
?” huffed Miles. “I didn’t call her back because her number was written on the side of my Nikes and my Nikes were in my room.”
“And?” asked the radio host, not quite getting the connection.
“
And
I was in the attic playing Formula One with my brother and our cousin.”
The boys snickered, like they totally understood his position.
“Why didn’t you call her
after
the game?”
“I figured we’d talk today or something. And now she’s mad at me.” Miles shrugged.
“Would you call that a lack of communication?” the man-voice prompted him.
“No, I’d call it psycho.”
Cam laughed with the rest of the boys, giving Claire an instant ache in her stomach, her legs, her temples, and her heart. She would have expected Cam to understand Bella’s point of view, not mock it. Had her seemingly sensitive crush always been such a guy’s guy?
The laughter died and Cam tapped a Bic pen against his Nikki notebook. It was then Claire realized that maybe she’d never really known him at all.
“Let’s move to today’s topic,” boomed Dr. Loni, from somewhere beyond the camera’s reach. “It’s called, ‘You’re Only as Sick as Your Secrets.’”
For the next few seconds, all the girls heard was chalk tapping against the blackboard.
Cam’s eyes were fixed on what must have been the Share Bear, because it looked like he was staring straight at
Teen Vogue
magazine subscription cards, balled silver gum wrappers, and half-popped popcorn kernels were scattered across the pink shag area rug. “The DSL Daters are even messier than Dylan!”
A kernel smacked against Alicia’s zit-free forehead and Dylan burst out laughing. “Ooops, sorry.”
Alicia picked up a wood coffee stirrer off the floor and poked Dylan’s yellow-and-brown-plaid Western shirt, straight through to her fleshy bicep. “Ouch!”
Dylan tugged Alicia’s low black side-pony and let out a
“toot, toooooot!”
Her impersonation of a ship’s horn was an obvious a reference to Alicia’s navy-and-white-striped boat-neck sailor dress.
“Let’s hope we got us the right class schedule.” Massie aimed the pink-Swarovski-crystal-covered remote at the flat-screen TV and pressed POWER . “Here we go.”
Claire forced her jittery legs into the chair. Technically, this was worse than journal reading, and she couldn’t help feeling that somehow Cam would sense that she was spying.
The others took their seats just as a black-and-white image appeared on the screen.
“Eh,” said Alicia.
“Ma,” said Dylan.
“Gawd!” said Kristen.
“It works,” whisper-gasped Massie in awe. She shut off the noisy foot massager, letting her feet wade in the sudsy still water.
A semicircle of fifteen desks, each one occupied by a different Briarwood boy, flickered back at them.
Immediately, Claire scanned the room for Cam. He was sitting a few seats away from the window, next to Derrington, listening to some boy with a buzz cut who was in the middle of a rant. She shielded her eyes in case there was any possible way he could see her.
“… It’s like she swears I’m thinking certain things when I’m not thinking anything at all,” said Buzz Cut Boy.
“No way!” Alicia gasped. “That’s Miles Burke, Bella’s crush. She was crying about him today in the bathroom because she said he’s been ignoring her!”
“Shhhhh!” the girls snapped in unison, not taking their eyes off the screen.
“What kinds of things does she think you’re thinking?” boomed a deep, older male voice with a faint Southern accent.
“Ehmagawd, it’s Dr. Loni,” squealed Dylan. “He sounds just like he does on the radio.”
“Shhhhhhhh!” the girls snapped again.
“I dunno.” Miles bit the side of his pencil. “Like, last night I was supposed to call her and I didn’t, so today I get this text that says she thinks I have intimacy issues because my parents just got divorced.”
“Well?” Dr. Loni asked, expectantly.
“Well,
what
?” huffed Miles. “I didn’t call her back because her number was written on the side of my Nikes and my Nikes were in my room.”
“And?” asked the radio host, not quite getting the connection.
“
And
I was in the attic playing Formula One with my brother and our cousin.”
The boys snickered, like they totally understood his position.
“Why didn’t you call her
after
the game?”
“I figured we’d talk today or something. And now she’s mad at me.” Miles shrugged.
“Would you call that a lack of communication?” the man-voice prompted him.
“No, I’d call it psycho.”
Cam laughed with the rest of the boys, giving Claire an instant ache in her stomach, her legs, her temples, and her heart. She would have expected Cam to understand Bella’s point of view, not mock it. Had her seemingly sensitive crush always been such a guy’s guy?
The laughter died and Cam tapped a Bic pen against his Nikki notebook. It was then Claire realized that maybe she’d never really known him at all.
“Let’s move to today’s topic,” boomed Dr. Loni, from somewhere beyond the camera’s reach. “It’s called, ‘You’re Only as Sick as Your Secrets.’”
For the next few seconds, all the girls heard was chalk tapping against the blackboard.
Cam’s eyes were fixed on what must have been the Share Bear, because it looked like he was staring straight at
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