people can develop romantic feelings, and I’m thinking Wek’s can’t.
“How about you do what you normally do and I do what I normally do?” I say and pat him on the chest.
He takes my hand and holds it against his chest. “Are you patronizing me?” He’s wearing a tiny crooked smile.
“No,” I say and then think about it. “Well, yes. But I mean it really.”
“Come on, Zill. We’re friends now, right?”
I sigh hard, just as I thought. He only likes me as a person. “Okay, lunch,” I mutter, giving in and then turn into the classroom to take my seat.
I’m ready to call the day quits right after the bell rings and Mr. Franks starts calling out names, taking the roll. I don’t think there’s one person who looks more bored than I do.
Forty-five minutes creep by and then we hear another bell. I’m numb walking down the hallway towards my next class which happens to be economics, and the time creeps by in that class too. Third period is Spanish and as I walk out of that class, I don’t see Derek mixed in the sea of faces that are congesting the hallways. I sigh with relief. Maybe he’s changed his mind. I fully intend to follow through with my regular plan, which is rush home, make a salad, forget this morning of school ever happened and then return to finish the rest of the day, maybe. Oh, and I won’t forget to change clothes while I’m there— if I decide to come back .
As I’m outside, scurrying down the steps with my head down, eyes to the ground, hoping and praying not to run into Derek or Mrs. Lowenstein, the only two people in this entire school who talk to me, when I get to the bottom of the steps, two bright white sneakers are planted right in front of me. As I look up, I see the dark jeans and black wool coat.
“Derek,” I breathe.
“You sound disappointed.”
“A little,” I say, indicating that by stretching my index finger and thumb, leaving a tiny bit of space between them.
The cafeteria is full of lunch goers. It’s snowing and cold outside, so everyone’s inside. The line to the counter is long and I have my arms folded across my chest, thumping my fingers impatiently on my arms as Derek holds conversations with any and everybody.
“So where are you guys sitting?” this red-faced, brown-haired kid asks. I instantly grimace. Sitting at the table and listening to this guy go on about what he’s been talking about for the last seven minutes was not in the plan. They’ve been chatting about the New England Patriots and Indianapolis Colts game and how some guy name Peyton Manning tried the no-huddle offense. Derek mostly reacted to everything the kid said, not offering much on the conversation in return. It must be a gift because he manages to make it seem like they are equal participants in the discussion.
“Hey, why don’t you guys just have lunch here? I’m going to head out,” I say and begin backing out of line. Derek reaches a hand out and takes me by the shoulder.
“Preston, if you don’t mind, Zill and I have lot to talk about.”
“Zill,” Preston says, shocked that he called me that. Me, snapping at anyone who tries to shorten my name is pretty much common gossip, true gossip , at the school.
“Yes.” Derek’s tone remains charming and so does his smile. I think Preston, like everyone else, falls to the power of Derek’s smile.
“Um, sure,” he stutters and looks at me. “Maybe tomorrow, all three of us,” Preston says, staring at me for reassurance.
I’m not charming because I’m not Derek. “Absolutely not,” I say in my best mocking tone. And when I take a side-eyed glance at Derek, he’s frowning at me, I decide to be nicer. “I mean, I’m not eating in here tomorrow, just only today and never again.”
“Oh—okay,” Preston says. He seems more relieved by the explanation, which was really the truth for the most part. “Well, see you guys later,” he again, says mainly to me.
I shake my head after he leaves. “Can you
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