I smile at the girl who’s been my best friend ever since I lost Lucas. “How much worse will it look if I try to wipe it off?”
She grins. “Bad. It’ll look really bad. But you look fantastic. Do you know how much I’ve missed you?” She flicks her black-silk hair away from her face with pointed silver nails, her eyes shining with feeling. I forgive her for the kiss.
“Same,” Josie says, slipping past Nina to give me a gentler hug, just as warm. Josie smells like an orange creamsicle—not just today, but always. It usually reminds me of my childhood, but this time it makes me miss the scent of woodfires.
“Why haven’t you called?” Nina asks, her borderline-lethal hands settling onto her hips, the nail tips tapping against the polished black damask of her corset-style dress.
“My phone’s broken—no, it’s being repaired, hopefully.”
“Oh.” Nina’s nails stop tapping. “Kind of puts a dent in my guilt-trip speech, but since it’s already prepared: I’ll have you know, Josie and I called you practically round the clock. All that time in the wilderness with not a thing to do but survive and pull Luke Owens over to The Dark Side, and you never once called back.”
Josie nods emphatically. Her bronze-colored, chin length hair swings forward and back, accentuating her agreement. “It’s true.”
“Sorry,” I say, glancing at each of them, before zeroing my focus in on Josie. “New haircut. Very nice.” I reach out to touch a few strands.
Josie smiles and Nina leans in to appraise my face. “And you’ve changed colors.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re wearing red. That’s your Pre-Affair Lipstick, the one you wore before your dad failed to keep it in his pants, yet again.”
“Oh God. Please don’t say that.” My stomach churns at her words. “Anyway, I just felt like wearing this today.”
Nina smiles. “Conquered the mountain and came back a changed woman?”
“Something like that. So, you know we were stuck on a mountain?”
“Oh, you’re referring to an actual mountain?” Nina’s eyebrow shifts upward into wickedness. “I meant Luke.”
“No, she means the actual mountain, too,” Josie cuts in. “We heard all about how you guys got lost out there.”
“Yes,” Nina confirms, “we heard about it on the news, and of course it was uber-enthusiastically shared by word of mouth. We had to rely on those things, like everyone else, since our best friend left us hanging.”
“Sorry,” I say. “Again. I should’ve called after I got home, but there was only my mom’s phone, which she had with her whenever Jared was over, or was using to talk to Jared whenever he was gone. Plus, I needed to decompress.”
“We get it,” Josie says, more to Nina than to me. “We do. Besides, you can make up for it all right now. We’re ready for details.”
“True,” Nina agrees. “As in every single detail you can pack into the five measly minutes we have before the first bell rings. Josie, you start. Rapid fire questions. No, never mind, you’ll take too long. Me, first. Layla, question one: how did Luke survive? I mean, how did you not kill him?”
“What? No, it wasn’t like that. He was hurt and I helped him. Then, he helped me, too… We had to work together, or else…”
My face is on fire and Josie and Nina are both staring at me, eyes and mouths rounding into circles. I stop. I’m only making it worse. “Forget it. I’ll explain later, when there’s time.” I turn from them, reach into my locker for a book.
Josie leans close and whispers into my ear, “I sense a lovesick somebody in this hallway…”
I level a look at her over my shoulder. “No one here is lovesick.”
“Oh, don’t be too sure. Big Hand Luke just glanced your way and I swear I saw puppy dog eyes.”
“What?” I press my lips together, shaking my head. “No, you saw wrong. Luke and I were friends as kids, and…I guess we are again. Anyway, don’t call him that.”
“But he has big hands.” Josie stretches her fingers out as wide as they’ll go and holds them up. I try not to look.
“You mean best friends,” Nina says. “You two used to be best friends. You’d run around the playground together, leaving the rest of us out of it. Is that what we’re back to? You’re not going to forget about us, are you, and join the cliqueratti?”
“Them? Not a chance. Luke and I just spent a lot of time together while we were lost.”
“And?” Nina asks.
“And, yeah, we’re friends again. End of story.”
I lead the way to class, accidentally catching Luke’s eye when I pass him in the hallway. Behind me, my friends mutter something to each other. The only part I catch is Nina’s, “End of story, my ass.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Evan slips beside me just before I enter first period Language Arts. I completely forgot we used to meet out here at the start of each day. “Nice kiss,” he says.
“What? Oh no.” I remember Nina’s coal-colored lip-smack and start wiping my cheek. Evan cringes.
“Am I making it worse?”
“Without a doubt.” He gives me a smile, the kind designed to play up his dimples.
I have a slight thing for dimples and he knows it. I might have licked his one time, last summer, on impulse.
Luke doesn’t have dimples, but that’s okay, because I also have a thing for Luke.
“What’s up, Evan?” I ask, injecting only a little more warmth into my voice than the winter wind roaring outside.
“Nothing.” He holds onto the grin until it starts to look uncomfortable. “I’ve missed you, that’s all.”
“Must’ve been the whole ‘possibly dead’ thing. Don’t worry, you’ll get over it.”
“Don’t be like that, Layla. I can’t believe you’re still pissed at me, after everything that’s happened. We can work on stuff, pick up where we left off…you know, right before things went south.” His gaze dips down to scan my body and his smile quirks up on one side. He’s trying for a double entendre, I think.
“Except things weren’t going south, or anywhere else. Wasn’t that the problem?” I lift my gaze to watch his falter. “I have to get to class, Evan.”
His dimples fade, even before I turn away. They were never that great, anyhow.
♦ ♦ ♦
Spanish follows a couple of periods after L.A., and this time I’m the one who forgets Luke’s in my class. He walks into the room, catching me off guard, and I wonder if my heart might actually cartwheel out of my chest. If it does, I’m guessing people will notice, because they’re definitely watching us.
His stride slows as he passes my row and he gives me a soft smile. “Hey, Layla,” he says, his voice gravelly, subdued. The room holds its breath. Or maybe only I do.
“Hi.” I drop my gaze to my notebook and reach down to dig a pen out of my backpack. Luke continues on to his seat and I begin fiercely scribbling doodles at the top of my page.
We’re too aware of one another. That’s what the others are bound to pick up on, like sharks with blood in the water.
If he’d just ignore me, things would be so much easier.
Also, a lot harder.
“Very glad to have you both back,” Señora Marin says, addressing us at the start of class, except she says it in Spanish. This is a Spanish-only room; Señora believes in the immersion technique.
She nods at me, before Luke. I appreciate her giving me the first nod; I’m sure it was consciously done. No offense to Luke. Most would acknowledge him before—and if—they ever thought of me. Even he would have to admit it’s true.
“Gracias, Señora,” I say, and Luke responds, “Yeah, thanks.” A few people laugh.
Class goes all right, considering. I face forward, switching between looking at the teacher and keeping my head down. A few times, I feel a burning sensation along the back of my neck, like someone’s eyes are drilling into my skin. I doubt it’s Luke; he’d be more subtle than that. Probably it’s one or two of
his adoring fans, jealous I got to be in a car accident with him and nearly starve by his side.
The teacher asks Luke and me to stay after class when the bell rings, and I get to witness the death glares full on this time. Mean girls. Can’t live with ’em, can’t book ’em passage to Mars.
“I know you’ve been through a lot recently,” Señora says, glancing at each of us, not exactly prying but letting her curiosity show. “You’ll have to make up your work, maybe by the end of next week? If it’s much longer, I’ll have to start deducting points. I’m looking at you, Luke. If you encounter any trouble, perhaps Layla would be a good source for tutoring.”
Luke grins at me and I frown, completely by accident; we thank the teacher, then Luke hangs back to let me lead the way from the room.
“Are you mad at me?” he asks. We’re caught in the alcove of the doorway, poised to enter the heavy hall traffic.
I stare straight ahead, careful not to look at him. So many eyes, already shifting our way. “No. I’m just trying to do what you said.”
“People can know we’re friends. Or is that not okay?”
I make the mistake of glancing at him. It’s more than a glance; I look for too long. Turning back, I watch the faces take mental notes. “It’s all this attention. I hate it.”
“Then, let me help: you don’t care what people think, remember?”
I do, though. More than he knows, more than I’m willing to admit aloud, especially to him. “Just give me time to get my footing.”
“Fine. Try to remember I’m not the enemy while you do that?” He’s the one to look at me too long this time, and before I know what’s happening, his hand comes up to brush against my cheek.
I draw back like I’ve been stung. “What are you doing?”
“Sorry. Your cheek…it looks bruised or something.”
“Bruised?” The spot he touched was the same place Nina kissed me hello this morning. “Oh, it’s Nina’s black lipstick. She kissed me, earlier.”
His gaze travels over my face. “Lucky Nina,” he says, and I step out into the crowded hall without looking back at him, but even as I’m swept away by the current of movement, I can still feel his touch, the backs of his fingers against my cheek.
I’ve had this thought before: if someone took a thermal image of my skin after we’ve been close, they could trace the paths of his hands. At the cabin, I wanted to be decorated with his fingerprints, but here?
Carnal knowledge. Carnal, from the Latin carnalis, “of the flesh;” I remember learning its origin somewhere. Carnal knowledge, knowledge of the flesh. Our skin knows each other; that’s what everyone will sense.
♦ ♦ ♦
Luke corners me two periods later, in the lunchroom. Actually, he gets in line a few spots behind me, but it feels like cornering.
He says my name, and when I turn, his smile is warm, so familiar, I step forward, almost go to him out of habit.
The impulse shocks me and I draw inward.
He tells the people between us in line to jump ahead of me and I spear him with an annoyed look. “I need to eat,” I say. “I’m starving.”
“Not starving, not anymore.” He smiles and again I’m fighting back impulses—to smile, to wrap my arms around him, to kiss him until neither of us can breathe.
We’re in view of anyone who wants to look—and probably, almost certainly, practically definitely some of them are. My muscles twitch once and lock in place.
“Heard they have rice and beans today,” he says. He hasn’t noticed the change in my expression; I’m fighting back some kind of weird grimace, my face crumpling from an overload of emotion. I’m getting this wrong—this public us—but it feels like he is, too. He adjusts his position, leans in almost imperceptibly. “I keep getting cravings.”
I step back. “Luke, quit it.”
My features settle on a frown, and he returns it. “Come on, Layla. I’m just joking around. No one cares, but you.”
I look up at him, stare hard. “Isn’t that a good enough reason to stop?”
His gray-blue eyes hold mine. “Fine. Yeah, it’s enough.”
♦ ♦ ♦
I don’t see Luke again until the end of the day, when I’m heading for my car. I got hung up in my Art IV class, trying to glaze an overdue mug—we’re in the middle of our annual unit on ceramics—so I’ve missed the rush of the exit crowd.
Luke and his jock cronies are talking by the edge of the parking lot, standing in t-shirts and shorts despite the cold, probably getting ready to do something sweaty.
His concussion. The thought trips me up, makes my footsteps falter.
He shouldn’t be running or tackling, or doing any of those other football-y things. So, what can I do to stop him? Run, push my way through those columns of male bodies, beg him not to take any risks? If I fell to my knees, wrapped my arms around his legs, would that work?
Luke’s a big boy, already eighteen, technically an adult. It should be up to him to know better. I tell myself this in order to begin walking again, but it doesn’t feel good, and it also doesn’t keep me from looking back. This is how I spot him as he breaks off from the group and heads my way. I pause, even though half of me resists.
“You saw me, didn’t you?” he asks, jogging over.
“I did. I saw who you were standing with, too.”
“Those guys aren’t that bad, are they?” He glances behind him, lets his head tip to an angle. “Okay, maybe.”
He’s smiling when he turns back, but the light fades quickly from his face. “You’ve been avoiding me all day.”
My throat tightens; there’s a chance my voice might break if I speak, but I have to speak. “Luke, don’t you get it? We were so close and now we’re supposed to push all that aside? I don’t know how to navigate all these changes.”
“It isn’t easy for me, either. I don’t want to hold back, but it’s not forever, and we don’t have to erase all our closeness, anyway. Why is it so hard to be friends for a while?”
“Friends. Does that mean friends who flirt? Because that’s what it felt like you were doing today in the cafeteria.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. Like I said, I’m having trouble with this, too. Once I talk to Marissa, make sure she’s clear on things, we can move on.”
I nod. This can be a conversation, instead of an argument; I should be conversational. “I guess that means you didn’t get a chance to talk to her?”
He fidgets, rubs the back of his neck. “Not yet. She wasn’t here.”
“Aah, I thought there was something lighter about school today…”
He smirks at me and I smile. He takes a step forward and I step back.
“Luke, what are you doing?”
“Sorry. Reflex.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. You’re no good at this ‘friends’ thing, either.”
“You know what? You’re right. Screw it. Forget about Marissa and her feelings. I’d rather not hide things, anyway. I’ll make out with you right here. Hell, I’ll get naked with you. Let’s roll around together, give everyone a show—no, let’s roll around together, whether they look or not.”
He isn’t serious—at least I don’t think so—but there’s enough urgency in his tone to make me remember he’s not the only one who gets to call the shots. I take another step back, even as he’s moving closer.
“What if I don’t want people to know about us?” I ask.
He pauses, the hand he’s lifted to reach toward me freezes in midair.
“Luke, if people knew the truth, you might get some high fives for scoring. I’d get called a slut.”
His jaw flexes. “You’re not a slut.”
“I know I’m not. I know why it happened: because of what we went through at the cabin, because of how close we used to be, how close we became again. It felt right.”
“Why are you talking in the past tense?”
“Because…I guess I don’t understand the present.” I lo
ok away from him, catch sight of his teammates. They’re talking; a few of them are watching us. “Even if we did decide to be together—publicly, I mean—your friends don’t like me, Luke.”
“They don’t know you,” he says. “And who cares what they think? You don’t like them.”
“But I like my friends, and most of them hate you.”
“Why?”
“Luke, you beat up one of their own. Evan, remember?”
“Can’t you just tell them why I hit him? I mean, an edited version?”
“Right, and that’s how the world really works. The truth comes out and everyone believes.”
One of the guys from Luke’s group yells his name. Luke holds up his hand without turning. Something about it catches my eye. Purple. There’s a fleck of purple on his pinky, a remnant of my nail polish from the cabin.
“Purple’s not your color after all?”
He looks confused for only a second before he flinches. “My dad gave me crap about it, and I thought if I had to explain it today—”
I raise my own hand to wave his words away. “Never mind. I didn’t expect you to keep it on. Anyway, you have to go, and so do I.” I want to leave, to be alone—inside my car, inside my house.
“They can wait,” Luke says.
I glance over at the group again and spot Luke’s dad exiting the supply shack. His gaze finds us. His dad works for the district in addition to coaching, so I’m used to seeing him around. Typically, he avoids eye contact; this time, he’s letting me know he sees me.
“Your dad’s here, too? He’s not making you train for real, is he?”
“No, I’m just doing some stuff to stay active…probably a few sprints, at most.”
“But you shouldn’t be running, should you? Have you seen a doctor yet?”
“Layla…”
“Luke, this is important. Maybe I should talk to your dad…” I scan the group, trying to locate Mr. Owens again, but Luke moves into my line of sight.
“No. You definitely should not do that.”
“But if I explained how out of it you were that first night…if he really understood…”
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