It took me a moment to realize that he was referring to my phone that just shattered all over his classroom floor. I blushed a bit before answering. “I don’t have much to complain about.”
“Come on, there has to be something you hate,” he said.
“Um, poetry?” I said.
“Be more specific,” he said.
“I don’t know,” I said, blushing deeper. Though I was über tempted to point to the Walt Whitman poem I’d been looking at earlier.
“There has to be something about poetry that makes you hate it. Think about it. Think back to that teacher who first made you read poetry. What flipped your switch to hatred?”
I thought back to Franco assigning us huge poetry books every night to analyze and never understanding a word of what they said and then having Franco breathe down my neck, waiting for an answer, telling me to think. “I guess the poets taking the most difficult and roundabout way to explain what they mean, that only a few people can understand.”
He nodded. “All right. Danielle, right?”
“Yes. Danielle Cavanaugh.”
“Danielle Cavanaugh, who is your idol? Someone you know who has the dream job and lifestyle that you aspire to.”
“Uh…” I tried to think.
“I don’t want you to strain yourself,” he said, a few students snickering. “When you get someone in mind, I want you to imagine them doing whatever they do best. Can you do that for me?”
I thought of the conservationist that I’d job shadowed when I was in ninth grade for a school project. Her name was Nancy Earl, and I was so convinced after spending a day analyzing pollen and bee communities with her that I was going to save the planet one tree at a time.
“Now, have they ever tried to explain to you what they do?” he asked.
I nodded, remembering how in awe I was when she explained everything that she did. I thought she was the coolest human being ever when she showed me all her equipment and explained to me how I could be on the same path as she was.
“Did they water it down for you?” he asked.
More kids laughed, and I felt my blush becoming even deeper. “I guess so.”
“Then they were doing you a disservice,” he said, pulling up a chair in front of my desk. “You see, when things are watered down for you, you lose large pieces of the meaning. It’s only when you have to research and think for yourself that meanings have a deeper resonance.”
We stared eye to eye for a solid ten seconds before Finn Harrisburg stood up and pushed his chair back to his desk, letting it scrape across the ground loudly. My blood was boiling now, not because of poetry or even Franco. Mr. Franco may have been a hard-ass, but calling me out in front of the class? Never happened. Finn Harrisburg scanned his eyes across the room again and landed on me for a second before smiling.
“Who’s next?”
* * *
I came home to the sound of my mother sternly calling an admissions officer. I threw my backpack on the counter and grabbed one of the granola bars out of the pantry. Its expiration date was a bit questionable, but I was so hungry that I ate it anyway. I was still fuming from my lit professor and had promptly complained to Zoe about his general doucheness for the entire ride home. He had proceeded to ask the class different questions about English while coming back with a snide remark about how we were looking at it all wrong. At one point he blamed all our past experiences for making us narrow-minded. I don’t know how you can get any more offensive. Mr. Harrisburg managed to alienate the entire class so much that I wondered who would be back on Wednesday.
I slouched onto the couch, flipping through my calendar on my phone to check when my next shift at the bookstore would be. Porter and I were scheduled to work tomorrow and my stomach flip-flopped. What would he say about Luke and me? I’m sure he would tease me for how awkward it had been while we reconnected in Porter’s presence.
The door to Mom’s office opened, and we were alone in a room together for the first time in over a week. She’d become skilled in the art of avoiding me, not that I’d been hoping to run into her either. Realizing it would be unmotherly to completely ignore me, she stood beside me at the couch.
“How was your first day?” she asked.
“It was fine,” I said. “My English professor is a little tough, but I’m hoping it will be a good class.”
Her phone buzzed, and she peeked down at it. Of course.
“I have to take this,” she said. “We’ll talk more at dinner.”
“Duty calls,” I replied. She walked back into her office, and my heart sank.
FUN:
a time or feeling of enjoyment or amusement.
Now that classes had officially been in session for a week, the bookstore busy-ness died down. A few students would trickle in to get last-minute textbooks, but for the most part, we all were on duty for cleaning up the mess of last year’s books that were returned before school started. Misty and I did inventory while Megan stayed at the register, organizing a new shipment of notebooks and other supplies that we’d gotten in today. The air-conditioning had finally been fixed, and even though it was a week late, I blessed it.
“It’s night and day compared to last week in here, isn’t it?” Misty asked. Since the air had been turned on, Misty wore her hair down for the first time since I met her. She looked pretty, a little tired and worn down, but pretty. While we shelved, Misty talked about her two daughters, Nora and Sabrina, who were a year apart in elementary school. Today they were with their grandma, who babysat them while Misty worked. Their father was never brought up, and I didn’t mention it.
Since business ran slow, Misty let us play music in the store. We kept it to Top Forty radio, and Megan and I even busted out some of our fabulous dance moves as we stocked. No matter what Zoe says, I am a great dancer. Megan and I got to talking and I figured out that she was from the next town over. She still lived at home and commuted the twenty minutes every day. She said she was an English major. I asked if she’d taken a class with the supreme asshole Finn Harrisburg before.
“Well, yeah.” She smiled. “He’s the professor here. I’ve heard they’ve offered him jobs everywhere around the country, but he never takes them. It’s fascinating more than anything else.”
“He’s kind of an ass,” I said.
“A hot ass,” she replied. When I scrunched up my face, she elaborated. “Like in a George Clooney way, you know? He must have been hot in his day.”
“Megan, he’s probably like thirty-five.… George Clooney is in his fifties,” I said.
“Are you kidding?”
I laughed. “Not kidding. But really, did you learn anything from him? I mean, Monday he seemed so set in his ways that he wouldn’t even take anyone’s opinions without making fun of them.”
“Did you say you hated poetry?”
“Um, yes?” I said.
“Rookie mistake. He always banks on that being the first thing someone complains about. He spends pretty much the entire semester attempting to convince everyone that poetry is the best thing to happen to the English language after that. He especially uses the poetry complainer as the example,” she said, wincing a bit.
“Great,” I said.
“Who knows, with my heads-up maybe you can give him a run for his money,” she said with a wink. Misty called my name from the back, and I picked up my stack of books to bring with me. She had put the pile of books up to the wall and had grabbed her purse, car keys in hand.
“I have to head out,” Misty said. “But Porter should be here any minute to help. He’s closing up, so you can leave around six, Danielle. You’re free to go, Megan!”
I nodded, feeling a little lump in my throat. I wasn’t sure what Porter’s teasing would entail, but I’m sure it would somehow be condescending. I felt myself mentally bracing for one more smartass for the day. Not one second later, Porter busted in through the front door with the Smirk directed at me. Misty patted his arms, giving him quick instructions bef
ore leaving. As he sauntered my way I prepared myself with witty comments that I’d been thinking up the whole day. So far I’d landed on nothing great.
“Danielle,” he said, picking up a book and placing it on a shelf directly behind my head. He rested his arm on that shelf and faced me, only inches away from my face. That infuriating little smirk still stretched on his face, and I wanted to wipe it off.
“Hello, Porter,” I said, turning away.
“I had no idea that I’d be the link to such a fascinating reunion the other night. It really is a small world, isn’t it?” Porter asked.
“Small indeed,” I said, trying to occupy myself with more books.
“You know, I was going through my journals again last night and came across something especially fascinating,” he said.
I stopped and turned to face him completely now.
“I had written that I saw a girl at Moe’s staring at Luke, and then I watched that girl and her friend follow him to the party and talk to him. Not such a coincidence, is it, Danielle?”
“It was a complete coincidence,” I said, almost too quickly. “Zoe and I go to parties all the time. Don’t flatter yourself.”
He held up his hands in fake surrender. “All right, all right. How about you prove me wrong. Bring … Zoe? by our apartment on Friday and show us how local Denton kids have a fun night.”
“Yeah, of course,” I said.
“Perfect.” He smiled.
* * *
I came bursting through my front door that night in a nervous (but determined) tornado of energy. I’d promised Porter a good time when I didn’t know anything about the party scene in Denton. Did Denton even have a party scene? This wasn’t something you could simply google. I contemplated texting Zoe, but I remembered that she was working the night shift at Freeman’s Market. Without any other options, I knocked on the bedroom door of my much-cooler younger brother.
“I’m busy,” he yelled from inside. I jiggled the door handle and opened the door to find him playing a game on his phone. “Well that was rude.”
“I need your help,” I said. “I’m desperate.”
“Dani, it’s like nine thirty. I need my beauty rest,” he said.
I yanked at his blanket to urge him out of bed. “Come on, Grandpa. Aren’t fourteen-year-olds supposed to stay up until ungodly hours of the night anyway?”
“This fourteen-year-old likes to get in healthy REM cycles,” he said.
“Please, can you just come to my room for a second? I need advice,” I said. He groaned and followed me to my room. He curled up into a sleepy ball on my bed while I paced around the room, different outfits flung carelessly across the floor. I picked up one of the crop tops that Zoe and I bought as a joke for each other and held it up. “What does this shirt say to you?”
“I have daddy issues?”
“That bad?” I asked.
“Danielle, what’s going on?” he asked.
“You are considered cool at school, right? You have popular friends who go to parties?”
“Can you answer something without another question, please?”
I threw my hands in the air. “I agreed to show some guys who are new to town the Denton party scene.”
“You?” he asked. I smacked his foot as he laughed for a few seconds at the thought of me going to any parties.
“Yes, me,” I said. “I know you’re friends with Kayla Masterson. Doesn’t her older sister, Paige, host parties a lot? Would you be able to find out from her if there’s one in town on Friday?”
“Yeah, no problem,” he said. He yawned in a super-dramatic fashion and stretched his gangly limbs over my bed. “Now, I need to fall asleep in twelve minutes to hit my peak cycle. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Thanks, loser,” I said.
“Welcome, loser,” he yelled back.
* * *
Noah’s in with Kayla Masterson proved successful. There was a party planned for tomorrow night, and I made sure that Porter, Luke, and Zoe were all available to attend the shindig. The only roadblock between me and the party was my parents, who had not forgotten about my grounding.
We sat at family dinner, a mandatory Thursday night event where we actually all ate at the same time and not in front of the TV. Thursday happened to be the one night open in Noah’s acting schedule, and I’d asked Misty for these nights off no matter how much I wanted to avoid sitting down for dinner with my mom after our fight.
Mom made homemade bacon mac and cheese and my mouth watered as it sat in front of me. My hunger almost trumped the nervous feeling developing in my stomach as my body realized I would have to ask about going out tomorrow night.
“So,” I started, breathing in deep. “Did I tell you guys who I ran into at school this week?”
I’d set Noah up before to act as the curious little brother throughout dinner even though he already knew about all my plans.
“No, you haven’t!” Noah said.
I glared, telepathically warning him to tone down the enthusiasm. “Luke Upton is back and is a student at DCC. On a full-ride football scholarship.”
“I had no idea,” Mom said. “I’ll have to call Carrie and ask all about it.”
“He might be a good influence on you, Danielle,” Dad said. “I’ve been e-mailing with Craig, and apparently Luke could have gone to any big school if it wasn’t for his injury. He kept a four-point-oh through it all.”
“It’s funny you mention that,” I said, ignoring how much it stung that my dad thought I needed better influences in my life. “He actually asked if I’d be willing to show him around town tomorrow night. But I know I’m grounded, so I can totally tell him no.”
“Don’t be silly,” Mom said. “He’s like family. It would be rude to turn him down.”
“Just make sure you’re home before midnight. You’re still grounded,” Dad said.
Luke Upton was officially the sexiest Get Out of Parent Jail Free card.
* * *
The two hours before our night on the town were split into varying degrees of panic. The first: frantic hysteria. While attempting to find the perfect outfit that fell in between “daddy issues” and “Amish woman,” my floor became throwing grounds for every item in my closet. I performed this activity as if I were cracked out on two energy drinks. I jumped from the sound of my own floorboards creaking underfoot. The next phase was deep desperation, which I felt because my perfect outfit was never achieved. During this period, I texted Zoe twenty-seven times canceling tonight. I also shooed away my dear little brother, who had food with him. If that doesn’t scream desperation I don’t know what else does. The third was guilt. I had already gone to all the trouble of picking out the outfit, and so had Zoe, and probably the boys—I owed it to them to keep my promise. And finally, happiness in the form of a text message from Luke Upton.
LUKE: Can’t wait to see you tonight.
Zoe pulled into my driveway at nine thirty on the dot. I pulled on my black shorts as I walked out to the car and tucked a piece of my newly straightened hair behind my ear. I ducked into the passenger seat and looked over at Zoe, whose mouth was hanging open.
“Oh my God, did you finally use the flatiron I bought you for your birthday?” she asked.
“One and the same,” I replied.
“Dude, you look hot,” she said. “I don’t know what you were so worried about earlier.”
“This took two hours of physical and mental preparation to achieve. Some would have called it impossible; I like to call it a comeback,” I said. “Sorry about texting you so many times. Sometimes that’s the only way to relieve my stress.”
“That’s what best friends are for—repeat texting during emotional crises. No questions asked,” she said. Zoe pulled out of the driveway and down the street, leaving my house behind. My palms felt like I’d doused them in slippery lotion that my skin couldn’t absorb. I wiped the sweat onto my legs, which made me realize that I hadn’t shaved them for at least three days. How was
I supposed to be sexy with a small forest growing on my legs? Their place would only be a five-minute drive away, and I struggled to cling on to the little sanity I had left. As if Zoe sensed me reaching my mental breaking point, she turned the radio on full blast. Without speaking, we both jammed out, major head banging involved, until we pulled up in front of the apartment complex.
“This is it, kid,” she said.
“Give me two seconds, and I’ll be ready,” I said. I breathed in, looking back down at my phone. The text from Luke still flashed on the front of my screen, and it filled me with the courage to step out of the car.
It somehow looked much bigger than I remembered the complex looking. I knew a majority of the DCC kids who wanted their own form of independence from their parents lived here, but I’d never actually been inside. Zoe pushed the buzzer outside the door, and a very smug Porter answered on the other end.
“Come on up, ladies,” he said. I internally barfed.
The front doors clicked unlocked, and we made our way inside the apartment complex. The apartment seemed aged, like it had been built when Denton had been established. It had the faint smell of weed pressed into the walls and carpets, just another reminder that college students occupied it most of the time. Their apartment was on the second floor, so we went up some narrow and rickety stairs to apartment 2B.
I knocked once before the door was flung open. Porter stood in the doorframe, motioning for us to come inside. “Come in, come in. You must be Zoe, nice to meet you.” He held out his hand, and I could tell that she was instantly charmed. He was just mysterious enough to intrigue Zoe and hopefully keep her occupied during my failure of a party night.
“And you must be Porter.” She smiled. “Danielle has told me so much about you.”
“Has she?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Not that much,” I rebutted, giving her the evil eye.
“Luke’s still getting pretty; he should be out in a few minutes,” Porter said. “Can I get you ladies a drink while we wait?”
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