The Boy on the Bridge

by Sam Mariano

  His “big deal” father has a whole slew of businesses, and one of them is a clothing line. Hunter has always been good-looking, but now that he’s grown up, he crossed the threshold to immensely sexy. His father must have shrewdly decided—bastard or not—he was going to capitalize on it.

  The girls at Hawthorne High went absolutely crazy when Hunter started showing up on the company’s Instagram feed modeling shirts. Well, he’s not even wearing one in half the shots, but supposedly that’s what the pictures are supposed to be selling. And at least here, it was effective. After Hunter’s first campaign, a bunch of the girls at our school ordered the shirts for themselves and it became a full-on fashion wave for a good couple of months.

  That was when he started getting tagged in photos with models and splashed across Italian tabloids. I can’t read any of them, but there’s always some new girl in each picture, so I can guess what they’re about.

  Today as I open the door to head inside the school, there’s something different in the air that I can’t quite put my finger on. People are talking a little faster with more excitement on their faces.

  I guess it’s because it’s the first day of senior year. I guess for some people that’s exciting.

  For me, it just means I’m one day closer to never having to walk through these doors again. If I’m a ghost, my unfinished business is that much closer to being wrapped up and tucked away so I can finally have my freedom.

  There are a couple of things I’m genuinely looking forward to today, but the conversation I’m about to have with Anderson does not make the list.

  I liked Anderson or I wouldn’t have gone out with him to begin with (even if he is technically my only option), but he came on way too strong this morning and I’m finding myself a little turned off by it.

  Anderson is a nice guy and I would never have pegged him for the “I own you” type. There might be guys in the world who can pull that kind of shit off, but Anderson is damn sure not one of them. I’m closer to dumping him (if it would even be called that, so early on) than wearing the necklace he had delivered to my house like a psycho.

  Just thinking about the delivery I got this morning and then picturing his face makes me cringe a little.

  Not a good look, Anderson. What the hell were you thinking?

  As if summoned by my thoughts, Anderson shows up at my locker while I’m putting away books. He has an easy breezy smile on his face when I look at him—unthreateningly handsome, that’s Anderson Milner. He has chestnut brown hair with dark bushy eyebrows, bright brown eyes and angular features. He’s a little taller than me, and right now he’s wearing his new black and crimson letter jacket, even though it’s way too warm to be wearing a jacket today.

  My gaze gets stuck on the jacket.

  I don’t love that Anderson is on the football team because a lot of Hunter’s old buddies are also on the football team.

  Prior to the flower incident, I worried that as soon as we started back to school, Anderson would get a crash course in whatever Hunter told people to make them treat me like a leper. Several times I imagined him approaching me halfway through the first day, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding my gaze as he made up some excuse to dump me so his new friends wouldn’t hate him.

  Wait, maybe he still will. Should I ignore the flower incident and wait for that?

  Deciding to feel him out, I paste a half-assed smile on my face and greet him back. “Hey. How was practice?”

  The guys on the team have been coming to practices already before the school year even began so it’s not like Anderson is just meeting the team today, but there’s a good chance none of them knew he was dating me… and that probably won’t last long. Everyone knows everyone’s business at this school, I swear.

  “Rough.” Anderson leans against the locker and smiles at me despite saying that. “The quarterback we’ve been practicing with got dropped to second string. Some new guy was there today, and you’d think if someone joins the team late they’d have to hang back and catch up to us, but I guess he must be good because Coach rearranged everything to accommodate him.”

  “That sounds annoying,” I murmur sympathetically, jamming my chemistry book into place and closing my locker door.

  “Little bit. I’m in a better mood now that I get to see you, though,” he says, pushing off the locker and moving closer to me.

  Prior to this morning, that comment would have been sweet and maybe I would have smiled at it. Right now, though, I’m afraid he’d find a smile encouraging, so I keep my reaction muted as I hug the books I need against my chest and slowly take off in the direction of my first class.

  Anderson falls into step beside me, looking over at me with a mild frown. “Hey, is everything okay?”

  Dread weighs on me. I’m not going to be able to put off the conversation and just see if he dumps me first. “Um, not really. Look, I feel like a jerk saying this because the flowers were a very nice gesture, but it was… I don’t know, a little much? And the necklace… the necklace was a lot much, and the note you sent along with it—I don’t know, Anderson, that’s so not like you. I was really put off by it, to be perfectly honest.”

  Anderson is still walking beside me, but he’s scowling in absolute befuddlement. “What are you talking about? What flowers?”

  I frown at him. “The… first day of school flowers you had delivered to my house this… morning? You didn’t send me flowers,” I realize slowly.

  Anderson’s dark eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “First day of school flowers? Is that a thing? Was I supposed to send—? I’ve never heard of this.”

  My frown deepens. I look down at the ground in thought as I walk. “You didn’t send the flowers.”

  “No.” I can feel his anxiety, but I’m too preoccupied trying to figure out what’s going on to really pay much attention to it. “Maybe your mom’s boyfriend sent her flowers?”

  “No, there was a card. They were meant for me.” I stop walking for a moment, searching the crowded halls for another letter jacket.

  Maybe it was a prank. Maybe one of the assholes Hunter called friends sent the flowers and it was a mean-spirited gesture. I’m a little murky on their motives, though. While there are some mean ones—Mark Poplowski in particular, and his name does start with M—they aren’t intelligent enough to come up with something deeply diabolical, and I can only think of a couple ways this makes sense.

  Scenario one: clueless dumb jock ordered by Hunter to make my life hell while he’s gone sends me flowers on the first day of school with messages I interpreted romantically, but meant to intimidate me with them. Let’s make this year memorable could mean, “We’re going to make your life a living hell this year.” The message about wanting me to know who I belong to could have meant, “We own your ass.” Maybe I interpreted them as possessive by mistake because they accompanied roses which automatically made me think romantic suitor, but then… if this is the motive, this is a lot more effort than these guys have ever put into making high school miserable for me. Up until now, it has mostly been about isolating me and ignoring me; Valerie has been evil, but the guys have never actually been aggressive with me.

  Scenario two: jock who isn’t dumb or clueless found out about me and Anderson going out and decided to sabotage our new relationship with the roses. Two ways this could work: one, Anderson could simply get really offended and threatened that another guy sent me roses (which he would find out when I inevitably thanked him for them); or two, I would be turned off by someone I’m barely dating coming on too strong too fast and it would cause a fight.

  This is the most diabolical scenario, certainly, but it also seems far less likely since it would require the sender of the roses to know me on a much deeper level than any of those boneheads do.

  Scenario three: I don’t have one yet, but surely there’s a scenario I haven’t landed on yet, because really, neither of my first two seem entirely plausible.

  “Hello, Earth to Riley.�
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  My gaze snaps back to Anderson when he waves his hand in front of my face. “Sorry. I disappeared for a second there.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. Who sent you flowers?”

  “I don’t know. I assumed it was you so I didn’t look any deeper. Now that I know it wasn’t, I’ll find out. I’ll stop by the florist where the order originated after school and ask who sent them.”

  They might not tell me. In my head, I start thinking about the area surrounding the florist. We have a quaint little downtown area so there are lots of shops across from each other. If a store across the street had a camera pointed at their door, I could probably see people coming and going into the florist shop. Sure, it could have been an online or phone order, but someone would have had to drop off the necklace. How can I convince whatever business is across the street to let me look at their security tapes?

  Anderson snaps his fingers. I look at him, and this time he seems mildly unimpressed. “You disappeared again.”

  “Sorry, sorry.” I shake it off. “My inner reporter took over. I was getting ahead of myself, it’s good you stopped me. I’m sure the florist will tell me who sent the flowers if I just ask. I probably won’t have to get all 007 on anyone.”

  Cocking an eyebrow, he asks, “Can you get all 007 on people?”

  I shrug. “Probably. I might be a little shy in the delivery, but I’m an excellent researcher.”

  We slow to a stop outside my classroom, since presumably Anderson is not in the same class. I meant to compare our schedules this morning so we’d know if we’d see each other again besides lunch, but the flower delivery has hijacked my mind all morning and I forgot.

  Since he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave and I feel a bit bad for being standoffish with him this morning, we linger outside the classroom and compare schedules now. Unfortunately, we don’t have a single class together.

  “Well, that sucks.”

  “That does suck,” he says, frowning. “I won’t see you all day.”

  “I guess we’ll see each other at lunch,” I offer. “Unless you sit with the jocks, of course. Which you totally can, I didn’t mean I assumed you would sit with me. You don’t have to sit by me if you don’t want to. Actually, it’s probably better if you don’t.”

  He frowns. “What? Why would that be better?”

  “For you,” I say, realizing I explained that poorly. “The jocks and I aren’t exactly friends, as I’m sure you’ll find out if anyone sees you with me.”

  “Why?”

  “Really stupid reasons. I had a dust-up with one of them in 8th grade. He doesn’t even go here anymore, but he was their alpha and they’re pack animals, so…”

  His frown deepens. “What kind of dust-up?”

  “It doesn’t matter, it’s old news. Just… for the sake of making your life easier, it’s probably best to keep it quiet that you’re even hanging out with me until we’re really sure this is going to work. You’re new here and you’re nice; I don’t want to put a target on your back.”

  Clearly not taking me as seriously as he should, Anderson rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. You don’t think you’re being a little dramatic? A target on my back?” He laughs, and the sound fills me with a maybe unwarranted sense of dread.

  Maybe Anderson is right. Maybe I am making too much of it. Maybe now that it’s senior year, people will be more worried about living their own lives than carrying out the vendettas of a guy none of us have even seen in four years.

  “You can sit by me if you want to, but if anyone talks shit about me at your next practice, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I think I’ll take my chances. I still want to know more about this dust-up,” Anderson tells me as I inch toward the doorway. “You’ll have to tell me about it when we sit together at lunch.”

  “It’s nothing. He told a lie about me and everyone believed it. It’s boring, really.”

  “It must be something if just being seen with you is gonna put a target on my back,” he teases.

  I roll my eyes, backing into the doorway of my first class. “All right, I get it, you think I’m being ridiculously overdramatic.” In a show of drama, I throw my arm in the air wistfully. “Be gone, handsome suitor, I have to attend to my studies now.”

  “What was I thinking? You’re not dramatic at all.”

  “Clearly, you weren’t.” Just as I’m about to turn away, I’m caught off guard by Anderson’s arm around my waist. He tugs me in and my eyes widen in alarm. What is he doing? He can’t hug me goodbye in the doorway. We’re at school, for God’s sake.

  I only get a brief glimpse of the fondness in his eyes before he begins lowering his face toward mine. I’m too stunned to react as he briefly presses his lips against mine in an all too casual kiss. Like I’m his to kiss. Like we’ve done it before. Like he has an inherent right to kiss me.

  I don’t really feel anything but shock, but the contact is brief, so maybe that’s okay. Sure, the contact had been brief when Hunter kissed me, too, but that moment was much different. There was an emotional charge, a sense of anticipation, an already established closeness that made it so much more intimate than any gentle, undemanding kiss has a right to be.

  This one was almost throwaway, off-handed, just something he wanted to do before he went about the rest of his day.

  Something he wanted to do. Maybe that’s the difference. When Hunter kissed me, I was the one who wanted it. He needed it. Between the two of us, we were both primed and ready for it, and this… this…

  I was just unprepared for it, that’s all. Surely the next one will be better.

  Someone clears their throat at the front of the room and I turn, wide-eyed, to see a very unimpressed looking teacher giving me the stink eye.

  Flushing all the way down to my toes, I abandon Anderson without a word and rush forward. “I’m sorry.”

  In a tone that says she’s heard it all before, she asks, “Name?”

  I want to answer, but my tongue is stuck in my mouth. I feel the need to explain myself. I want to go up to her and tell her she’s gotten the wrong impression of me. I’m not the girl who kisses boys before class on the first day of school in plain view of everyone, including my teacher.

  But I can’t find my words, so she just stands there judging me and probably also thinking I’m an idiot since I can’t seem to find the syllables needed to say my own name.

  But then, someone finds them for me.

  “Her name’s Riley Bishop. And judging by the things people say about her, you’re probably gonna want to keep an eye on this one.”

  There’s a mild chuckle from the peanut gallery, but I almost can’t hear them. All of my senses crash, the thoughts in my brain hit a wall, and my body ceases functioning but for the effort it takes to turn my head.

  I knew it was him by the sound of his voice, but somehow I’m no less stunned when I find myself looking into the magnetic brown eyes of Hunter Maxwell.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Riley

  When she speaks, the teacher’s stern tone draws me out of my stupor. “Find a seat, Miss Bishop.”

  That would be a lot easier to do if my legs wanted to work. They don’t, but I force them into motion and slowly move forward, dragging my gaze from Hunter and trying to ignore the furious pounding inside my chest.

  How is he here? Why is he here?

  It seemed like he was having the time of his life in Italy—okay, I looked at his social media once or twice after hearing people talking about him at school—and with only one year of high school left, I naturally assumed he would finish up there. I know when he moved he was worried about not knowing Italian, but some of his posts were in Italian when I looked, so he must have picked it up. It seems like it would be more trouble than anything to go to the trouble of transferring across international school systems—

  I stop myself from further stalling as I think about stuff that hardly seems relevant in the face of his presence in my classroom.
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  Holy shit, Hunter’s back.

  My heart feels strangely light at the prospect.

  I know he hated me when he left, but I didn’t hate him. I never hated him—I wanted what was best for him, that’s all. I haven’t exactly warmed to him in his absence given the social Siberia he sentenced me to, but… it doesn’t seem to matter right now. I feel all fluttery, and as much as my pride tells me not to look at him, I can’t stop my gaze from drifting.

  I take a turn at the desk on the end of the row and start up his aisle so I can peek without being too obvious.

  That might have worked, but he’s looking right at me, so he notices the moment my gaze lands on him.

  My heart flutters.

  God, he looks so good. I’ve seen him in pictures, but in person he has more than just his distracting good looks. He has this whole aura around him—like a magnetic field surrounded by barbed wire, tempting me closer and warning me away at the same time.

  I don’t know if it’s just because nobody ever notices me and now he’s noticing me so hard, but I’m completely thrown off-kilter. I feel awkward just walking. Having to pick a desk seems like the most difficult task I’ve ever been handed.

  I see empty desks here and there from my peripherals as I walk, but if I keep passing them there won’t be any left. It will be easy to see Hunter’s throwing me off; there’s no reason to wander down this row and take a tour of empty desks if my head is on straight and I don’t mean to take any of them.

  Hunter is exactly halfway back—two desks in front of him, two behind him. I prefer to sit closer to the front, but this teacher already doesn’t like me, so perhaps a little distance in this class will be nice.

  I’m approaching him now, so there’s not much left to choose from. Both desks behind Hunter are already taken. There’s one left on the opposite side of the aisle, but it’s at the very back of the row and if I sit there, I’ll be so distracted looking at the back of Hunter’s head all the time, I’ll never be able to pay attention.