Every eye in the hallway is on us. I forgot how exasperating he is. How blunt. How thrilling. People paid attention to me freshman year, but rarely him. The kids from the trailer park kept to themselves, and we did the same. Ryder and I barely acknowledged each other at school back then, mostly because it added to the anticipation, but if we did, it wouldn’t have merited more than a side glance or two.
That’s changed now. Not only because I’m the perfect prom queen. Because I’m no longer the only one fascinated by Ryder James, evidently.
“Yeah, you should get to class. Your attendance record is already pretty spotty.”
He grins at my reference to his two-year disappearance, and the expression weak at the knees takes on a whole new meaning. He sidles past me, so close I can feel the heat emanating from his body.
“I missed you too, Elle,” he calls over his right shoulder as he enters the classroom.
I exhale for what feels like the first time in hours.
“Who was that?” Kennedy breathes to my right.
“Ryder James.” Paige answers for me, and I’m surprised. I didn’t think she would recognize him.
“He’s hot. Like, really hot.” Kennedy comments. Her observation annoys me more than the never-ending stream of compliments usually exiting her mouth. A lot more.
I stride into the classroom. Ryder’s standing at the front of the room, talking to Mr. Anderson. I take a seat in one of the first rows, not wanting to be stuck staring at the back of his head for the next hour. Despite my lengthy appraisal in the hallway, I can still feel my eyes being drawn toward him, like a magnet attracted to the opposite pole. I want to look again, but I don’t allow myself to. I didn’t have any time to prepare for our last encounter, and I’m worried it revealed more than I wanted to.
I could have pretended I didn’t recognize him. Remember him.
Instead, I ogled him and then asked if he was back for good. In a way that didn’t sound like I was hoping this is a temporary visit, I think.
Paige takes a seat on one side of me, Kennedy on the other. Paige gives me a curious glance, but I know she won’t ask for details here. Kennedy, I’m disgruntled to discover, is staring at Ryder.
She’s not the only one.
We don’t have many new students at Fernwood, either returning or entirely. Kennedy is the only one since my arrival freshman year. Ryder’s return was bound to cause a stir. Even if he didn’t look like he came here directly from a male model convention.
He appears completely unbothered by the stares as he finishes his conversation with Mr. Anderson and strolls toward the rows of identical desks.
I’m disgruntled to realize I’m not. Especially the admiring ones.
Ryder chooses my row to enter the sea of desks. I don’t know if it’s intentional—I sat in the middle of the five, and at least six other students have also passed me by—but it feels intentional. I busy myself with pulling the notebooks Kevin retrieved for me out of my backpack, but all that accomplishes is a close-up view of tan, muscular calves passing me by.
I straighten as soon as he passes, feeling flushed.
Class begins. Mr. Anderson doesn’t start with introductions or any form of preamble. He launches right into the first lecture, dropping a stack of papers at the first seat in each row to be passed back. When I receive mine, I realize it’s the course syllabus. I dawdle as I scan the first page, trying to avoid turning around until I have to. When I do, I keep my eyes on Holden Jones, passing him the stack with a small smile before spinning right back around.
Mr. Anderson continues mapping out the first topic of the semester—World War I—as I flip through the pages of the syllabus. Normally, I’d be taking careful notes by now. But calming myself down seems like a more pressing task at the moment.
As I page through bullet points on the New Deal, World War II, The Cold War, and the Vietnam War, I mull over how ironic it is History is the class I’d be confronted with Ryder in.
But that’s all we share now.
History.
I receive a respite from Ryder in my next two classes, so of course he’s the first person I see when I enter the cafeteria surrounded by most of the cheer squad. He’s leaning against the soda dispenser, talking to Danielle Collins as she fills a cup. She’s another resident of the trailer park and a fellow senior. I’ve never spoken to her before, but I’ve heard plenty. She’s garnered a bit of a reputation among Fernwood’s male population. Whether it’s warranted is not something I’ve ever concerned myself with. Watching Ryder laugh at something she says has me considering it for the first time.
“Elle? You coming?” I shift my gaze to Paige, who’s veered to the left, toward our usual table. My steps slowed without me realizing it.
“Yeah. Just going to grab a seltzer.”
I split off from the rest of the group. I can’t recall the last time I bought anything from the cafeteria. I always pack my own lunch. The cafeteria food is actually rumored to be decent, but I’ve never bothered to find out for myself. I don’t lie to myself about why I’m exploring this part of the lunchroom now, albeit for a bottled beverage imported from Italy. I need to reestablish things with Ryder. Show him I’m as unbothered by his presence as I’d really like to be.
So, I breeze past where he’s still standing with Danielle as though he’s part of the cinderblock wall enclosing the cafeteria to grab a sparkling water from the cooler, glad he didn’t catch me staring earlier.
I get in line for the register behind Caroline Hawley. “Hey, Elle,” she greets.
“Hi, Caroline,” I reply, spinning the condensed bottle in my grip.
“I know we’ve got a Student Council meeting on Friday, but I think we should have a Homecoming Committee meeting sometime this week. I know everyone was hoping for the country club, but it seems like that may not be an option. I’d like to explore additional venues as soon as possible.”
I beat Caroline out for student council president freshman year, and each subsequent year since. She redirects her rejection by making every attempt to always be more prepared than I am. Kind of a win-win situation for me, honestly. And I’d never dare tell her I actually have no interest in being class president. I only ran for the position because it was expected I would.
“That’s fine, Caroline,” I reply. I’ll wait until the meeting to tell her I already secured the country club.
“Great. Can you do today?”
“Actually, no. I’ve got cheer and then a… meeting,” I say. Saying it’s a call with the dean of Yale seems too pretentious, even for me. Not to mention morally ambiguous, since as Paige pointed out earlier, I think I’m guaranteed to get in already.
“Fine. Tomorrow it is,” Caroline agrees, although she makes it sound like I’ve suggested pushing it back until next month.
Caroline pays for her food, and then I reach the register. I hand the cashier my student ID to swipe, and then turn to see Danielle and Ryder joined the line after me. Ryder glances at me and then away, appearing completely indifferent. There’s no hint of our encounter this morning. No comment about how I’m holding him up again.
It’s how we should act around each other, but as I pass him and start to head toward my usual table, I’m struck by just how much the lack of acknowledgement bothers me.
I want Ryder to talk to me.
An annoying realization, considering the whole reason I instigated the five-minute detour for an overpriced water was to reinforce the fact Ryder doesn’t have any effect on me.
I take a seat next to Paige and twist off the top of my drink, taking a hasty swallow. The bubbles burn my throat as I gulp the seltzer hastily.
“What did Caroline want?” Paige asks, as I pull out my turkey sandwich.
“What do you think?” I reply dryly, taking a bite.
“Guessing you didn’t tell her you already planned out and booked everything for Homecoming.”
“Nope. I’ll save that conversation for when there are witnesses.”
“Ryder James doesn’t count?”
I glance at her, then around the table to make sure no one is listening to our conversation. They aren’t. Liam’s talking sports with his football buddies, and the rest of our friends are watching something on Kinsley’s phone.
“No. He doesn’t count,” I reply.
“Didn’t seem that way in the hallway earlier,” Paige persists.
Unfiltered curiosity burns in her voice. We’ve always shared the same group of friends in town. My familiarity with anyone she doesn’t know here is understandably intriguing. The fact it’s with a resident of the trailer park makes it all the more so.
I sigh and lower my voice to a whisper. “I did that project with him freshman year, remember?”
“Uh, no,” Paige replies, rolling her eyes. “Why would I remember that?”
It’s a fair point, which I acknowledge. “We were friendly, and then he just left. I was just surprised to see him earlier. Figured he was gone for good.”
“Friendly?” Paige murmurs.
“Yeah,” I admit, knowing what she’s getting at.
“Wow. Who knew you had a thing for bad boys?” She replies, giving me a look that’s almost impressed.
I roll my eyes and take another bite of my sandwich.
“We just kissed a couple times.”
I decided a long time ago the full extent of my involvement with Ryder James freshman year is something I’d take to the grave. His return doesn’t change that. Paige’s never had sex. No way am I admitting—to her or anyone else—that I’ve slept with the guy who just pretended I am invisible.
Although his return does mean I need to make sure he shares the same mindset when it comes to keeping our past private.
Which is going to require having another conversation with him.
I wish it was a prospect I was a little less excited by.
Chapter Two
I take my time unbuttoning and unzipping, sliding the pink romper off my torso and down my legs slowly. I’m left in just my bra and underwear.
“Ready, Elle?” Kinsley Jones rounds the row of lockers, already wearing her school-issued gym uniform. She looks surprised to see me mostly undressed rather than ready to depart.
“Almost,” I reply, pulling on the athletic shorts and a sports bra like I’m in slow motion.
“Dreading gym?” Kinsley asks with a sympathetic smile.
Yes. “No, just tired. I was up late working on that English essay.”
I pull a Fernwood Athletics t-shirt on over my head, letting the soft cotton drop into place around my torso.
I’m not the most athletic. My slender frame can mostly be credited to a fast metabolism, not regular exercise. I have a good sense of rhythm and decent coordination, which is the main reason I’m not an embarrassment to the cheer squad.
I’ve never looked forward to gym class. But I’ve never been apprehensive about attending it before.
Not until yesterday, when I learned Ryder James is not only in my first period class, but also my seventh.
“You know it’s only the second day of school, right?” Kinsley teases me. “That essay’s not due until Monday.”
“Yeah, I know,” I confirm. “But I figured Paige’s birthday is probably going to take up most of the weekend.”
Kinsley laughs. “Yeah, that’s probably right.”
We head out into the gymnasium. It was just redone last year, but the scent of old sweat and ammonia hangs in the air, already overwhelming fresh paint, and varnished wood. My dawdling has made us the two final students to join the rest of the class, and Coach Jackson—the leader of our esteemed football team—marks our attendance off with a small shake of his head.
I pay close attention to his instructions for the start of class, mostly to keep my eyes from perusing the rest of the group. Unfortunately, after three years, I already know the second class is always spent completing a fitness test that’s repeated on the final day, so I don’t really need to pay attention.
Sure enough, we’re sent off to the mats already spread across the varnished hardwood to see how many sit-ups we can complete in a minute. I learned a while ago the best way to ensure a good grade in gym is to make sure there’s a healthy gap between the start of the year and end of the year fitness tests. Meaning I barely brush the bounds of exertion.
Unfortunately, not everyone employs that strategy. I—along with almost all of the class—stopped crunching our abs a while ago. But there are still three figures rising and falling from the mat. Ryder, and two of the boys I cheer for every Friday night. Both Steve and Jeff are red-faced and huffing, but Ryder seems unbothered by the exercise. Coach Jackson is surveying his two players with a proud grin, and everyone else is studying the guys as well.
“Do you think Ryder James is hot?” Kinsley whispers to me.
“What?” I reply, way too loudly.
“I know, I know. He’s from the trailer park. And you’re dating King Liam. But he’s cute, right?”
“I guess so.” Maybe miracles do exist because I manage to sound nonchalant.
“Kennedy was going on and on about him on the drive home from practice yesterday. But all’s fair in fighting over a fling, right?” Kinsley grins.
“I guess so,” I choke out. Suddenly, I’m viewing one of my closest friends as an opponent. Scrutinizing her through the lens of someone desperate to find fault. And losing my mind, obviously.
“Out on the track, everyone!”
The display of male prowess has ended, and I missed the outcome. Based on the disgruntled expressions on Steve and Jeff’s faces, I think I know who emerged victorious, though.
It’s just as hot outside today as it was yesterday. August sun is streaming down atop the synthetic rubber that comprises the running track surrounding Fernwood High’s football field. The springy surface feels as though it’s bouncing the hot rays right back up at us as we meander toward the starting line to begin my least favorite part of the fitness test. Running in this heat sounds like something only a masochist would do.
Or a senior not willing to let a mediocre gym grade impact her perfect GPA.
I line up with everyone else, taking care to keep my distance from Ryder. He hasn’t made any attempt to talk to me—hasn’t so much as glanced at me—since our first encounter outside of History yesterday. There were no demeaning dawdling accusations spoken outside of Mr. Anderson’s class this morning. Ryder merely took the same seat four rows behind me and stayed silent throughout the entire Roosevelt lecture.
I can’t decide how I feel about it. Actually, that’s a lie. It bothers me. I’ve spent the past twenty-four hours trying to convince myself it doesn’t, because it shouldn’t. Up until yesterday, I hadn’t seen Ryder James in over two years. So what if we spent most of freshman year sneaking around? I’m a different person now. If I were to take the time to find out, I’m sure he’s a different person now too.
So why am I sneaking glances at Kinsley to see if she’s looking at him?
An excellent question I stop pondering when Coach Blake’s whistle announces it’s time to start running. Just like earlier, I don’t make any attempt to act like I’m a varsity athlete, moving forward at what could generously be described as a jog. Kinsley stays with me despite the fact I know she goes running regularly. She’s a good friend.
Not sure the same could be said for me, since I’ve spent the last five minutes wondering if Ryder would be able to tell she’s a fake blonde. Based on his impatience with fashion yesterday, I’m certain he’d hold some derision for anyone who seeks out artificial chemicals to change their natural hair color.
Probably just wishful thinking on my part.
Four trips around the track, and I look like someone who made an effort, even though I didn’t. Sweat trickles down between my shoulder blades and gathers in the ribbed hem of the sports bra I’m wearing underneath my t-shirt. Half of my hair has escaped from the ponytail I hastily assembled prior to gym. I yank out the el
astic as soon as I catch my breath.
Classmates start to trickle back toward the entrance to the gym, eager to return to air conditioning. I’m not one of them.
“Go ahead,” I urge Kinsley. “I’ve got to talk to Coach Blake about coordinating something with the football team.”
“Okay.” She buys my excuse for lingering readily enough, and I turn, heading in the opposite direction from everyone else. Well, almost everyone. I already heard Coach Blake call out to Ryder to stay behind, which is the only reason I’m choosing to prolong my time surrounded by humid air being slowly baked by the sun.
I approach Coach Blake slowly, keeping my eyes on the lines of the track. There aren’t any scuffs or smears. Straight white line after line marks my progress toward the football coach and the guy I seem incapable of ignoring. Or of allowing to ignore me, rather.
I assumed Coach Blake asked Ryder to remain behind to welcome him back to Fernwood High. Maybe to compliment him on his performance today. I’m not sure how Ryder plans to improve upon it for the final fitness test, but that’s not my problem.
But as I near them, I hear they’re discussing football.
“…just one practice?” Coach Blake is saying. “The team could really use you.”
“I’m not interested,” Ryder states firmly.
Coach Blake sighs, then looks up and spots me.
“Elle? Do you need something?”
“To talk to Ryder.”
I was planning to instigate our conversation a little more subtly, but that’s what comes flying out of my mouth.
Both of Coach Blake’s eyebrows raise in surprise. Interestingly, Ryder does not appear surprised by my request. I ponder what that means as Coach Blake glances back and forth between the two of us.
“All right, then,” he finally says. “Think it over, James.”
The hard set of Ryder’s jaw suggests he has no intention of doing so, but he nods.
One last look between us, and Coach Blake follows the line of students rapidly disappearing inside the gym.
Come Break My Heart Again Page 3