“You should wear boots.”
He walks slowly even though we can hear the bell ringing.
“You don’t have to help me,” I say. “It’s okay. You’re going to be late.”
“I’m not going to let you fall.”
I swallow and look up at him. “Thanks.”
He holds open the door. “Any time.”
The school is a much happier place than I expected. The hallways smell like pancake syrup and they are bright and filled with student artwork, a total contrast to the outside world, where everything is stark, white and gray, sort of magical. Walking into the school makes me feel like I’ve entered the real world again. They even have a diversity mural, just like at my school, only in my school it was in the library.
“Thank God,” I mutter, and stomp the storm off my shoes, hoping that maybe my toes will warm up to twenty degrees soon. They might fall off, one toe at a time, just leave me until I’m deformed and hobbling. That’s happened before.
Not to me, obviously.
“The office is that way,” he says, pointing to a room on the right separated by a big window. “You going to be okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He nods and gives a little half smile and waves before he walks away. He strides, really. He’s beautiful, even from the back. I shake my head to stop staring, bustle off to the school’s front office, and push open the door. It’s a lot lighter than I expect. It slams into the wall with a big thud. My cheeks get all hot and I say, “Sorry.”
The good-looking pale girl doing the announcements gives me one of those “Who the hell are you?” looks.
I smile at her and try to channel total sweetness while I say it again. “Sorry.”
It doesn’t work. She flings her long strawberry blond hair behind her shoulder and lifts her lip in a little snarl. I raise my eyebrows in some sort of movie move. Touché.
My apology works on the school secretary, though. She perks right up and bustles over to the counter. She reminds me of Mrs. Santa Claus, only without the red jumpsuit and the sugar cookies.
“Oh! You must be Zara White! Betty’s granddaughter.” She pushes her long, thinning hair behind her ears like a little girl. “You look so much like your mother. It’s really remarkable. I would have known you anywhere. It’s like twins . . . only different hair. You must have your father’s hair.”
She takes a breath in the middle of her gushing and I take advantage.
I nod, all awkward. “Yep, that’s me. Hi. I need to register for classes. Sorry if that makes extra work for you.”
Evil Announcement Girl huffs and her nose actually twitches but the secretary smiles and says, “How sweet. She’s sorry. Your mother raised you well. I’m so sorry about your stepfather, dear.”
A gulp sticks in my throat but the word manages to get out. “Thanks.”
“I knew them, you know, your parents . . .”
The secretary pulls off her glasses and squints at me with smiling pity eyes, then she pulls the edge of her shirt sleeves down closer to her wrists and hauls out a folder, plopping it on the counter. Evil Announcement Girl rolls her eyes and turns her back. The secretary lady doesn’t even notice. She yanks out a class schedule. “Here you go, sweetie. All your classes. I’m Mrs. Nix.”
I take the computer printout with my shaking hand. The whole paper shakes with it. God.
“It’ll be okay, dear. First day’s the hardest!” She turns to Evil Announcement Girl. “Megan, you want to show Zara to her first class?”
Megan. What an absolutely perfect name for Evil Announcement Girl. Megans always hate me.
This Megan isn’t about to break my record.
She turns and glares at me. “I have announcements.”
Mrs. Nix smacks her head. “Oh, that’s right.”
She calls behind her shoulder. “Ian. How about you bring Zara to her homeroom?”
Megan smirks and points at my jeans. “Nice peace signs, hippie freak.”
I smile at her and mutter in my head, “Nice shoes made by child slaves in Asia, materialistic Barbie.”
After she turns her back on me, I cover my mouth to make sure I don’t actually say my come-back out loud. Mrs. Nix bounces on her heels, watching for Ian.
“Here he is,” she sings. “Show Zara to her class, dear?”
The boy in the back of the office unfolds his long legs from behind a computer and smiles at me appraisingly. “Sure thing.”
He saunters over and stands so close that I have to crane my neck to look up at his long, pale face crowned with out-of-control reddish blond waves. Are all the boys in this town tall? My step-dad wasn’t that tall, although I’d always thought he was, especially compared to me.
“Pullman. Easy. Mine too.” Ian slings a pack behind his shoulder, smiles at me, and grabs my paper. “You have her locker number, Mrs. Nix?”
Mrs. Nix smacks herself in the head again. If she keeps that up, she’ll bruise. “Sure, right here. How could I forget?”
She shakes her head at herself and smiles at me. “Sorry. Age.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “Thanks.”
I shoot a look at Megan, amazed by how much she hates me already, and scurry out of the office with the loping Ian picking up speed ahead of me. He notices and slows down.
“Sorry.” He blushes. “Long legs.”
I smirk. He blushes harder and starts stumbling over his words. “I didn’t mean that you were short or anything. I just meant that my legs are . . . well . . . they’re long, you know, and . . .”
I touch his arm. “It’s okay.”
“Really?”
He smiles at me, one of those little boy smiles, like he’s just been offered a chocolate chip cookie even though he spilled coffee grounds all ov er the Persian carpet.
“Really.” I take in a deep breath. “You a runner?”
“You could say that.” He grabs my elbow. “I won All-State in the 1600 last spring and I was All–New England in the—”
“Bragging competition,” someone grumbles as they bump me, jolting me away from Ian, whose hand tightens on my elbow in a way that is way too protective to be normal. MINI Cooper guy waves and says, “Excuse me.”
I stare after massive MINI Cooper guy. His shoulders are huge inside his sweater, not that I’m looking or anything. And the sweater looks cashmere, which is pretty hoity-toity for Maine. They must have Big and Tall stores around here, or maybe he ordered it off the Net.