I love that phrase and the fact that it came from John Milton. “Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud / Turn forth her silver lining on the night?” So somebody out there thinks I’m the bright side of a dark cloud. I take down the note and stick it inside the cover of my binder. Feeling someone’s gaze, I glance around, hoping to catch the person who wrote it, but there’s only Ryan, watching me from his locker across the way. From his expression I can tell he saw the Post-it, maybe even read it, but he didn’t leave it there.
I turn away without speaking to him and the girl next to me notices. Lila’s not goth, but she wears a lot of black, and she’s a pro at rolling her eyes. She thinks everyone except her has an IQ of seventy-five. “So, are you two done?”
God, I don’t even know how to answer that. It isn’t what she thinks, but I still care about him, and I won’t dump his secrets in the lap of the first person who asks. Soon enough, gossip will hit that we’re “over.” Awesome. All the break-up bullshit, none of the making-out.
“For now,” I say finally. “Sometimes it’s good to take a break, get some perspective.”
“Somebody cheated.” She smirks. “But you both look so squeaky clean that I can’t guess who’s the injured party.”
“Good talk, Lila. See you later.” Though we’ve been locker neighbors for two years, this is the most she’s ever said to me.
She laughs. “That was almost sarcastic, Princess. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
She doesn’t mean it in a bad way. I get it; I’m a joke to most people. The people at JFK think I never get down—that I don’t have shitty days and dark thoughts. I’ve just learned not to follow them down the hole. I’ve seen what lives in there, and it’s pretty awful. Depression threatens. I can’t bail on all my activities, but I’m no longer enthused about the meetings because it will be beyond awkward, dealing with Ryan. I’m just grateful I have a few things of my own, like my part-time job at the Curly Q.
My classes blur together, until it’s time for geometry. Despite my emotional turmoil, I resolve to pay closer attention, except there’s no point. Because Mackiewicz slaps a pop quiz on the front desk in each row.
He’s smiling; that’s never good. “Let’s see how well you can apply these theorems.”
Right. The day only needs this.
The quiz is OMG-hard, so that means I’ll soon have another circled F. Awesome. Even failures should have a friend. I’m sure when I explain to Aunt Gabby that I only failed the second quiz for symmetry, she’ll be good with it. I read over both pages, but it makes no sense to me, so I wind up writing nonsense in trying to “show my work.” For all the good this quiz will do me, I might as well be doodling penguins all over the paper. When I walk out at the end of the period, I hear the doom song from Star Wars in my head—and that’s totally Ryan’s fault. Before I started hanging out with him three years ago, I didn’t know Han Solo from Luke Skywalker.
“Tough one,” Shane says.
Huh? I’m faintly astonished that he hasn’t bolted in trying to beat the jocks acting like they aren’t waiting for a chance to screw with him. I could’ve told him there’s safety in numbers, but he seemed to be in full-loner mode. Maybe he wouldn’t have listened. But he’s here now. Talking to me.
“Yeah. I’m not dumb, swear to God, but this stuff…” I trail off.
“He just doesn’t explain it well.” Shane tilts his head toward Mackiewicz’s classroom.
The man’s got tenure and he’s coasting. He gives us pages to read, rambles for an hour about Pythagoras, and then expects us to figure this stuff out from the text.
“You mean at all,” I mutter.
“If you’re struggling, I could help you.”
I’m surprised speechless.
Misreading my silence, he goes on quickly, “I know I don’t look like a math geek, but—”
“When?” I cut in. “I work Monday and Thursday afternoons.”
“And you have your green thing on Wednesday night.”
I’m ridiculously thrilled he remembers. “I’m not sure if I’m continuing with that.”
He falls into step as I glimpse the jocks already moving down the hall. They don’t have long attention spans, so they’re probably thinking about lunch or the next kid who needs to be taught a lesson.
“How come?”
I shrug, not wanting to get into it.
But he does, apparently. “I heard you broke up with your boyfriend. Is that why?”
We’re outside the cafeteria, other students pushing to get their tater tots. I consider letting the lie stand because it makes me sound cooler, less stupid, but if I’m mad at Ryan for lying, then I can’t start that way with Shane. Because gazing up at him now, just glimpsing the magic of his eyes through his tousled curls, I want this to be the start of something.
“Eat lunch with me,” I say then. “And I’ll tell you about it.”
Not everything. I won’t betray Ryan’s secrets, but I want Shane to know I’m not on the rebound; it’s not like that. It’s knottier and more complicated in some ways, but in others, it’s dead simple. I’ve been looking Shane’s way since he strode into my geometry class.
He hesitates. “I usually hide out behind the school.”