“How so?” Jenna asks.
“Well, she could ruin my chances by deleting the portfolio,” I explain. “And since you would have been the one to—quote—find my tablet, she could blame you for deleting it.”
“Devious,” Tru says.
“She had already planted the idea with me that Jenna was the one who set me up with the vandalism.” And I almost fell for it. “I need to apologize to you, Jenna. For even thinking you might be guilty without any evidence.”
She frowns at me, like she’s confused by my apology. “You had no reason not to trust her. She was your friend.”
Was being the operative word.
It was stupid of me to believe the worst of her just because of Aimeigh’s say-so. I won’t make that mistake again.
“Well, I’m still sorry,” I say.
She beams. “Apology accepted.” She jerks a hand back over her shoulder. “Now, I’m going to get back to class before the project is decided without me.” She turns and hurries down the sidewalk.
Tru and I follow behind at a more leisurely pace. And a more roundabout route.
“So…” I say, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
Tru nudges my shoulder with his. “So…”
The tingles are back.
“I guess I should thank you,” I say.
“What for?”
“If you hadn’t confessed, I’d have been out of NextGen so fast no one would have ever wondered why all the girls in AGD were dropping like flies.”
He laughs. “You New Yorkers and your colorful language.”
“We have to get our color somewhere,” I say, nodding down at my all-black outfit.
In a rare moment of seriousness, he shrugs. “I couldn’t let you go out like that.”
We walk a few more paces in silence. A comfortable quiet, like most of our car rides. I’ve missed this. It’s amazing how, in such a short amount of time, he’s become a touchstone in my world. Just walking side-by-side with Tru makes everything feel right.
And there’s something more there, too. Something I didn’t realize before. Working with Tru to catch Aimeigh showed me what a great team we make. Not just where we’re sparring with words or swapping stories about crappy home lives, but actually working together toward a goal.
It’s like what I said in senior seminar, that art is about connection. Tru and I have a connection. We are a connection. So, in a way, we are art.
That thought kind of blows my mind.
My fingers itch to reach for his hand, to make that tangible, physical connection, but I’m not sure if we’re all the way back to okay yet.
“Does this mean you’re back to hauling me to and from school?” I ask. “Because I’m not sure I can survive many more commutes with my mom.”
He throws me a sideways grin. “I might be convincible.”
I smile back. “I have cookies.”
“What kind?”
“Oatmeal raisin?”
He scoffs. “A bullshit cookie.”
“Why bullshit?”
“Cookies are supposed to be unhealthy.” He makes a grand sweeping gesture. “That’s practically like eating a bran muffin.”
“Okay…” I mentally scan the shelves of our pantry. “Oreos?”
“Now that’s a cookie.”
“Technically, a cookie sandwich,” I correct.
“Touché.”
Tru opens the door to Building E and we start down the hall toward senior seminar. We’ve taken as much of a roundabout route as we can without leaving school property.
“Want to meet me on the roof tonight?” I ask. “After the week we’ve had, I think we’ve earned an entire package of Oreos.”
“That depends.” He stops just outside the senior seminar classroom, leans up against the wall.
I can hear voices inside, where our classmates are already discussing the group project. I’m in no hurry to join the conversation. I’m pretty happy right where I am.
I mirror his leaning stance.
“Depends on what?” I ask.
There’s that cocky grin. “Do you have milk?”
I make a face. “I think my mom has some soy milk.”
“A bullshit milk,” he teases, but his gaze lowers to the floor. “What will your mom think about me coming over?”
I see through the cracks in his cocky, couldn’t-care-less facade. It really hurt him when I said Mom wouldn’t approve, that I couldn’t see him anymore because it might cost me New York. My chest tightens, and I wish I could take that all back.
But since I don’t have a time machine, I’ll have to settle for making it better now.
“She’ll be fine,” I say. At his smirking expression, I explain, “We had a long talk. I told her that she needed to trust me. That even if you weren’t a good guy—which you are—that doesn’t mean I would follow you down the Delinquency Spiral.”
“Delinquency Spiral?” he echoes.
I roll my eyes. “Her words, not mind.” I step closer, place my hands on his chest, hoping the physical connection will reinforce what I’m saying. “I will choose my own friends, and she will just have to deal. Besides, she kinda feels like she owes you for saving my ass.”
He’s quiet for several long moments, and I’m not sure if I got through. I’m not sure if I’ve healed those wounds…or made them worse.
Then his mouth lifts into that cocky smirk.
“Friends?”
I smile back. “For now.”
He leans closer until his mouth is a breath away from mine. “With benefits?”
“Most definitely,” I whisper, and then close the distance between us.
Our lips brush in the briefest touch. A mere whisper. But I feel it like fireworks in every cell of my body.
Closing the door on the first phase of our friendship, and kicking in the second.
There are only thirty-six school days left in the quarter. Less than two months. What used to feel like an eternity, suddenly feels like nowhere near enough time.
What if you stayed? a tiny voice whispers in my mind.
Tru looks at me, into me, his dark, hooded eyes seeming to plead, Stay.
Three weeks ago, if anyone even hinted at the idea that I might possibly ever consider wanting to think about staying in Texas, I would have laughed them out of the room. And then killed them off in the next issue of Graphic Grrl. Gruesomely.
But now…? Now, with the magnetic pull between Tru and me sparkling like the Fourth of July, it doesn’t seem like such a horrifying possibility.
Not horrifying at all. And that scares me a little.
Reluctantly, I start to pull away. Tru doesn’t let me go. Instead, he wraps his hand around my neck and holds me in place for one second, two. Then his lips meet mine again, and the jolt is back, only this time it’s more a warmth spreading through my whole body, making my toes tingle and my hands tremble.
I could stay here forever, but we’re in the hallway and the bell already rang. He knows it, too, because this time when I pull away, he lets me.
As I open the classroom door, I whisper, “Maybe more than friends.”
I can feel the smile in his voice as he says, “Most definitely.”
Most definitely. I like the sound of that.
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About the Author
Tera Lynn Childs is the RITA-award-winning young adult author of the mythology-based Oh. My. Gods. series, the Forgive My Fins mermaid romance series, the kick-butt monster-hunting Sweet Venom trilogy, and the Darkly Fae series. She also writes the City Chicks sweet chick lit romance series and is co-writing the Hero Agenda series with
Tracy Deebs. Tera lives nowhere in particular and spends her time writing wherever she can find a comfy chair and a steady stream of caffeinated beverages.
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