During the passing window between third and fourth period, Matt sidles up beside me. “’Sup?”
“’Sup?” I echo.
He grabs my arm and pulls me into the storage closet. We’re in B loop; no Ping-Pong table, just a ragged mound of boxes piled on abandoned AV carts. He closes the door but for a sliver, separating us from the rushing river of our classmates.
“What are you doing?” Being alone with Matt in the dark stillness leaves me breathless.
“Shhh,” he says, his mouth close to my ear. My back is practically up against his chest, the space is so cramped.
The chatter and bustle in the hallway peaks and then ebbs. The bell rings over the last soft scrabble of latecomers sliding into class.
“We’re late now,” I say, not really caring.
“We’re skipping,” Matt says. “Don’t you ever skip class?”
“No.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.” My cheeks flush. Nerd alert.
“Welcome to a whole new world.” Matt reaches past me and pushes open the door. “Come on.”
He leads me through the empty halls to the locked access stairwell that leads to the roof. He keys his way through the door.
“How do you have a key for that?” I ask.
“Got friends in high places,” he says. “Or low places, depending on how you look at it.” He winks. What, did he bribe a custodian or something?
Patrick and Celia are already on the roof when we emerge into the crisp fall air.
“Hey,” we say. They’re huddled in a small annex between the wall that houses the stairwell and some vents or whatever. Cards out. Pennies out. I rummage through my backpack, suddenly much less embarrassed that I’ve been carrying my own penny stash around like a security blanket since they gave it to me.
“Where are the others?”
“Simon has a history test and Janna can’t skip. She didn’t say why,” Patrick informs me.
But four is plenty for poker, so we play. Simon and Janna must be the conversation instigators in the group. We’re pretty quiet and focused on the cards, apart from the occasional slice of banter that erupts between Matt and Patrick.
“Ouch,” Matt says, laying down a high flush. “Read ’em and weep, like a tiny little baby.”
“Don’t worry, I know how to take a hit,” Patrick answers, folding his cards.
“That’s not what Emerson said,” Matt quips, referring to the quarterback of the football team, on which Patrick is an offensive lineman.
Patrick grins. “So come at me. Test your theory, Toothpick. I’ll snap you like I’m eating hors d’oeuvres.”
Celia smiles across the cards at me as they exchange their gentle barbs. In the silence between us, I sense something real about her. I like it.
“Bell’s gonna ring,” she says. Wow, the time has flown.
She packs up the cards. Matt steps out of the protected alcove and tips his face upward. “You can smell the sky from here,” he says, spreading his arms to the chilly breeze. “I love to be high.”
Patrick rolls his eyes. “Oh, we know.”
Matt frowns at him. “The point is,” he says, looking right at me, “it’s nice to have a space that’s ours alone.”