EIGHT

I catch up to him on the way out of homeroom. His legs are so long, I have to jog to match his pace. “Hey!” I say, reaching out to poke him in the arm. “Remember me?”

He glances at me for a nanosecond and keeps walking.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I didn’t know you were going to this school, Ben,” I try again. I know it’s dumb, but I’m excited for the chance to say his name out loud.

The Pop Rocks don’t disappoint.

Unlike his reply.

“Yeah, well now you do,” he says, his voice just as bored as ever.

“Looks like we’re in the same homeroom,” I blab on, starting to pant from the exertion of running, “so I don’t mind showing you around if you want.”

I trot after him, waiting for his answer. For the life of me, I can’t remember a time I’ve ever actually initiated a conversation in this school, let alone ran after one. What’s my problem? Why am I trying so hard with this guy? Was it the “editor” thing? Or because he seems different from the others around here? Or is it just because he’s good looking? What kind of shallow salope am I turning into?

As it turns out, it doesn’t really matter what variety of shallow salope I am, because instead of replying, Ben just ignores me and keeps walking, hands stuffed deep into his pockets like he’s digging for gold. He doesn’t even look at me once. As soon as I begin to decelerate from a jog to a walk, he speeds ahead down the hall until he’s lost in the crowd.

I slow to a full stop and watch him disappear.

Quel snob!

“Hey, do you know that guy?” asks a voice beside me. I turn around to see Emma Swartz staring at me, an expression of wide-eyed shock slashed across her freckled face.

Her again? What’s going on with me? First day back at school and already I’ve smashed my yearly conversation record by a kilometre.

“Not really. I’ve just seen him working at the drive-thru.”

“McCool Fries?” her brown eyes light up at the mention of greasy fast food. “You work there?”

I shake my head. “Not me, him.” I can’t quite bring myself to say his name in front of her. Just in case she notices the Pop Rocks go off. “He works the night shift.”

“Wait a minute: Ben Matthews works at the drive-thru?” Her eyes are bugging out of her head, like it’s the most far-fetched concept she’s ever heard. “That’s a joke, right?”

“No. Why? What’s so funny about it?”

She shrugs. “Nothing, I guess. I just never got the impression that a guy like him needed the money.”

Now it’s my turn to look shocked. “What does that mean? Do you know him?”

“Well, not really. His family has a summer cottage here and I’ve just seen him a few times down at the Docks with all his fancy city friends. He’s the kind of guy a girl notices, right?” She raises her eyebrows suggestively.

My face burns at this.

So. Completely. Mortifying.

Anxious for an escape, I pick up my feet and start walking to my next class. Emma follows along behind me. Man, why is she suddenly so interested in talking to me? My introverted self is beginning to freak out more than just a little.

As it turns out, Emma follows me all the way to the door of my first class — advanced trig with Ms. Pinski. Okay, I admit I’m a bit of a browner myself when it comes to numbers. Math and science have always come pretty easily for me. And I’m a natural at trigonometry — a subject most kids in my grade find next to impossible. Maybe I’m so good at it because … well, because I’m all about angles myself. Seriously, to look at me, you’d see a square face sitting on top of a rectangular body. Even my hair falls in perfect straight lines, like each strand has been carefully drawn by a ruler. If people were fonts, I would be Arial. Scratch that: I would be Arial Narrow. Guess you could say I’m the opposite of curve.

Which, as you probably know, isn’t exactly a great look for high school.

“Whoa, killer math, dude,” Emma groans, veering away from me. “I’m heading over to French.”

“Good. Say hi to that connard Monsieur Zeitoune for me.”

You’ve probably noticed by now that I love swearing in French. A few years ago, my second cousin from Rouyn-Noranda came to stay with Aunt Su for a summer. Robert taught me all the really choice French curses, which turned out to be really useful. If you know someone who speaks French, I highly recommend it. Learning those words was the only nice thing about having to share Aunt Su’s company with Robert for an entire six weeks. French curses give such a satisfying air of mystery to the simplest and dirtiest of English words … kind of like turning puke into pearls. N’est-ce pas?

For some reason, though, Emma doesn’t look too impressed with my linguistic prowess. “Okay. Later.”

Her round derriere swings from side to side as she sashays off down the hall. Apparently angles and ratios are not for Emma. If people were fonts, she would be Curlz. Without a doubt. Maybe it’s rude, but I can’t help letting out a loud sigh of relief as I watch her go. So far, this morning has been way too social for comfort. Can’t say I’m sorry to see it end.

Hitching my backpack up on my shoulders, I open the door to my trig class and scan the room for a good seat. That’s when, for the second time in one morning, my heart does a kamikaze into my stomach.

Not again!

Only three spots left open: two smack dab in the front row and one in the dead centre of the room … right behind Ben Matthews. Darn that Emma! Somehow she’s managed to mess up my back-row plans twice in under an hour! Since I’m not about to get stuck in front-row hell, I opt for the lesser of two evils and slide into the chair behind His Grumpiness. If Ms. Pinski is as anal about seating plans as the rest of the teachers in this school, I’ll be staring at the back of his swelled head every day for the rest of the semester.

Completely made of suck!

Still angry, I slink down low in my seat, crushing my lips together to keep them from spouting out any more embarrassments. If Ben notices me sitting behind him, he doesn’t let on. As soon as the bell rings, Ms. Pinski closes the door and passes around a class seating plan for us to fill out. I cringe as I add my name to the empty box underneath Ben’s. How can someone who looks so nice on the outside be so ugly on the inside? Because as much as it pains me to admit it, he does look nice.

I sigh softly, breathing in the fresh smell of Ben’s shampoo. Watermelon. Yum. While Ms. Pinski drones on about functions and ratios, I notice how his shoulders rise up with each of his breaths. How the bottom of his hair curls every so slightly around the collar of his T-shirt. How his head is tilted ever so slightly to the left. And how every few seconds it tilts a little bit further and further …

Suddenly, a soft rumbling sound fills my ears and a little light switch flips on inside my head. Oh my God, Ben’s taking a nap! Just like that night at the drive-thru! I’m about to kick his chair and wake him up, when the sound of Ms. Pinski’s voice rings out over our heads. And it definitely doesn’t sound amused.

“Benjamin Matthews?”

His neck snaps straight up like a rubber band.

“Yeah, uh, here.”

A chorus of snickers bounces around the room. Ms. Pinski smirks in a self-satisfied “spider about to catch the fly” kind of way.

“Are you really, Mr. Matthews? I’m not so sure about that. Maybe you could prove it by repeating my last question for the rest of the class?”

“Yeah, I … uh …”

There’s only the slightest hint of boredom left in his voice as he scrambles for the answer. Maybe it’s because he looks just as tired as I should look. Or maybe it’s because I know how crappy it is to have to stay up all night. I really don’t know why, but part of me suddenly feels sorry for him. Even if he is a rude, arrogant son of a Mafioso drug dealer. I guess I take after Dad — both of us are suckers for people in need of help.

So, against all my better judgment, I find myself leaning forward and whispering the answer in his ear.

“She’s looking for the mathematical definitions of sine and cosine.”

I can see Ben’s shoulders bristle at the sound of my voice. And then he gives his head a vigorous little shake, almost like he’s trying to evict me from his thoughts. His chair scrapes back with a screech as he rises to his feet.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear your question, Ms. Pinski. I must have fallen asleep. It won’t happen again.”

I feel like I’ve just been slapped across the face. Why didn’t he take the answer I gave him? Does he think he’s too good to accept help from someone like me? My cheeks flash with shame as the rest of the class erupts into nervous giggles around me.

“Sleeping in my class? Not the best way to make a first impression, Mr. Matthews. Take your seat and let’s continue. Because it’s the first day, I’ll let it slide. Just don’t let me catch you doing it again!”

Well, I’m not planning on being quite so forgiving. I spend the rest of the hour cursing Ben Matthews in my head and plunging imaginary arrows into his back. What an ungrateful, pigheaded snob! Who does he think he is?

I work myself up into such a tizzy over the whole thing that I can’t even concentrate on the rest of the math lesson. By the time the bell rings, my heart is fluttering like a leaf in a windstorm. And when I stand up, my knees wobble and a cluster of stars explodes in front of my eyes. I clutch the back of my chair for support and take a couple of slow, deep breaths. But it doesn’t help. My heart still feels like it’s trying to fly out of my chest. I’ve never let myself get so upset over a guy before. What’s going on?

That’s when it hits me.

It’s been fourteen days (nights) since I’ve had any sleep.

This is it.

My heart is giving out.

Je suis fini.

And without even making it into the Guinness book.

Merde.

I have to get help.

Now.

Muscling past the crowd of kids, I rush down the hall to the nurse’s office. “Call an ambulance, Ms. Green!” I gasp, staggering through the door. “I need help!”

The nurse glances up from her book and eyes me suspiciously.

“Lily MacArthur! What are you up to?”

“Please,” I cry, my voice rising in panic. “I’m pretty sure it’s cardiac arrest.”

With a sharp cluck of her tongue, she points me to a creaky little cot and reaches for her stethoscope. I collapse into a quivering ball of Jell-o while she takes my pulse and feels my glands. After a minute, she pops the stethoscope tips into her ears. I squeeze my eyes shut and prepare for the worst. At this point, I’m so far gone I can’t even feel the fluttering anymore. Instead, a tight, burning pain has taken its place and is rapidly spreading down my arms and up into my throat.

“And what did you have for breakfast this morning?” she asks, dragging the chilly metal disk over my chest.

My eyes fly open. “Excuse me?”

“Did you have any coffee? Or some kind of energy drink?”

I stare at her in surprise. “No! What’s that supposed to —”

She holds up a finger to her lips, indicating for me to be quiet. Seconds tick by while I consider telling her about my missing sleep. I wonder if that’s the kind of vital information she should know about just in case I fall unconscious before the paramedics arrive. But before I can say anything else, she pulls the stethoscope tips out of her ears and sighs.

“I don’t hear anything wrong with your heart, Lily. I think you just experienced a palpitation.”

I prop myself up on an elbow. “A what?”

“Palpitation. They’re quite common and completely harmless. Probably due to a bad case of first-day jitters.”

On the tail of these words, the tight, burning pain in my upper body dissolves away to numbness. All that’s left is the awkward heat in my cheeks as Ms. Green reaches into the pocket of her white lab coat and pulls out a pink lollipop.

“Here you go.”

“Are you serious? That’s it?”

“I suppose if it happens again, you might want to mention it to you family doctor. But really, I wouldn’t worry.” She stands up, opens the door, and waves me out of the room. “Off you go. Back to class.”

Nice. I’m dying and nobody gives a toss. Now I’m really glad I didn’t tell her about my sleep crisis. She probably wouldn’t have believed that either. Ignoring her stupid lollipop, I scuttle out of the room and down the hall.

Man, didn’t I tell you the first day back at school always blows?