I’m watching the clock, watching the second hand tick-tick-tick silently toward home, waiting for that sweet, sweet sound of freedom. One . . . more . . . sec—ah!
There it is. The final bell. The rest of the class bolts, stampeding out the door. At last junior year is over. I don’t have to hear that stupid bell again for three long months. Don’t have to study, don’t have to figure out new ways to skip chem lab, don’t have to watch all the hot girls ignore me and only pay attention to the jocks.
“What are you waiting for, Nick? I figured you for the first student out of the classroom, not the last.”
For an English teacher, Mrs. Martin isn’t bad. I even liked some of her assignments this year. She stands at the front of the classroom, looking a little sad behind her smile.
I smile back and stand up. “I’m going. See you next year.”
“Wait a minute.”
When I turn back to her, she’s holding out a book. “Some summer reading.”
“Oh, man.” I can’t help but groan a little. All year long Mrs. Martin has thought I’m one of those kids she can fix by focusing a little individual attention on me. I’m not dumb, but the phrase “does not work to potential” is what they’ll put under my senior picture in the yearbook.
“Oh, it won’t kill you. And yes, I do expect a book report in the fall.” Mrs. Martin waits for me to take the book.
“Lord of the Flies?” I turn the book over.
“You should have read it two years ago.” Mrs. Martin shakes her head. “It used to be required reading for the ninth graders, but they replaced it with some—”
She stops, but I could swear she was about to say a nasty word. I look at the front cover of the book again. It has a guy looking straight out from what seems to be a jungle. The stems of some leaves look sort of woven into his hair. He looks . . . pissed? No, more like he’s sad. There are big old houseflies all over his shoulder.
“Uh . . . what’s it about?” I’m not digging the idea of spending any time on reading this summer. Maybe I can get out of it. “I’m going to be so busy over break—”
“I expect you to tell me what it’s about when you come back in the fall.” Mrs. Martin assumes her teacher face. “And I’m holding your final grade in English this year until I get your book report.”
Crap. There is it—the power play. I skipped a few too many of Mrs. Martin’s classes, too, along with chem lab. She could give me a righteous D for the year if she wanted. I figured there would be some sort of makeup work to do over the summer, but I was hoping for some vocabulary words, not a novel about flies.
“Well, thanks, Mrs. Martin. I’ll do my best.”
“If only you would, Nick.”
The disappointment in her voice should make me feel bad, but it’s officially summer now and I can’t bring myself to care. I shove the book in my backpack, give Mrs. Martin a wave, and leave. The halls already look deserted. I was hoping to run into Lara Hanover before everyone split, so I’m disappointed. Lara is the hottest girl in the junior class. She’s not a cheerleader or anything stupid like that, either. All year long I’d been working up the nerve to ask her out. I actually managed to talk to her a couple of times when we had to do group reports in English. She’s smart, but I was never able to concentrate on her reports because every time she talked in our group all I could do was watch her mouth move. I’d finally decided that today, the last day of junior year, was a make-or-break moment—either get her number and call her over the summer, or forget about it. Looks like I’d missed my chance.
I push out the double doors to the front of the school where the buses pick up the suburbs. That’s what they call those of us who have to bus in to school and bus back to our sleepy neighborhoods. I’ve been a suburb most of my life, so I’m used to being part of the lame crowd. I have my favorite seat, and I know to avoid getting jacked for lunch money or homework, and my buddy Charlie Bradley is usually along for the ride, so it’s not that bad.
The sun is glinting off the buses, and the heat is nice after the air-conditioning inside. I squint at the sea of tank-topped students looking for Charlie. A surprise is waiting for me there. Lara is standing in front of the bus with Charlie. Lara Hanover, who doesn’t take the bus and who doesn’t talk to Charlie. He’s just a little lamer than me, which puts him right over the edge of too-lame-for-Lara-to-notice.
I have no idea how to react to this unlikely scene. Lara’s wearing a red tank top and blue cutoff jeans. She looks, well, like she always looks. Beautiful. Her hair looks like gold in the sunlight and her shoulders, bare in the light breeze, look smooth and soft. I can’t count how many times I’ve watched her from afar, knowing full well she’ll never notice me. And then, as though she’s being filmed in slow motion, she turns, and sees me, and ooooooh sooooo sloooowly smiles at me. Charlie turns too, equally slowly, and makes an incredulous face while he points at Lara, as though to say “Duuuuude, do you seeeee this?” All I can do is nod, dumbly.
“Nick!” Lara is making actual sounds.
“Ummm.” I stand there for an additional two brainless seconds, and then I lope over to her.
“Hi, Lara.” I’m trying for cool. Her lips look so soft. And pink. And soft.
“Listen.” She tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
I listen.
She stares at me for a full ten seconds, waiting for some sort of appropriate response, but I am lost in her aura. Finally she frowns slightly and speaks again.
“I’m having a little thing, Nick.”
She knows my name!
“A thing?” I’ve managed to form words.
“Yeah. A sort of inaugural bash for summer.” She peers into my eyes, trying to see if I understand.
“An inaugural bash, huh? Sounds pretty fancy.” I see Charlie making desperate motions behind Lara’s back, beseeching me to stop acting like such an idiot. I have got to snap out of it.
“Sounds cool.” I cock my head at Lara and slouch a little. “Where and when?”
She smiles at me and giggles. But she’s not laughing at me. She’s just amused.
“My place, this weekend.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “My parents are in Europe, so the place is all mine.”
“Sounds way cool.” Charlie’s panting like a happy puppy.
Lara and I both turn to stare at him. He’s practically drooling on her. I give him a look, the look I give him when he’s being lamer than usual. He closes his mouth.
“Anyway.” Lara hands me a scrap of paper. It’s pink. “See ya.”
She walks away while Charlie and I stare after her.
“Huh.” Charlie is astute, sometimes. This is not one of those times. But I can’t blame him. I can’t even muster a huh.
“You boys want a ride or not?” Mrs. Snelling, the bus driver, is leaning out toward us from her seat behind the wheel of our bus, her hand on the lever that closes the bus door.
We both clamber on, sliding into our customary seats near the back of the bus.
“What was that?” I doubt Charlie will know, but I have to ask somebody.
“Dude.” He shakes his head back and forth, as stunned as I am.