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Josh assures me we’ll have some private time to discuss whatever is on my mind on Friday, and I’m glad he doesn’t push me to explain while we're on the phone, since I think telling him I just want to be friends needs to be done face to face.
Maybe he’ll be glad I’m being honest with him.
He also wants me to go on a trip with him and his family, so maybe not.
When I go to sleep, wrapped in a flannel nightgown speckled with cardinals, the red birds another nod to my sister, I’m not thinking of Josh and my lack of romantic interest in him.
I’m thinking of a boy walking around cold in the dark, his black jacket and blue-green eyes stark in the moonlight.
Mr. Carl returns Krystal’s eager smile in class the next day in a way that makes my whole body tense up.
I hope I’m not reading anything into this interaction because of yesterday’s note, but the more she gushes over him and the more he pays attention to her, the more I want to rush home and take a shower in bleach.
But she won’t listen to me, and nearly bites my head off during lunch a few hours later.
“Seriously, can’t I look at him at all? Just because he doesn’t do it for you doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t dream.”
Dream of what?
If he’s the teacher mentioned in that note, whatever she’s dreaming of will end in a nightmare.
What reason would a female student have to be in a male teacher’s car in the first place, when I’m sure that’s against school rules?
And crying?
I smush my lips together to keep myself from responding, or worse, telling her about the note.
Bethany just raises her eyebrows a lot as Krystal tells me off, then waves before heading into the lunch line for her usual collection of snack foods.
“Hey, are you tired?”
Josh appears beside me with a cookie in his hand, and I shake my head, both at his question and his offering.
I’m not hungry today, probably because I’m worried about Friday, and I don’t even have my usual carrots with me.
What tempts me are the cans of root beer in the vending machine, and as if on cue, I catch a glimpse of Eli behind Josh, pacing by the cafeteria doors as he sips on a can of exactly what I want.
Josh turns to follow my gaze.
“Are you looking at him or the pop?”
He knows me well enough to recognize my interest in the root beer, so it’s easy for me to smile and assure him, with a little laugh, that it’s definitely the pop.
I haven’t had breakfast and I’m not eating now, so it shouldn’t be a problem to have just one can.
But my pleasure is dulled by guilt as I watch Josh head over to the vending machine and buy me one, his smile never faltering as he returns and cracks it open before offering it to me.
“Here you go. Take it easy or you’ll get the hiccups.”
That happened exactly once before, but I don’t argue with his teasing as I take it from him.
The sound of bubbles fizzing makes my stomach gurgle, and the first sip is, as always, absolutely delicious.
“Glad to see you defying your mom for a change, Mia.”
Krystal nudges me just enough to get my attention, and I’m relieved she seems to have forgiven me.
She’s right, and it feels good to do what I want without worrying about how my mother would react.
“Have you thought about what movie you want to watch on Friday?”
I’m taking a long swallow of the root beer when Josh asks, and I close my eyes against the urge to sputter.
I want to enjoy this sweet escape for a moment, and thankfully, he waits until I’m finished.
Shaking my head, I rest the can on the table in front of me, settling a fingertip on the cold metal.
“Thanks for that. I haven’t had root beer in forever.”
Bethany returns with her hands full of plastic-wrapped snacks, leaning over the table between Josh and me.
“Or actual food, for that matter.”
I stare at her blankly, then smile as insincerely as I can manage.
“We’ll get pizza on Friday, whatever you like. Alex and I were talking about movie options, and I’m sure Megan has an opinion . . .”
His voice drifts on, as I nod.
Megan always has an opinion.
A rustle of plastic announces Bethany is digging into her Nutty Bars and Zebra Cakes, and Josh smiles gently at me.
“I have to go, but I’ll talk to you later.”
He leans in and kisses my cheek before turning around and disappearing into a group of kids who are staring at each other’s phones and giggling.
Nothing new there.
But when I start to turn back to Bethany and Krystal, a familiar pair of ratty black Converse appears when I look down.
He was probably wearing those while we were walking home yesterday.
If he didn’t have a winter coat, what were the odds he had boots?
Instead of saying anything to me, which I expect as he gets closer, he stops at the end of the table and lifts his chin in Bethany’s direction.
“They got any Zebra Cakes left?”
She sits up straight and nods quickly, her mouth full of chocolate and peanut butter wafers.
Eli taps his fist on the table lightly a couple of times, then his eyes slide to mine, his long eyelashes flickering the smallest bit.
His smile is barely noticeable, a tiny flash of movement before he walks away, heading in the opposite direction from Josh.
“If nothing else, he’s cute.”
Krystal snorts at Bethany’s observation.
“High school boys.”
She sighs dramatically, and Bethany frowns down at her half-eaten Nutty Bar before licking the chocolate from her fingers.
I take another long drink of my root beer while my stomach growls, as the sight of her enjoying the treat makes my body betray my growing hunger much too loudly.
The rest of the day passes without incident, but Eli’s expression sticks in my mind.
He’s so sure of himself, even when he knows he’s breaking rules and headed for more trouble.
Doesn’t he care what anyone thinks of him?
Doesn’t he care about his future, and how his actions now can mess up his chances for a successful one?
Megan is waiting for me in the newspaper office, perched on a tall stool the kids who like to work on yearbook layouts usually use.
“So what do you have for us?”
Before I settle into my usual spot, Dante crosses the room and stands beside her, his focus on me expectant.
I smile, certain I look as insecure as I feel.
“Well, I haven’t checked emails yet, so give me a minute. But . . .”
When they both tilt their heads and lean closer, almost comically in alignment with each other, I bite my lip before continuing.
“I have an idea who the teacher is, but I don’t have proof.”
Before they can ask the obvious question, I shake my head firmly and open the laptop in front of me, tapping on the keys to login and check the newspaper general email box as I always do.
I scroll through the new correspondence, the usual expected information as well as some suggestions for feature articles and a complaint about the smell in the gym locker rooms.
Again, nothing new.
“They didn’t reach out to us yet. Should we put something else in tomorrow’s edition?”
They look at each other thoughtfully, and Megan crosses her arms over her chest.
Dante imitates her.
“The same as today, or something new?”
Megan’s question makes me consider that anything new would have to come from me, and I’m not sure what to say.
What would make them contact us to tell us more?
It has to be vague enough not to be obvious, but definite enough they’ll know we’re talking to them about the note.
And what they saw.
“Let me think about it while I work, okay? I’ll let you know in a bit.”
They seem satisfied with my answer, and head off in different directions to check on others.
As I sort through the email, I wonder what would make me come forward.
If I’d initiated the contact in the first place and wanted help, wouldn’t I be looking for some indication it was received and the other party was interested?
I blow out an exasperated breath over an hour later, after I’ve sorted and forwarded emails and dropped text and graphics into templates.
Megan wanders over again.
“Well?”
When I shrug, her forehead creases, but I start talking before she thinks I haven’t come up with anything.
Even if it seems lame.
I hand her a sticky note I’ve scribbled on, and she stares at it for a moment as I wait for her to tell me it’s dumb.
“Not bad. Go ahead and place it where you have today’s message, and maybe if they saw that and are looking for another attempt by us to reach them, they’ll see this. And if they didn’t catch today’s, they might see this tomorrow.”
She shrugs and presses the note down on the table in front of me.
“I think we’re due for a short story any time now, Mia.”
Her smirk reminds me of how excited I was to see my creative work featured in the paper over a few issues in the fall, and how she liked my stories and poems so much she kept asking for more.
But some of it is private, a way for me to unload my feelings . . . mostly about Kayla.
A way for me to get what is in my head and heart out.
At least it’s anonymous, so no one, especially my parents, can find out I write anything at all.
I roll my pen between my palms before setting it aside to start typing.
CAR TROUBLE? DON’T CRY. WE’RE LISTENING.
It looks stupid once it’s on the screen, cryptic and weird.
Like a mistake.
Or an ad for a mechanic.
But Megan thinks it's okay, so I leave it there, hoping that as silly as it seems, it might work.
I’d love to have something to prove Mr. Carl is a creep before anything happens to Krystal.
In spite of her protests, I’m not so sure she wouldn’t respond to any attempts on his part to get physical with her.
“Getting late, Mia. We’re the last ones here.”
Zoe, who contributes artwork to the yearbook, shuffles up to me, her boots scuffing along the tile floor as if she’s doing it on purpose to get my attention.
Maybe she’s been talking to me and I didn’t hear her.
“You’re right. Thanks for letting me know.”
She shifts her bright orange backpack and stretches her neck from side to side, and I smile at her, wondering why she’s not leaving.
“I saw you walking away from school with Eli yesterday.”
I shut down the computer and stand up.
“Yes?”
She takes a step back and shakes her head.
“Bad news, Mia. We all know you’re a good girl, and you don’t need to get mixed up with him.”
Her smile is small and quick, and she dashes out the door before I can respond.
What did she think I was doing with Eli?
Since when does taking a walk with someone equate with getting mixed up with them?
The room is quiet for a few moments as I fish the key to it from my front jeans pocket, and after I turn the lights off and pull the door closed behind me, I push the key in the lock and turn.
Just as a hand falls to my shoulder and I nearly scream in the darkened hall.