KALYN

THE MORNING AFTER we skip class to hash things out in the kiln, I spot Gus from ten yards away, leaning against the staircase railing outside the cafeteria, books clutched close in his good arm. It should be impossible to see him amid the morning stampede that follows first bell, except, of course, Gus has that dandelion puff of white-yellow hair.

Sarah’s just run back to her locker to fetch her science textbook before the second bell, so I’ve only got a minute—­

“Gus!” I trill, all Rose-ish. “Hey!”

Gus startles and blinks at me before dropping his eyes back to his boots.

“Gus!” I call again, losing the trill. “C’mere!”

This dork does an actual double-take and looks back over his shoulder. “Seriously? Get over here!”

Gus looks both ways and picks his careful way through the crowd, hunching his shoulders to make himself smaller.

“Sorry,” he says, “I was waiting for . . . ​I wasn’t following you. Not today, I mean.”

“I’m not worried about that. That’s yesterday’s news.”

Gus looks extremely uncomfortable, standing so close to me. I’m talking porcupine-quills-to-the-ass uncomfortable. His eyes keep falling back to his shoes.

You’d think my hand is full of nettles when I clap him on the shoulder.

“People might see you,” he mutters.

“Well, most people have eyes. Who cares? You embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“No! It’s not, ah. Aren’t you embarrassed to . . . well. Um.” He lifts his books. “D’you wanna carry my stuff, then?”

Who knows what thinking process led him there, but ten bucks says it’s not a healthy one. “Do I look like a mule? I just wanted to see if you want to meet up later. Like yesterday, although maybe more during lunchtime and less playing hooky?” I lower my voice. “I’ve got a fake reputation to maintain, you know.”

He thinks about it for a full seven seconds, and the whole time the pressure in him’s building like steam in a teapot before it bursts from his mouth: “Why?”

Good damn question. I mean, sure, Gus made me laugh when I finally met up with him, made Kalyn feel less like dirt, but I wasn’t planning on making it a thing. I shouldn’t be tempting fate. Hell, I’m still not convinced he doesn’t have my number regarding Murder-Dad, et cetera. But it’s bumming me out, seeing how Gus is in public versus how he was in the kiln.

“I dunno. I like talking to you, I guess?”

“But . . . you can’t smoke if I’m there.”

“Maybe I like you more than cigarettes.”

He turns so freakin’ pink. Look, I’m pretty queer, but hell if blushing boys aren’t the cutest things since frolicking kittens.

“Look, maybe I have an answer for you. For Quillpower.” Sure, that’s convincing.

“Oh, yeah?” God, he looks so put out.

“Fuck if I know.” I poke him in the forehead. “Kiln at noon thirty?”

He nods and starts to smile, but then he looks right past me and pivots away real quick: I think I spooked him, until Sarah appears at my shoulder along with a delicious waft of coconut-scented shampoo. I’m gonna go ahead and bet that Gus remembers being cried at in elementary school by a certain lovely someone.

“You ready?” she asks.

“Yeah. Ready.”

Maybe I don’t sound like Rose, because Sarah frowns. Her eyes trail Gus’s retreating back and then she’s opening her mouth, but I smile wide and she changes her mind. “Good for you, because I definitely didn’t study enough.”

“Oh, neither did I!” I’m all perky again, but it feels like a strain. “When I said ‘ready’ I didn’t mean ‘ready to pass.’ Just ready to face the music.”

Sarah chuckles, loops her arm through mine, and we’re on our way to English Honors. Suddenly my throat hurts. I miss the voice I just used with Gus.

Basically, I miss me, even if it doesn’t make sense.