“You just passed my school,” Chunk says.
I slam on the brakes when I realize she’s right. I kick the car into reverse and back up, then pull over to let her out. She looks out the passenger window and sighs.
“Daniel, we’re so early there isn’t even anyone else here yet.”
I lean forward and look out her window, scanning the school. “Not true,” I say, pointing to someone pulling into a parking spot. “There’s someone.”
She shakes her head. “That’s the maintenance guy. I beat the freaking maintenance guy to school.” She opens her door and steps out, then turns and leans into the car before shutting her door. “Do I need to plan for you to be here to pick me up an hour early, too? Is your brain stuck in Eastern Time today?”
I ignore her comment and she shuts the door, then I hit the gas and drive toward the school.
• • •
I don’t know what kind of car she drives, so I pull into my usual spot and wait. There are a few other cars here, including Sky and Holder’s, but I know they’re at the track running like they do every morning.
I can’t believe I don’t know what kind of car she drives. I also still don’t know her phone number. Or her birthday. Or her favorite color or what she wants to be when she’s older or why the hell she chose Italy for her foreign exchange or what her parents’ names are or what kind of food she eats.
My palms begin to sweat, so I wipe them on my jeans, then grip my steering wheel. What if she’s really annoying around other people? What if she’s a junkie? What if . . .
“Hey.”
Her voice breaks me out of my near–panic attack. It also calms me the hell down because as soon as I see her sliding into the front seat of my car, my unjustified fears are replaced by pure relief.
“Hey.”
She shuts her door and pulls her leg up, turning to face me in the car. She smells so good. She doesn’t smell like perfume at all . . . she just smells good. Kind of fruity.
“Have you had your panic attack yet?” she asks.
Confusion clouds my face. I don’t have time to answer her before she begins talking again.
“I had one this morning,” she says, looking at everything else around us, unable to make eye contact with me. “I just keep thinking we’re idiots. Like maybe this connection we think we have is all in our heads and we didn’t really have as much fun as we thought we did last night. I don’t even know you, Daniel. I don’t know your birthday, your middle name, Chunk’s real name, if you have any pets, what your major will be in college. I know it’s not like we made this huge commitment or got married or had sex, but you have to understand that I have never thought the idea of having a boyfriend was even remotely appealing and maybe I still don’t think it’s all that appealing, but . . .”
She finally looks at me and makes eye contact. “But you’re so funny and this entire past year has been the worst year of my life and for some reason when I’m with you it feels good. Even though I hardly know you, the parts of you I do know I really, really like.” She leans her head into the headrest and sighs. “And you’re cute. Really cute. I like staring at you.”
I turn in my seat and mirror her position by resting my head against my own headrest. “Are you finished?”
She nods.
“I had my panic attack right before you got in the car just now. But when you opened your door and I heard your voice, it went away. I think I’m good now.”
She smiles. “That’s good.”
I smile back at her and we both just stare at each other for several seconds. I want to kiss her but I also kind of like just staring at her. I would hold her hand, but she’s running her fingers up and down the seam of the passenger seat and I like watching her do that.
“I should go inside and register for classes now,” she says.
“Make sure you get second lunch.”
She nods. “I can’t wait to pretend I hate you today.”
“I can’t wait to pretend I hate you more.”
I can tell she’s about to turn, so I lean forward and slip my hand behind her neck, then pull her to me. I kiss her good morning, hello and good-bye all at once. When I pull back, I glance over her shoulder and see Sky and Holder making their way off the track and toward the parking lot.
“Shit!” I push her head down between us. “They’re coming this way.”
“Crap,” she whispers.
She begins humming the theme to Mission Impossible and I start laughing. I start to crouch down with her, but if they reach my car they’ll see us whether our heads are down or not.