Hopeless(23)

Yep. He’s got issues.

Breckin leans across his desk. “What the hell was that?” he whispers.

“I’ll tell you at lunch,” I say.

“Is that all the wisdom you wish to impart on us today?” Mr. Mulligan asks Holder.

Holder nods, then walks back to his seat, never pulling his gaze from mine. He sits and cranes his neck, facing me. Mr. Mulligan begins his lecture and everyone’s focus returns to the front of the room. Everyone but Holder’s. I glance down to my book and flip it open to the current chapter, hoping he’ll do the same. When I glance back up, he’s still staring at me.

“What?” I mouth, tossing my palms up in the air.

He narrows his eyes and watches me silently for a moment. “Nothing,” he finally says. He turns around in his seat and opens the book in front of him.

Breckin taps his pencil on my knuckles and looks at me inquisitively, then returns his attention back to his book. If he’s expecting an explanation over what just happened, he’ll be disappointed when I’m unable to give him one. I don’t even know what just happened.

I steal several glances in Holder’s direction during the lecture, but he doesn’t turn around again for the entire period. When the bell rings, Breckin jumps out of his seat and drums his fingers on my desk.

“Me. You. Lunch,” he says, raising his eyebrow at me. He walks out of the classroom and I turn my gaze to Holder. He’s watching the classroom door that Breckin just walked out of with a hard look in his eyes.

I grab my things and head out the door before Holder has a chance to strike up a conversation. I really am glad he decided to re-enroll, but I’m disturbed at the way he looked at me like we were best friends. I really don’t want Breckin, or anyone else for that matter, thinking I’m okay with the things Holder does. I’d rather just not associate myself with him, but I have a feeling that’s going to be an issue for him.

I go to my locker and switch books, grabbing my English text. I wonder if Shayna/Shayla will actually acknowledge me in class today. Probably not, that was twenty-four hours ago. I doubt she has enough brain cells to recall information from that long ago.

“Hey, you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut apprehensively, not wanting to turn around to see him standing there in all his beautiful glory.

“You came.” I adjust the books in my locker, then turn around and face him. He smiles, then leans up against the locker next to mine.

“You clean up nice,” he says, eyeing me up and down. “Although, the sweaty version of you isn’t so bad, either.”

He cleans up nice, too, but I’m not about to tell him that.

“Are you here stalking me or did you actually re-enroll?”

He grins mischievously and drums his fingers against the locker. “Both.”

I really need to cut it out with the stalking jokes. It would be funnier if I didn’t think he was actually capable.

I look around at the hallway clearing out. “Well, I need to get to class,” I say. “Welcome back.”

He narrows his eyes at me, almost as if he can sense my discomfort. “You’re being weird.”

I roll my eyes at his assessment. How can he know how I’m being? He doesn’t even know me. I look back into my locker and try to mask the real thoughts on why I’m being “weird.” Thoughts like, why does his past not scare me more than it does? Why does he have a temper so bad that he would do what he did to that poor kid last year? Why does he want to go out of his way to run with me? Why was he asking around about me? Instead of verbally admitting to the questions inside my head, I just shrug and go with, “I’m just surprised to see you here.”

He leans his shoulder against the locker next to mine and shakes his head. “Nope. It’s something else. What’s wrong?”

I sigh and lean against my locker. “You want me to be honest?”

“That’s all I ever want you to be.”

I pull my lips into a tight line and nod. “Fine,” I say. I roll my shoulder against the locker and face him. “I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. You flirt and say things like you have intentions with me that I’m not willing to reciprocate. And you’re…” I pause, searching for the right word.

“I’m what?” he says, watching me intently.

“You’re…intense. Too intense. And moody. And a little bit scary. And there’s the other thing,” I say, without saying it. “I just don’t want you getting the wrong idea.”

“What other thing?” He says it like he knows exactly what other thing I’m referring to, but he’s daring me to say it.