The Force of Gravity(18)

Well, at least she’s still talking to me.

“Um, yeah, he was actually.”

Derek’s eyes narrow in my direction, but I ignore him.

“Dude needs to get laid,” says Emily.

Derek’s stare is burning a hole through me, and it takes everything I have not to meet his eyes.

“I could help him out with that,” says Avery, giggling.

Tommy appears next to me. “What’s with this guy? Why do every girl’s panties drop when he walks by?”

Everyone at the table laughs, except for Derek. He’s quietly eating his sandwich, staring at the table. My appetite fades, and I push away my lunch tray.

Tommy turns to me and keeps his voice low. “You’re not eating again? Should I be concerned?” Then he smirks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you turn down pizza.”

“What are you saying?” I snap. “That I’m some uncontrollable pig who can’t turn down a slice of pizza?”

His eyes widen. “No—what the hell? You’re perfect, Kay, I—what’s up with you?”

“I’m just not hungry right now, okay?”

“What, are you seriously stressed about your math class? Are you worried your grade will drop to a B?” he ridicules, the crowd laughing along with him. Yeah, Tommy’s a real riot.

“It is at a B actually.” I did the calculations last night just to be sure.

“Oooooh,” he taunts. “Not a B! Oh, the horror!”

Everyone laughs again.

“You should really start charging people for your little comedy act,” I retort.

“You’re just as bitchy as Mr. Slate today,” says Emily.

Derek’s eyes bore into me again, and my leg bounces uncontrollably underneath the table.

“Sorry,” I whisper to Tommy. He has to be getting sick of this by now—I’ve really been testing his patience lately. Without making eye contact, I give him a quick peck on the cheek and stand up. I walk out of the cafeteria and spend the rest of the hour sitting in the library, literally staring at a bookshelf, with my earphones blaring.



WHEN THE WRETCHED school day comes to an end, Emily hops over to me with a wide grin on her face.

“Hey,” I say cautiously. “Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”

She shrugs. “I refuse to waste my life with negativity. Besides, my mom sent me a text saying I get my car back tonight.”

I manage a smile. “Awesome.”

“Are you still coming over?”

I don’t even remember making plans with her. I’m really not up for it, but since we’re on thin ice, I know I need to go.

“Yeah, of course,” I say.

She’s still grinning at me. “Okay, good. Because Mr. Slate’s taking us.”

My smile goes stiff. “Come again?”

Emily beams. “Mr. Slate’s taking us home.”

Is she joking? For a second, I worry Derek told her about last night, and they’re plotting some sort of cruel joke on me. But her face is genuine.

“I thought Tommy was taking me home. Or, us home. To your house,” I stammer. I don’t want her to think I forgot about our plans, and I don’t understand what’s happening right now.

“Nope. He ditched sixth period with Derek after they found out baseball practice was canceled—which is why Derek can’t take us either.”

I close my locker, dumbstruck. “And Mr. Slate is the only person on the planet that can take us home right now?”

This can’t be happening.

“Of course not. But the boys left us here knowing we didn’t have a ride, so I decided to have a little fun,” she says.

“They probably figured we’d get a ride home with someone else. Can’t they come get us? Let’s ask someone else. I can’t believe you’re having a teacher take us home. Why on earth would he agree to this?”

I’m nauseated.

“Why wouldn’t he? Kaley, it was like a sign from God. Derek had just told me they were ditching right before I walked into the office before fifth period. Mr. Slate was standing there in all his glory when I heard him talking to Donovan about giving him a ride home. So, I just went for it and totally put him on the spot. I poured it on thick—told him how Tommy and Derek ditched, and I acted like all of our other friends were too busy to help. I acted super sad about it. He resisted, but I finally wore him down. Mr. Bentley was even like, ‘Take the poor girl home.’ It was awesome!” She bounces up and down.

“Mr. Bentley said that? Isn’t it against the rules or something? I thought teachers weren’t allowed to be alone with students.” I’m desperate now.

Emily laughs. “What are you talking about? The principal was cool with it, so it’s obviously fine. I mean, if he can take home baseball players, he can take us home, right? Why are you being weird?”

I rake my hand through my hair. “I’m not.” Emily’s used to me being her partner in crime with things like this, so I do my best to act cool. “I just can’t believe you got him to do this.”

“Come on, Kaley, you know I always get what I want. And besides, I’m just having a little innocent fun.” She gives herself devil horns with her fingers and sticks out her tongue.

I can’t suppress my laughter. “I thought you were pissed at Mr. Slate today.”

She drags me down the hallway. “I am determined to turn his frown upside down. And yours!”

When Emily pulls me through the door to his classroom, my laughter abruptly halts, and I fight the threat of a panic attack. Mr. Slate looks up from his desk, and I catch his hesitation for a split second before he regains his composure.

“Just give me a minute,” he says, only making eye contact with Emily. Beads of sweat form on the back of my neck, and I try to act natural as Emily discreetly wiggles her eyebrows at me. We wait at the back of the classroom as he shuts down his computer. This can’t be happening. At least Donovan will be a distraction—I can just hide in the back while they talk baseball, or whatever, and wait for it all to be over.

Mr. Slate rises from his desk and slings his leather messenger bag across his broad chest with ease. His tousled hair is as glorious as ever and his black dress shirt—with the damned sleeves rolled up again—is stretched taut over his upper body. Emily looks like she could sprout little pink wings and fly away as she gawks at him coming toward us. Is that what I look like when I watch him? How pathetic.

“Donovan isn’t coming,” announces Emily. My eyes bulge in her direction and she gives me a mischievous smile, then turns her charm on Mr. Slate. “He got a ride with Avery.”

“Oh.” Mr. Slate glances at me. It’s the most contact I’ve had with him since last night. “Well . . .”

I interrupt before this turns disastrous. “I’m going to Emily’s, so you don’t have to take me home,” I say, sheepishly. Emily’s forehead creases as she regards me. “You know, so you only have to make one stop,” I rush, hoping Emily doesn’t catch on and that he gets the message.

His face contorts slightly like he’s in pain, and he takes a moment before speaking. “All right,” he says to Emily instead of me. He adjusts his bag and walks out the door.

Emily nudges me as we follow him outside. I shoot her a warning look, and she smothers a giggle with her hand.

“Did you have something to do with Donovan not showing?” I whisper as soon as I’m out of earshot.

A small smile crosses her lips. “Maybe,” she says in her most innocent voice. I sigh and shake my head, then stop at the shiny black Tahoe that is becoming all too familiar to me by now.

“Shot gun,” Emily whispers, and I roll my eyes.

“By all means,” I say. She couldn’t pay me to sit in the front seat right now.

Mr. Slate unlocks the doors, and Emily hops up into the front seat. I open the rear passenger door, only to find myself blocked by boxes of travertine tiles.

“You’ll have to sit on my side, Kaley,” instructs Mr. Slate as he gets in.

Oh, are you acknowledging me now, Mr. Shit?

I slam the door and trek around to the driver’s side, taking my seat behind him. He turns in his seat and sets his leather bag on the floor beside my feet. I catch his familiar scent and try to breathe out of my mouth.

“Shoot,” he says. “I forgot something. I’ll be right back, girls, sorry.” He jumps out and rushes back into the building.

Emily looks around the interior. “Man, he is a neat freak, isn’t he? Look! He even has a litter bag.” She laughs. Then she opens up the console and starts exploring.

“Emily, don’t!” I say, panicked.

She takes out his iPod.

“Ems, put that down! He’s going to catch you snooping!”

“Chill, I just want to see what kind of music he listens to.” She scrolls down the list and frowns. “There’s a lot of Aerosmith and Def Leppard on here.” She turns to me. “He’s not that old, is he? My parents listen to that junk.”

“We like Aerosmith,” I reply.

“Yeah, but—”

“He’s coming!”

She throws the iPod back in the console and slams it shut, giggling. She lets out a dreamy sigh as she watches him approach. “Damn, he’s gorgeous.”