Storm. Brigid Kemmerer

ignoring his partner Anthony Denton, the scrawny boy who was two years younger than everyone else because he’d skipped a couple grades in elementary school.

      “Do you know the new guy?” said Chris. “He keeps looking at you.”

      She glanced up in surprise. New Kid was writing in his notebook, not looking anywhere near her.

      Chris leaned in. “Earlier.”

      Becca looked down and doodled on the corner of her paper, feeling warm. Chris was so close, his voice dark and intimate like it had been in his bedroom the night before.

      Her tongue felt tied in knots, so she just shrugged. “Not really.”

      He went silent for a while, every now and again copying instructions from the assignment as Beamis outlined the structure of the grading.

      He kept his eyes on his paper and said, “Look. If you want to partner with someone else, I get it.”

      Did he not want to be with her? “It’s fine,” she said quickly. Then she added, “It’s only six weeks.”

      He gave a short, humorless laugh. “I’ll try to suffer through it, too.”

      She had no idea what that meant.

      A folded piece of paper flew through the air and landed on the center of her book. She jumped.

      Tommy Dunleavy was hiding a smirk. Her throat felt tight. Now? Really?

      Chris reached out and grabbed it.

      “No!” she hissed, trying to take it back. “Give that to—”

      Then he had it open in front of him. With their seats so close together, she could read it over his arm.

      $5 Sucky sucky?

      Gross. She snatched it out of his hands and crumpled it up.

      Her cheeks burned. Her eyes weren’t far behind. Seeing the notes privately was bad enough. Having a guy like Chris Merrick read them—right in front of her—was a million times worse.

      “Hey. Dunleavy.” Chris’s voice carried a shred of wicked humor.

      Tommy looked over his shoulder. His eyes were amused, and a dark smile still hung on the edge of his lips. He sat ready for his efforts to be appreciated. “Yeah?”

      Chris took the crumpled ball of paper out of her hands and flung it. “Fuck off.”

      Tommy came halfway out of his seat, his hands balled into fists.

      Chris came halfway out of his.

      “Gentlemen!” Beamis was knocking on his desk, though Becca couldn’t imagine what he expected that to do. Chris hadn’t moved farther; his glare locked on Tommy now.

      The class sat frozen, Becca included.

      “Christopher,” said Mr. Beamis. “Take a visit to the office.”

      And though she was staring at him, Chris didn’t look at her. He just shoved his books into his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and strode out of the classroom.

      “So let me get this straight,” said Quinn, spinning her water bottle in her hands. The rain seemed to be holding off, so they had the lunch table to themselves again. “He threw the note at Tommy and then told him to fuck off? Or do I have it backwards?”

      “I’m detecting some sarcasm.”

      “And then got himself sent to the principal’s office because he was ready to defend your honor?”

      “Quinn.”

      Her friend waved a hand. “No, I think you might be on to something. This is clearly an elaborate plot to screw with you. He asks you out, he defends you from that meathead—what next?” Quinn’s eyes flashed wide in mock surprise. “Crap, Bex, do you think he’ll do something truly horrible like buy you flowers?”

      Becca gave her a look. “So you think I should apologize.”

      “No. I think you should give him a shot.” Quinn rolled her eyes and dropped her voice. “I think you should give someone a shot.”

      Becca chewed on her lip and peeled at the label of her water bottle.

      A shadow fell across the table and a lunch tray slapped down next to Quinn.

      Becca jerked her head up, surprised by the quick flutter in her chest.

      But it wasn’t Chris—it was New Kid.

      She stared up at him. It took her brain a second to get it together.

      “Hey,” he said, dropping onto the bench beside Quinn. “Why do you sit all the way back here?”

      Quinn looked at him for a moment, then back at Becca. Her expression was some combination of bemused and incredulous. “Did you save his life, too?”

      New Kid picked up his fork and looked over. “Whose life did you save?”

      Becca opened her mouth, then closed it. Her brain was refusing to engage. She couldn’t figure out how to play this without knowing what his motives were. The quick and easy intimacy of discussing death in the aisle of Pets Plus didn’t exist here—especially since she’d seen him sit head-to-head with Monica for fifty minutes.

      “Quinn’s just being silly.” She kept her voice disinterested. “You ... ah, you’re eating with us?”