Authors: Katie Klein
I choke
back the huff perched
in
my throat.
Oh My God. This isn
’
t happening to me
.
This
shouldn’t
be happening
to me
. I’m
supposed to
be in AP English this semester. Stupid Calculus schedul
ing conflict. The AP classes
aren’t required
to do this project.
I shouldn’t be in the guy
’s bathroom
,
with its profanity-laden walls and toilet paper
strewn across the floor and
its
mildew
y
, locker room
smell,
arguing with Parker Whalen. I should’ve been on time to English. I should’ve picked my own partner.
I mean, thi
s
is
what I get for saving the planet? Whatever happened to
good
karma?
I
struggle
to find my voice. “A
re you seriou
s?” I finally manage
.
“I don’t lie,” he replies
, matter of fact.
“Fine. That’s fine,” I s
putter
, working to regain my composure
. “
Either way, we’re partners. A
nd we have a project to do
whether you like it or not, so . . .
get over yourself.”
My fingers clench to fists, and my jaw smarts from
the
added pressure.
But instead of firing back
. . . Parker
smiles
.
I think.
I mean, th
e corners of his mouth
turn up . . . like he’
s amused. Maybe i
t’
s more of a smirk
.
I don
’
t know.
I sweep
a few stray hairs away from my eyes
, blinking,
unsure
.
“That’s pretty harsh,” he says
. “Especially coming from you.”
“It’s not funny.
You might not want to get a good grade on this project, but I do.”
The
scowl returns
, sharpening his features
.
“You’re so presumptuous. Assuming that I don’t want good grades.”
“Okay
. . . whatever.
Here’s the thing:
I’m going to the library tomorrow
afternoon.
I’ll be there at three o
’
clock
. I’m taking my list, and I’m choosing a book for our project. You’re welcome to join me . . .
Partner
.”
I
spi
n
on my heel
and storm
out of the bathroom.
I inhale
deeply,
seeking
fresh air:
desperate
.
Desperate for someone to come along and explain to me what, exactly, just happened.
Desperate for someone to come along and tell me what to do about Parker Whalen, because our future together does
not
look promising.
I sha
k
e
my hands, trying to
suppress
the pent-up frustration
swelling
inside
,
and
swallow
back a primal s
cream.
A
t exactly
three o
’
clock
I’m
sitting at one of the round tables
mid-
library, just in front of a long window and
nestled
among
rows and rows of metal shelves filled with stale
books. Though my heart hammers
in satisfaction, I
force
my head
not to lift
when
a backpack
thud
s
to
the
floor
, or when a figure si
t
s
down just opposite
me.
A fresh wave of anger surges, left
over from our previous encounter.
“It’s about time,” I mumble
, focus
ing
on the sheet of project requirements
, even as the words
blur incomprehensively.
“You said three,” Parker replies
.
I check
my
cell phone
resting on the table beside me
. “I have
five after.”
“I’m sorry. I assumed this was an informal meeting. I didn’t realize you we
re passing out
tardies
.
Oh, wait. You wouldn
’
t know a thing about that, what with your
infinite supply of
‘
get
out of class free
’
cards and all.
”
I stare at him, open-mouthed. I can
’
t believe it.
I
n
less than
thirty seconds
we’
re
on the defensive.
Like ma
gnets. O
pposing forces.
W
hy
is it that
Parker and I
automatically
br
ing out the worst in each other?
This
is absurd, and it
has to stop.
I take a deep breath, then let out a massive
sigh
.
I don’t
want
to
argue
with him
.
Not really.
“Let’s just get this over
with, okay?
The sooner we pick a book the sooner we can get to work.” I slid
e
the list of recommended b
ooks across the table. He stares at me without taking it, raises an eyebrow, then reaches
into his pocket. After digging for
a moment, he
produces
a blue
sheet of paper, folded over twice,
and opens
it.
“All right. I get it,” I say. “You’re prepared. I’m
wrong.” I
snatch
my
list
back
, sit up straighter, and tuck
my
hair behind
my ears. “Okay. S
o,” I continue
, “the question is do we want to st
ick with what we know
and pick a book we’re familiar with? Or go for something entirely new.”
Parker snorts
. “What’s the point in doing a project on a book you’ve already read?”
I
flick my eyes
at him,
surprised,
disbelieving
, taking everything in—the black shirt a
nd jacket, the dark hair—either
brown or black—I’m not sure because it’
s ge
lled in the front, and still has
that “wet look” to it—and his piercing,
obsidian
eyes.
There’
s something strange and familiar about
him
all at once
—his strong jaw
line and the few, tiny fre
ckles splashed across his nose.
“Well?” he asks
.
I snap
to attention,
cheeks full of heat, and
force myself to look away.
“Um, yeah, okay. So we’ll pick something we haven’t read.”
“Are you implying that you typically do projects on books y
ou already know about?” he asks
.
“I’m
just saying
that if we pick a book we’
re already familiar with then this project might not be so complicated. We’d at least ha
ve some vague idea of what we’re doing.” I skim
the list of titles.
“Are you saying you’re clueless? Because I don’t want an idiot for a partner.”
I clench
my teeth, ignoring this.
He’s only
trying to incite you
. “How about
Pride and Prejudice
?” I suggest
.
His eyes narrow.
“No.”
“Why not?” I demand
to know.
He lean
s
forward, folding his hands on the table. “Because you’ve already read it.”
I scoff.
Why is he doing that? Assuming. Thinking he
knows
me.
“
You don’t know that,
”
I mutter.
“Please,” he says
, rolling his eyes. “A senior girl in high school . . . somewhat
. . .
‘book
ish’ I guess you’d say
. . .”
“You can call me a
nerd if you want,” I interrupt
. “I don’t take offense.”
“No . . . not a nerd, but ‘nerdy’
.
. . . Not that it’s a bad thing, so don’t go all hostile on me, all right?”
“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”
“I’m just saying that you
can’t expect me to believe
you haven’t read one of the supposed greatest romances in all of literature. Even if your tenth grade Honors
teacher didn’t assign it,
you read it on your own.”
It’s not worth it, Jaden
. Just let it go
.
“Okay, whatever,” I say
, giving up. “What about
Jane Eyre
?”
He smiles
, knowing
.
“You’ve read that one, too.”
I toss
th
e list onto the table and lift
my hands in exasperation. “Then why don’t you start naming b
ooks
you think I haven
’t read and we’ll go from there.
” I lean
back in my chair and fold
my arms acro
ss my chest. This i
s
insane
.
Picking a book shouldn’t be this
difficult. If this i
s any indication
of what’
s to come . . . w
e a
re totally
screwed
.
Parker peruses
the list of titles. “Books you haven’t re
ad. . . . Let’s see.” He spouts
off names. “
Catcher in the Rye. The Color Purple. Lord of the Flies
.” He glances
at me
, staring beneath his lashes
. “Am I getting warmer?”
I refuse
to answer,
l
ips pressed in a firm line,
but I can feel the color in my cheeks fading. I swallow, but it’s so loud. Like a gulp.
Why is
this place
so quiet?
“
The Jungle. 1984
. . . . Basically anything on this list that isn’t a romance you haven’t read. So we can throw out Austen, most of the Shakespeare
an Comedies, the Bronte sisters
. . .”
“
Wuthering Heights
is not a romance,” I interrupt
.
“That depends on
how you look at it,” he replies
, shrugging his shoulders.
“
Heathcliff
is totally depraved. There a
re no redeeming qualities. None.”
“His love for Cathy i
s a redeeming quality.”
“He made everyone’
s lives miserable. He’
s insane.”
“Maybe
love drives people insane.”
I scoff
. “What are you
smoking
?
Because I
know of
an awesome twelve-step program.
”
“
Yeah, I
’m aware of it
.
Thanks.
I just don’t understand why i
t
’s
so hard to believe a person could love someone so much it woul
d drive him insane.
”