Starlee's Turn (The Wayward Sons 2)

The bell rings and everyone moves except the five of us and Margaret, whose eyes are wide and absorbing everything. “Starlee, do you remember how to get to the gym?”

“I think I’ve got it from here, thanks Margaret.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she wanders off and for a moment it’s just the four of us standing in the emptying room.

Starlee’s cheeks are red and god, all I want to do is kiss them. In a wobbly, unsure voice she says, “Surprise! I’m here.”

“For real?” George asks, hands fisting at his sides, using every ounce of strength to control himself. I feel the same.

“For real.”

The second bell rings and we’re already late. “As much as I want to know everything going on, it’s going to have to wait. Jake, you’ve got gym, right?”

“Sure do.” He smiles.

“We can meet after school,” I say. “By the football field.”

“Okay.” She hasn’t stopped smiling. I don’t think I have either, unless the look on my face is dumbstuck.

“Go,” George says, reaching for our trash when he spots Dr. Michaels, the vice principal, start in our direction. “Take her to class. We’ll deal with this.”

She hesitates but I nod, agreeing with George. “See you after school, okay?”

She nods and glances at Jake, who already has his backpack over his shoulder. They walk out the door.

“Hurry up,” Dr. Michaels says.

“Yes, sir,” Charlie replies. We grab our stuff and dump everything in the garbage. At the hallway, George stops me.

“Did that just happen?”

“You mean Starlee being here?” I blink. “Yeah, I think so.”

He nods like he needed confirmation. I don’t blame him. Charlie still looks confused. “After school—by the bleachers,

okay?”

“Yeah.”

That’s all it took to change the course of our lives—everything flipped on a dime. After months of figuring out how to get to her, Starlee came to us. Which is amazing, but also changes everything. Whatever comes from it, it’ll be worth it, I think to myself, walking down the hall to Spanish. Totally, definitely, worth it.

11

Starlee

The rest of the afternoon is a blur, a mix of giddiness of being around my boys again and the overwhelmingness of being back in public school for the first time in five years. Jake takes me to the gym, his arm brushing against mine. This simple move makes my skin light on fire and I shove my hands in my hoodie pocket to keep them to myself.

He introduces me to the coach, who, like Margaret, tells me to dress out the following day and points to the bleachers, where I sit next to a guy with his leg in a cast and a girl with blonde hair twisted in complicated braids, who skims through her phone the whole time. Her eyes are coated in dark liner and makeup.

I don’t mind though; the students are going through a series of calisthenics and I keep my focus on Jake as he goes through the motions. It doesn’t hurt that he’s wearing a Sierra Academy athletic shirt that’s tight across his chest and shoulders, or that his shorts hang around his hips, giving me the occasional peek at his abs when his shirt rides up. It definitely doesn’t hurt when he peeks in my direction and gives me a wink.

No, I could do this every day. Every. Damn. Day. For the rest of my life.

He vanishes with the others to change toward the end of class and I get out my schedule, looking for my next class. Physics. I remember it’s up on the main floor, near the office, and although I want to wait for Jake, I don’t know if he’s coming back up. I ask the coach if I can go early so I have time to find the room.

“Sure,” he says, glancing over my shoulder. “Claire, take this new student to the Physics room.”

The blonde barely looks up from her phone but lifts her backpack off the bleachers. “Sure.”