Justin laughed.
“Fucking freak,” he muttered.
“Shut up!” Mayra said through clenched teeth. “Go on and sit down. Jones is about to start class.”
Mayra let go of my hand, and I sat in the seat behind her, just where I had the day before, and stared at the places on my skin that had been touching her. The seat was still way too far from the door, but every once in a while, Mayra would look back and smile at me, and I’d remember what it felt like to have her holding my hand.
“Did you hear about the lotto ticket?” Justin asked Mayra while Mr. Jones’s back was turned.
“No, what lotto ticket?”
“The winning Powerball ticket—it was sold at the gas station in Millville. One hundred and twelve million.”
“No shit!”
“That’s what I said!” Justin beamed like cursing was something for which he should get an award.
“Who bought it?” Aimee asked as she leaned over her desk to listen closely.
“Whoever it was hasn’t come forward yet,” Justin replied.
“Wow!” Mayra whistled low.
“Watch for new Ferraris!” Justin laughed out loud.
“Justin, would you please pay attention?” Mr. Jones’s comment snapped Justin out of his fantasy.
“Sorry.”
After class, Mayra reminded me I was supposed to go to her house after school.
“See you about four o’clock, right? Do you need a ride?”
“No,” I replied. “I have Bethany’s car.”
“Who’s Bethany?” Mayra asked.
“My aunt.”
“Oh, gotcha. Okay, I’ll see you at four!” Mayra smiled and waved as she headed down the hallway. I just stood off to the side and watched her go. The bell rang, and I realized I was going to be late for my next class if I didn’t move quickly.
After school, I drove to the Trevino house, sat in the driveway until three fifty-nine and then totally failed to get out of the car. Once the clock flipped to four o’clock, I knew there was no way I could go up to her door. I took a long, deep breath and drove back home.
Once I was back in my own house, I sat on the couch with my head in my hands.
I couldn’t do this.
I couldn’t work on a group project with Mayra Trevino.
There was just no way.
The doorbell rang, and I knew it was her long before she started pounding on the door and yelling at me to let her in. Remembering her tenacity from the day before, I relented and opened up.
“Matthew! Why didn’t you come over?”
Taken aback by the abruptness of her question, I just stood there and stared down at her shoes—black Converse with bright yellow laces. I wondered why she picked laces that color since they obviously didn’t come with the shoes.
“Matthew?” Mayra said. Her voice had gone soft. “Did you forget to come over?”