When Stars Come Out (When Stars Come Out 1)

“That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever heard.”

She laughs and smiles again. “Thanks.”

Yeah, I think I’ll do just about anything for her smile. We stare at each other for a moment and then she clears her throat. “Um, you wanted notes, right?”

“Yeah.”

She stands and starts gathering her books.

“Are you checking all these out?” I ask.

She surveys the pile. “Maybe just two. We have a lot of English homework this week.”

I smirk and walk with her to the copier.

“So, back in Chicago...did you have a boyfriend?” After I ask the question, I feel the change in the air between us and it’s not good. This isn’t the subject to bring up.

“I did,” she says, not looking at me. Making copies just became super interesting. “We’re not together anymore.”

“Oh.” I say, feeling really freaking awkward now. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Once the copies are made, she holds them out to me and I try to apologize but before I can get the words out, she says, “I’ll see you.”

“See you,” I say, but I don’t think she hears me.

Throughout the rest of the week, I continue to find reasons to talk to her. Stupid reasons. I ask her for pencils or paper or how far she’s gotten on A Simple Guide to Astrophysics—that question gets a smile. Each interaction eases the tension in my chest—the release is intoxicating.

On Friday, I jog up to her during practice just to ask if she’s coming to the game. When she says yes, I smile bigger than I mean to. It’s probably the best thing that will come out of today since I’m not really looking forward to picking Roth up at four, but I’ll do it to sit in on Council, even if it means missing half of the game.

As I turn to head back to the field, I find Natalie glaring at me.

“Look alive, Savior!”

I’m not fast enough to stop the ball from hitting me square in the face. Blood gushes from my nose.

“That’s what you get for daydreaming. Off the field!” Coach Roberts orders.

I don’t argue. I need an excuse to leave practice early anyway, though I’d have preferred something less bloody and painful.

I’m going to be in so much trouble with Coach.

I go to the bathroom and turn on the faucet, watching blood swirl down the sink as I clean my face and try to stop my nose from bleeding before changing and heading to my Jeep. I hope to slip away unnoticed, but Jacobi calls out.

“Shy!” I keep walking, pretending I don’t hear him, but after a few minutes, Jacobi jogs up beside me. “Where are you going, man?”

“I’ve gotta pick up a lock box for Mom before the game. I promised.”

“You know Coach is looking for you?”

“Yeah, not surprising.”

I’m not sticking around to get yelled at right now. When Jacobi realizes I’m not turning around, he says, “Need some company?”

“Might be best if you stay behind, explain my absence.”

“And let Coach blame me for not keeping you in the locker room? I’ll pass.”