The Boy Who Lives In My Garage > jariana (COMPLETED)

nine

"Do you know how much it sucked being sick on a day off?" Rosalinda asks. She slides a veggie quesadilla onto her tray, and I follow suit. It's Salisbury steak day in the cafeteria, which means the vegetarian entrée is a popular choice. "All I did was sleep. My mom wouldn't even let me stay home today. She said I'm not contagious after being on antibiotics for twenty-four hours. Damn modern medicine."

Before I can respond, Clinton calls Rosalinda's name and motions us over to his table. I pay for my food and follow Rosalinda in his direction. The seats at his table are filled, so we stand along the wall.

"You're back," he says to Rosalinda, giving both of us a dimpled smile.

"Miss me?" she asks in a sultry tone.

"Sure, sure. But don't worry." He nods to me. "I made sure Ariana wasn't lonely without you."

"Hey, Ariana," the Nick/Nate kid says, mouth full of food. He's eating the Salisbury steak. Gross.

"Hey," I say, trying not to wrinkle my nose, but failing.

"Lucky girl," Rosalinda says. "But you didn't save seats for us today? What the hell, Clinton?"

"Sorry. But I'll make it up to you. Bonfire tonight. You two will be there, right?"

Compared to the bitter cold of the past few days, anything above freezing feels like a heat wave. Perfect bonfire weather. And Clinton's bonfires are epic. I'm not sure if "filling a field with a shit-ton of people, alcohol, wood, and lighter fluid" is something he can put on his college applications, but it's impressive enough that I feel like he should.

"Definitely," Rosalinda says.

Clinton turns his attention in my direction. "And you, Ariana?"

My mind flashes to Justin, but I can't stay home all the time just because he's hanging out in my garage. Besides, with the nonzero temperatures, who knows if he'll still be there? "Yeah. Maybe."

Clinton grins. "Good. See you later."

As Rosalinda and I walk toward our usual table, empty seats at various tables catch my attention. They make me wonder where Justin would sit if he went to school here. With the jocks, maybe. The basketball team. He's tall enough. Or maybe he'd sit with the seniors who are taking college credits this year. He seems smart. Mature.

We sit across from each other and Rosalinda leans close so I can hear her over the cafeteria din. "Do you think Clinton is good in bed? I bet he is. I mean, the muscles alone."

The thought of sleeping with Clinton makes my quesadilla look like something out of a litter box. "Gross," I say. "It's Clinton. I bet he's slept with eighty percent of the girls in this room."

Rosalinda dunks a quesadilla wedge in too much sour cream and shoves it in her mouth. "Probably good odds for a reason," she says around a mouthful of food. "Have you seen the dimples, Ariana? They're so sexy. I just want to stick my finger in them. And then I just want to take him and..."

"Okay." I hold up a hand to stop her before she gets any further. "I get the picture." Not that I want that kind of picture with anyone other than Justin.

"So, you're going to the bonfire tonight. Don't give me any of that 'maybe' shit. Will the guy from the mall be there? He was hot. Maybe if he's there, then you and him can hang out and Clinton and I can hang out, and..."

It's like she knew I was just thinking about him. But as much as some part of me wishes his cafeteria seat was the one next to mine, Justin is my secret to keep. "I don't think he'll be there," I say. "But I'll go. Think Misty can drive us?"