Playing With Fire

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It's well past midnight before my head finally hits the pillow. Almost all the boxes are empty, broken down into neat, flat stacks, and stored in the empty utility room. We don't own a washer or dryer since officer housing usually comes with them, so I'll be making a laundry run on Saturday. I fall asleep quickly, dreaming of spinning washer drums and dark, perilous water.

The next two days, Oliver is conspicuously absent from school. I try to ignore it, the urge to look for his face in the crowded halls or the need to glance over to his lunch table, just in case. But there's no denying it so I settle for at least trying not to be too obvious. The week passes in a haze of memorizing classrooms, connecting names with faces, and mastering my elusive locker combination. My little lunchtime table group becomes customary, and I quickly find myself falling into a comfortable groove. After a few days, I forget to look for Oliver, or at least that's what I tell myself. When he catches me looking over my shoulder at lunch Thursday he waves his hand in front of my face.

"These are not the droids you're looking for," he says playfully.

I let my face fall, my voice going completely monotone. "These aren't the droids we're looking for."

Then I blink, as if pulling myself from a daze. He chuckles. "Wow, I didn't think that would work."

I smirk and shrug one shoulder, "The force is strong with you."

As it turns out, Reid and I share not only a borderline-idiotic sense of humor, but also a disturbing ability to converse in Star Wars quotes—a talent we abuse for the remainder of lunch. Bianca and Cassy, both bottle blonde and dressed in tight Gap jeans, look genuinely put out as they try to keep up with the nearly unstoppable flow of randomness spewing from our mouths. Derek grins every so often, catching a speeding reference, but doesn't join in. Cassy's face is soft, the kind of plumpness you see on babies and cherubic Michangelo paintings. Her lashes are dark and thick and her skin is creamy white with a flush of natural pink on her round cheekbones. She's really pretty, I realize. And she keeps glancing up at Reid like...

Something clicks into place in my brain. She likes him. Of course she does. It's on the way her chin is always titled toward him just a fraction, the way she touches him casually, even in the way she tucks a strand of blonde waves behind her ear when he looks at her. I swing my gaze to Bianca. She's thinner, her face more angular and tight. She's holding herself more stiffly, her arms folded across her chest, legs crossed away from them. Either she's not interested, or she's painfully shy. It could really go either way. I take the opportunity to bring them into the conversation.

"Have you ever seen Star Wars?" I ask in Cassy's direction. She fidgets with her tiny silver cross necklace as Reid turns his attention to her. She blushes just a little.

"Oh, no. I don't think so. I'd like too though, it sounds really good."

"I've only seen the new ones," Bianca admits, drawing a gasp and over-exaggerated chest clutch from both Reid and myself.

"You need to see it," Reid says and I nod.

Cassy looks down, one hand combing through her loose hair. She opens her mouth to say something else but she's cut off by the shrill bell ringing. Grabbing my tray I follow Bianca to the trash, leaving Reid and Cassy to finish their conversation, but when I turn around, Reid is right behind me and Cassy is halfway out the door. I genuinely feel bad. I know all too well what it's like to be excluded. In the back of my mind, I make a note to try to keep her in the conversation next time.

That afternoon we all hang out in the parking lot after school. Cassy manages to secure an invite to go watch movies at Reid's house that weekend, and I'm invited too. I watch her expression fall a little at the change of course.