Between the Lines

- 9 -

Kendal

He pushes the notebook back over to my desk without turning it around. For a second, I contemplate reading it upside down and commenting, just to see his reaction, but I don’t. Instead, I smile in a way that I hope is encouraging without being condescending because… I don’t know how it happened, but somehow in the span of fifteen minutes I went from being aggravated and mortified to actually sort of enjoying myself talking to him.

I’d been a little surprised when he’d actually listened to me. It’s not like I had any idea what I was actually talking about, so the way he seemed to take me seriously was…different.

It’s hard not to laugh out loud when I start reading what he wrote. He’s actually good – astute and hilarious, even if some of it is a bit crude. We can probably work later on toning it down a bit before giving it to Mrs. Buchanan – if I can figure out a way to do that without making him angry or feel like I was criticizing him. Because, so far this is awesome. We’ve barely started, and already it’s like an actual story with a plot and characters that I kind of like.

And then my eyes fall on the last line. Suddenly the room feels like it’s spinning and I have to plant my feet on the floor to steady myself.

I stare at the page without really seeing it, because the letters are kind of blurry and nonsensical. I’m frozen in one spot, afraid to move at all or even look away from the paper, because then he will know I’m finished reading and he’ll want to see my reaction, and I have absolutely no idea how I’m supposed to respond to this.

Relax, Kendal, I repeat several times to myself. It probably doesn’t mean anything. He probably either just had that name in his head from earlier, or he’s just messing with you. Yes, that must be it, he’s just trying to get to you… But then what about…?

A loud, shrill ringing sound pierces into my skull, startling me so badly that I nearly jump from my seat, but really only manage to bang my knee – hard – on the bottom of the desk. On something sharp on the bottom of the desk. As I clench my jaw to stop from shouting something inappropriate in the middle of class, I realize that the noise is just the dismissal bell. It’s sort of a relief, but still my head doesn’t feel quite right. My knee is going to be all kinds of awesome colors later, too.

“Consider exchanging phone numbers or e-mails with your partners so you can work on the project outside of class if you need to,” Mrs. Buchanan’s voice is barely audible over the sounds of desks and chairs scraping across the floor, and people talking and shuffling papers into backpacks, but it’s enough for me to pull myself together, at least a little bit.

The relief that floods through me is so sweet that I almost giggle as I realize that I’ve been – quite literally – “saved by the bell.” Now I’ve got twenty-four hours to sort this out and try and figure out what he meant by that. I stand up, and the motion is almost painful enough to make me sit right back down again, but I grit my teeth and take a couple of breaths, and then I’m okay. Sort of.

“So do you want to?” Braden is saying.

I frown. Apparently I’ve missed the first part of his question. “Do I want to what?”

“Give me your number?” He holds out his hand – his cell phone is already out, the contacts page open. His phone is the same kind as mine, I note absently.

“Um, yeah,” I say, rattling it off. “I’ll, uh… I’ll just take the story home if that works for you, and I’ll add something to it.” I don’t have any idea what I’ll add, but clearly it’s my turn, so I’ll figure out something.

“Do you want my number?” he asks, still holding his phone.

“Um…” I look around. All of my stuff is still lying on the desk and my backpack is on the floor underneath it – and bending down to get it right this second doesn’t sound awesome at all. I shrug. “Why don’t you just text it to me later?”

“I can do that,” he says, and he flashes this grin that makes me feel… I don’t even know. “I’m sure I wasn’t exactly who you wanted as a partner on this assignment, but… I kind of had fun today Kendal, thanks. I’ll try not to screw up your GPA too badly.” As he speaks, he reaches down to the floor and retrieves my backpack, setting it down on the desk next to the notebook.

And then he’s gone.

The walls stay where they should this time, but my thoughts are spiraling in a million directions at once. Don’t be stupid, Kendal. He’s just being nice. It’s not weird. It doesn’t mean anything. Yes. This is a line of thought I can deal with. I’m just overreacting to something simple. It’s just the story. We both agreed the best conflict was romance, and that’s all this is. There’s no subtext here. Why would there be? He knows I have a boyfriend.

Kyle. Crap! It’s my own language that leaves something to be desired as I realize that I never called in to work. I got distracted when I dropped my phone, and then…

And now it’s too late to call in or I’ll get in trouble at work, and Kyle is going to be pissed off if I go… Crap.