Geeks, Punks, and Pick-Up Trucks

Chapter 3

Monday morning, Mel sits in Math with me, head in her hands. She'd stayed up all last night talking to Michael. A mug of what was probably hot, black tea, sits on the desk, to her left. Lola is in gym. At least she gets to pretend to exert herself. We have to actually use our brains.
She's the only one of us who really has one.
Me and Melanie spot each other while we nap. One of us watches out for the teacher while the other catches a minute or two of snooze. It's not always like this. Really only on Mondays, when we've spent the Sunday night scrambling to finish work that's due the next day. So I close my eyes while Mel watches out for our nutty teacher who cares too much about kids sleeping in her class.
Miles walks in 35 minutes late. Melanie nudges me and I jump up, terrified of being caught mid-nap. When I realize I'm in no danger of being caught, I smack her with the back of my hand, and magically I...
Catch his glance. Miles Birch looks at me and I find myself blushing. Boys don't look at me. It just doesn't happen. I work very hard to be invisible. Nobody hears the name "Sarah" at this school and thinks of me. At least hopefully they don't. He grins and I put my head back down, simulating my previous nap, but I'm really just hiding my tomato red face.
Melanie keeps elbowing me. I do my best to pretend it's not happening. I regret this when a hand smacks down on my desk and when I look up, an old, old, very mean lady is glaring at me.
"Are you sleeping in my class?" She sneers. If it's possible, I'm even more red at this point.
"No! I'm not, I'm awake." I exclaim. She raises an eyebrow at me and turns away. Melanie sticks her tongue out at the mean woman's back, and turns back to a math problem that looks quite confusing.
Oh, right. We're supposed to be doing math.
So I put my focus on my little equation there, though it hardly makes sense to my exhausted mind. I stare at it and flip through the pages in my book until all the letters and numbers are just squiggles to me. I'm about to give up when I feel a tap on my back.
I turn around, and the girl behind me hands me a post-it note folded into a square.
It reads:
Saturday was fun. Let's do it again.
I ball up the note and I feel my face burn.
I want to say no, but I want to say yes, and more than anything, I want to go home and lie down in my bed, in pajamas, and sleep.
So I look at him and shrug my answer. He looks mildly disappointed. I hardly care. I go back to my "nap" and Mel takes a risk and puts her head down. It feels like too long before the bell rings and I leap from my seat towards the door.
Miles catches me before I can escape into the sea of cattle-like kids.
"Sarah! Hang out with me."
I roll my eyes. "Maybe. I'm slammed with homework."
"She doesn't even check if we actually do it." He retorts.
It's such a stupid remark, I squint as if he'd shined a bright light into my eyes. "I'm sorry, but unlike you, I actually attend all my other classes for more than 15 minutes at a time?" I answer. The words fall out snippily and I feel bad for being mean, but I'm also so ridiculously tired that it doesn't matter. He follows me to my next class anyway. I can practically hear him snickering in his mind.
"Dude. You're fun. Your friends are fun and I'm sick of the stupid potheads and those girls that follow me around like I'm a slab of meat." He insists.
"You're so honest." I deadpan.
"I try my best." He answers cockily and I turn around to face him, holding my books close to my chest. "You should probably go to your class. Three tardies makes a detention."
"I know." He says, tilting his head to the side and blinking.
He doesn't leave. I don't think he plans on it. I roll my eyes and keep moving, taking my seat in my English classroom. He stands by the door until the bell rings, and then he walks away. I don't see him again that day. Not until I get home.