This pisses her off, he can tell. But he’s tired of giving miles to someone who won’t budge an inch. Carly uses her scan gun to ring up the items. He pulls out one of the twenties in his wallet to pay for it, which seems to irritate her more.
I’m never going to get this girl figured out. “You’d prefer I stole it?”
She bags it all up for him without asking and hands the plastic bag to him along with his change. “Have a good night, sir.”
“Did I mention we could be friends?”
Her face softens. “We are friends. That’s why I gave you half off on your gum.”
“The sign said it was buy one get one.”
“But the point is I remembered.”
“Alriiighty then.”
He grabs the bag then and turns to leave. Just before he pushes the door open, Carly says, “Arden?”
He turns, waiting to be blasted for something else. What, is she going to dissect the way I walked to the door? “Yes?”
“Thank you for checking on me.”
“You’re welcome.”
He returns to the police car then, unsure whether or not progress has been made.
* * *
Arden is the first to social studies for once in his life. Even Mr. Tucker is surprised to see him, peering over his reading glasses from his desk to get a better look. “I’m not offering extra credit, Mr. Moss,” he says, pressing his glasses back up his nose.
Arden grins, holding up his empty hands to show he hasn’t even brought his book to class. “I’m not asking.” Not from you, anyway. He takes a seat in the back row, which will give him a panorama of the class. And hopefully, the perfect view to study Carly.
He feels like a spider lying in wait for a precious, elusive fly to finally land in the intricacies of his web. A skittish fly with long black hair and the gift of impulsiveness and a penchant for retreating from him.
Carly is one of the first five to arrive to class, do-gooder that she is, and when she appears in the doorway her gaze immediately connects with Arden’s. She gives him a confused half smile and takes her seat on the opposite side of the room from him. She even picks the opposite corner. Arden wonders if they’re starting from square one again. I knew she was full of it when she said we could be friends.
How can I get this girl to talk to me?
His friend Jake takes the seat next to him in the back row and offers him a pencil and paper. “Nah, man,” Arden says. “I take notes with my phone.”
Jake snorts. “While you’re ‘taking notes,’ you should look up the last video post on Mudslide. The guy has your same truck.”
“Will do.” Mudslide is a Web site dedicated to trucks and mudding. Arden uses it sometimes for ideas on how to get out of the giant mudholes he’s put his 4 × 4 through—and his future plans to do the same.
As soon as the bell rings Mr. Tucker is on his game. “Homework, please.” Arden has nothing to pass up so he gives the girl in front of him a high five when she reaches around for it. She smiles like she’s just been given a hundred dollars. He’d usually take the opportunity to flirt—the girl is definitely his type, all big breasts and perfect teeth—but he notices that Carly is searching frantically in her backpack for something.
And Arden’s hoping she doesn’t find it. Then she’ll know it’s not the end of the world if your homework isn’t turned in. It’s just a grade. An expectation that others have of you. By not turning it in, you’re showing them that they can’t control you. That you’re symbolically shunning their established set of rules and make your own.
But find it she does, and right in time. To Arden’s surprise, Mr. Tucker, the mascot of impatience, waits for her to dig it out and unfold it for him. Even gives her a little smile.
What’s up with that? Surely my new accomplice isn’t a teacher’s pet? Gross.
But it becomes apparent that she is. During class, she sits up straight. Takes notes, probably verbatim. Smiles when Mr. Tucker makes a stupid joke. She even gets up to sharpen her pencil and Mr. Tucker stops his lecture to let her do it.
How have I missed this before?
Of course, when the bell rings, she’s the last one to pack up, because she has to organize everything just right in her binder.
Oh geez.
“Carly, wait up,” Arden calls. There are still a few students packing their things, and they exchange curious glances with each other. When Arden reaches Carly and offers to carry her backpack, Mr. Tucker gives him a disapproving frown.
“Oh, crap,” he hisses to Carly. “Is Mr. Tucker your dad?”
She snickers. “Um. No.”
“Then why is he looking like I’ve just invited you to my backseat instead of offering to carry your bag?”
Carly scowls. “Because even Mr. Tucker realizes for me and you,” she gestures between them for emphasis, “to be chitchatting is weird.”
Arden rolls his eyes. “You care too much what people think.”
“I don’t have the luxury of being careless.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shakes her head, as if conversing with him is a bother. “I can carry my own backpack. Thanks though.” With that she stalks out of the room and into the hallway traffic.
He has to run to catch up with her. That’s probably why people are looking at us, he thinks to himself. They’ve never seen me try so hard. Everyone must see what Carly is doing is rejecting me, over and over.