“Sure,” I heard my mouth say, glancing at him quickly. Panic overtook my body, having never broken the rules before. I fumbled with my notebook and pulled out the completed assignment to pass in. I thought I noticed Evan smiling out of the corner of my eye, but I stared intently at my notes.
“You’re quieter than usual today,” he observed as we gathered our books to leave when the bell rang.
“Distracted by the back to back tests later,” I lied, not truly concerned about the Trigonometry and Anatomy tests awaiting us. I’d studied the test material and was pretty confident that I knew it inside and out. Why couldn’t I be as confident about everything else?
“I wouldn’t have expected you to be nervous.” He knew me better than I wanted to admit.
“It was a lot to study. You’re not worried?” I asked, trying to deflect the attention from me.
“Why should I be? I’ve studied; there’s nothing else I can do.” Great, he was confident in school and everything else. “I’ll see you in Trig.” He walked down the hall as I headed to the stairs. History, Chemistry and my two tests distracted me enough to keep from completely obsessing about the end of the day and being alone with Evan – until it was unavoidable.
“How’d you do?” Evan asked as we walked out of Anatomy.
“I think I knew what I was doing,” I admitted. “And you?”
“I got through it,” he said with a shrug.
I noticed he was walking with me instead of going in the opposite direction as he usually did.
“Where are you going?”
“To your locker,” he stated bluntly.
“Why?” I asked, not catching on.
“What? You don’t want to have lunch with me?” His tone sounded almost offended, but then again, I knew him better than that and dismissed the possibility.
“You never have lunch with me, I don’t get it.”
“There’s a first for everything. Sara left to go to Jill’s, so I thought you could use the company.”
“That’s right,” I remembered. “I’m actually not that hungry. I was going to pick up something small and get started in the Art room.”
“Would you prefer to be alone?”
“Doesn’t matter to me; do what you want.” I shrugged, attempting to sound disinterested.
“That’s not possible,” he responded casually. I narrowed my eyes, trying to read between the lines of his comment. Before I could demand an explanation, he asked, “Will you ignore me if I have lunch with you in the Art room?”
“I don’t have to.” How was I possibly going to survive the afternoon with him? Maybe I should make up an excuse and stay at school instead. My heart skipped at the thought of bailing. I could be friends with him - I just had to keep reminding myself that’s what I wanted.
I placed my books in my locker, and Evan slipped his books on the top shelf as well. My mouth dropped in disbelief.
“What?!” he defended. “We’re leaving together after Art. I’ll take them out. I promise.” We walked in silence to the cafeteria.
Before we entered, he said quietly, “You know that the latest rumor is that you and I are dating, right?” I stopped to stare at him with wide eyes, my arms crossed.
“It’s just a rumor!” he said with his hands in the air and a half smile that made me fume.
“Do you really want me to come over today?” I snapped.
“Of course,” he answered eagerly.
“Then don’t share things like that with me. Remember, I don’t want to know what people are saying about me?”
“I didn’t realize our friendship had rules,” he replied, grinning.
“I’ll be sure to point them out when you don’t follow them. Try to keep up.” I was hoping to sound severe, but he continued grinning at my reprimand. I huffed and walked into the cafeteria at an exaggerated pace.
“Are you this strict with all of your other friends?” he inquired with a chuckle while keeping up with me.
“Sara is my only other friend and she plays by the rules. She doesn’t need lessons.” I glared at him so he’d take me seriously. I knew he didn’t since he still seemed more entertained than offended.
“All you’re getting is a granola bar and an apple?” He nodded toward the food in my hands as we made our way through the lunch line.
“I told you I wasn’t very hungry. Besides, aren’t we eating in a few hours?”
“Yeah but you’re an athlete, and you have a game tonight - you need more sustenance than that.” He almost sounded concerned.
“Fine,” I caved and grabbed a banana. Evan eyed me disapprovingly, shaking his head.
“So much better,” he commented with sarcasm.
I walked away, leaving him to catch up after he bought his lunch.
When we entered the Art room, he settled on the stool next to me to eat while I gathered my project that currently consisted of shades of green sweeping along the bottom of the predominantly blank canvas. I removed the picture of the early October foliage taped to the back and set it on the table next to me.
“Are you having a hard time liking me?”
I figured he was messing with me until I turned on my stool to find that he was seriously concerned about the answer.
“I’m not having a hard time liking you,” I assured him. “I don’t understand you. You say things that don’t make sense or could mean more than they do. I’m trying not to let you get to me - that’s all.” I turned back to my painting and began squirting different shades of green on the palette.
“But I get to you?” he confirmed, his signature grin creeping on his face. I rolled my eyes.
“Not if I can help it. But watching you enjoy my discomfort is always a great way to win me over,” I retorted, flashing my eyes at him.
“Sorry,” he said with an insincere smile.
“I’m sure you are,” I huffed. I proceeded with mixing colors and applying them to the canvas in blotches and heavy strokes. I concentrated on painting while he sat behind me, silently watching. I was flustered by his presence and couldn’t summon anything to say to lighten the awkwardness, so I kept my back to him.
“I think I’ll go outside and work on my assignment,” he finally announced. “I’ll meet you at your locker after class.”
“Okay,” I answered without looking. After he left the room, I put down my brush and took a deep breath. He was getting to me, and my defensive retorts bothered me, despite how much they appeared to amuse him. I made the conscious decision to be friends with him – that I could handle it. So far, I was failing miserably – trying so hard to keep him at a distance that I was practically cruel. If I kept this up, he’d probably decide not to have anything to do with me at all – and I wouldn’t blame him.
Evan was waiting for me at my locker after class as he promised.
“Hi,” I said with a gentle smile, hoping he wasn’t regretting inviting me over.
“Hi,” he smiled back.
“Come back for more punishment?” I asked quietly, leaning against the locker to face him. I kept glancing at the ground, having a hard time looking him in the eye.
“I can handle it.” He tilted his head down, forcing me to look at him. I reluctantly connected with his riveting blue eyes. “Besides, I’m getting used to your reactions, so they don’t really bother me. You can actually be pretty funny.” His lips relaxed into a vibrant smile.
“Great, here I am feeling horrible for how I’ve talked to you, and you think it’s hilarious. I guess you bring out the best in me, don’t you?” I smirked.
“That’s why I’m here.”
He reached over my head to grab his books out of my locker. His shirt brushed against my back, causing me to inhale quickly, unable to move. My heart began its ritualistic dance in my chest, sending a surge of blood to my cheeks. I slowly let out the captured breath when he backed away.
“I just have to get a few things from my locker before we go, okay?”
“Sure,” I whispered, still distracted.
The halls were vacant when we walked to Evan’s locker so he could stuff a few books into his backpack. I was relieved not to have witnesses when we left together. I really didn’t want to fuel the gossip – or get caught skipping class, even if it was just study period.
I looked around nervously, expecting a voice to stop us and ask where we were going when we exited the school. But we were never stopped. We didn’t say anything as we walked to his car through the thick mist of the persisting grey skies. Evan held the car door open for me again - the gesture still caught me off guard. I slipped into the car, and he closed the door behind me.
“This should be an interesting game in the mud tonight, huh?” he noted as he started the car.
“It slows the game down,” I admitted, “but I actually like sliding in the mud.”
“I know what you mean.”
I relaxed into the leather seat as we talked the entire ride to his house. My guarded tension was finally melting away when we pulled into his driveway.
Evan lived in one of the historic homes in the center of town. The extended driveway pulled the white farmhouse with black shutters away from the road, revealing a perfectly manicured front lawn with a large maple tree that was turning a magnificent red. The house was wrapped with a wide porch, accented with white rocking chairs and a hammock - it was a three dimensional Norman Rockwell painting. At the end of the driveway, behind the house, was a two story barn that had been converted into a garage. Beyond the barn was an expansive field surrounded by trees, without a neighboring house in sight.
We entered through the door on the side of the porch that led into the kitchen. The house may have been historic, but the kitchen had every modern amenity available. It was a large room with a shared dining area. The space still held the rustic charm of the farmhouse, with exposed beams and wood framed walls, stained a warm brown.
“Do you want something to drink? I have soda, water, juice and iced tea,” Evan presented, attempting to be hospitable after placing his backpack on a chair. The peninsula separated the cooking space from the dining area that recessed into the floor, with three long steps leading to a large dark wood dining table.
“Iced tea would be great.” I sat in a chair along the peninsula while he filled two glasses with iced tea from a glass pitcher he removed from the refrigerator.
“I like how you set up the newspaper,” he said, handing me a glass from the other side of the counter. “The paper at my other school was rougher looking since the printing was done in-house. It was more of a flyer than a newspaper. The Weslyn High Times actually resembles a newspaper.”
“Thanks. Have you received any comments about your article – you know, since it made the first page?”
“Yeah, I have,” he admitted with a grin – knowing that was the only acknowledgement he was going to receive from me that it was a well written article. “Mostly questions about my sources, trying to pair up an insecurity with a person. It’s kind of annoying, but I should’ve expected it.”