and laugh. “So tell me about this Dr. Friedman, is she any good? Did you look her up on Rate My MD dot com? Because—”
But before I can stop her, Lacey leans over the aisle and yells across the room, “Hey, Noah! We’re over here, come and sit with us.”
He hesitates, I can see him hesitating, even though it’s probably not obvious to anyone else, including Lacey. I know he’s weighing what would be worse—having an awkward interaction with me by coming to sit with us, or tipping Lacey off that something’s going on by not coming. But then finally, he gathers up his stuff and walks over to our side of the room, settling into the seat in front of Lacey. He puts his books on the desk and swivels around so he’s facing her, his back to me.
“Long time no see,” Lacey jokes, even though, of course, we both just saw him yesterday.
“Yeah,” he says, then turns slightly in his chair. “Hey, Hannah,” he says to me.
“Hi,” I say. The longing washes over me again, and it’s so overpowering that I look down at my desk and try not to let it completely overtake me. I force myself to take deep breaths, to not give in, wondering if this is how it’s going to be from now on, if Noah is always going to have this kind of effect on me, if I’m ever going to be able to be normal around him again. You have to, I tell myself. You have to do it, somehow you have to figure out how to do it.
“I hate math,” Lacey says. “Are either of you any good at it? Because I might need help.”
“I’m not bad,” Noah says.
“I’m pretty good, too,” I say. I cannot believe the three of us are talking about math! It’s enough to drive me crazy, just the fact that the subject is even being brought up! I mean, math! How ridiculous! How did this become my life? Seriously, I cannot even take it anymore.
“Oh, look,” Lacey says, looking out the door of our classroom. “It’s the car smasher.” On the other side of the hall, the girl from this morning, Jemima or whatever, is loading her books into her locker. She turns around when she hears Lacey’s voice. “Hi, Car Smasher!” Lacey says. “How’s your morning going? Have you gotten embroiled in any more lawsuits?”
Jemima opens her mouth to say something, then thinks better of it and scuttles away.
“Lacey!” I say. “You have to stop scaring that poor girl.”
“Why?”
“Because!”
“Lawsuits?” Noah asks, looking confused. “What are you guys talking about?” He’s looking at me, his eyes locking onto mine, and for a second, I’m afraid I won’t be able to speak.
“That . . . she hit my car this morning,” I say.
“More like slammed into the back of it without even looking,” Lacey says. She holds her phone out to me. “That’s Danielle Shapiro’s vacation house,” she says. “Isn’t it ridiculously ostentatious? I can’t believe she posted a picture of it.”
“Jesus,” Noah says. “Is your car wrecked?”
“No,” I say. “It’s just a little scratch. But that girl is freaking out about it for some reason.”
“She’s probably afraid you’re going to try and get revenge,” Noah says.
“Revenge for what?”
His eyes crinkle in the middle and get all serious, and suddenly, I feel nervous. Probably because I can tell I’m not going to want to hear whatever he’s about to say. Besides, “revenge” is one word I do not want to hear today. Like, at all. “Hannah, that was Jemima Marshall.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “So?”
“So you know she’s the one that was hooking up with Sebastian that night, right? In Jenna’s pool?”
I slide my head down onto my desk. Just when I thought this day couldn’t get any worse.
The Summer
Honking. Outside my bedroom window. At five forty-five a.m. That’s, like, earlier than I get up for school. Well, not always. During the three-month period I was hoping Sebastian would ask me out, I got up at five every day. It took me a while to get ready: I had to shower, deep