Free Diva by Alex Flinn

of the year, so we're cheering. You could be too if you'd stuck around."
    "I know. Don't remind me." I try to sound appropriately regretful.
    "Maybe you can come to the game," she says.
    I sigh. If there's one good thing about this new school, it's that I get to miss seeing You Know Who at
    football games. "I wish I could, but I'm meeting some friends for dinner at Hard Rock. Can I call you
    tomorrow?"
    Dead silence on the other end.
    Sometimes it's just easier to lie.

    So I just had to get out of the house this morning. Mom's moping around—no call from Arnold today—and
    when the clock hit eight, she called Dad to scream about yet another late child-support check. So hoping
    to kill, but not literally kill, the two hours before my voice lesson, I went to this French bakery on
    Crandon Boulevard to drink coffee and write an essay for English class.
    Key Biscayne is a Starbucks-Free Zone. But I guess everyone must've gone off-island to get their caramel
    macchiato fix today, because there's only one person at the bakery when I walk in-—the one person I'm
    avoiding more than anyone.
    After we broke up, I'd look for Nick's car before I went anyplace, to avoid him. But he got a new car, and
    I never asked what color it is, so now I can't.
    He's sitting, writing in a notebook. He doesn't see me. Yet. You'd think I'd enjoy rejecting Nick, after what
    he did to me, enjoy it like you enjoy slapping a mosquito and seeing it, smashed, still full of your own
    blood. But it's not like that. I don't want to crush Nick. I just want to forget him. I want to turn around, to leave, to run even, but as soon as I start to go, I hear his voice.
    "You don't have to leave, you know."
    I turn back. "What?"
    "I won't bother you. I have class at nine, so I'm going soon. And I meant what I said last time—I'm leaving you alone. So if you want to sit and… drink your tea, you can." He looks down at his book and shrugs.
    "Or not. Whatever." He goes back to reading, ignoring me.
    After that, it seems silly to leave. I go to the counter and order my tea (How did he remember about the
    tea?) because I have a voice lesson later. I decide to get a black-and-white cookie too, because I ran out
    of the house too quick to get breakfast—which you're supposed to eat or you get fatter, right? I stand there,
    trying not to look at him.
    But when you try not to look at someone, it's impossible to look at anything else. My eyes keep going to
    Nick, the way they used to in seventh-grade Science class, when I sat two rows behind him. I couldn't take
    my eyes off him then either.
    Don't stare . He's still writing in the notebook. I remember Nick used to write—not just homework either.
    He wrote me poems—amazing poems. Right now he has a book beside him. He doesn't look up, doesn't
    meet my eyes, but I'm sure he sees me seeing him. Even after all this time, I can't get over his looks. Just
    like in seventh grade, only hotter. He has these green eyes that stand out against his dark skin and hair, and
    they seem like they could look right through you. I never quite believed anyone as hot as Nick would be
    into someone like me. I think that's partly why I made so many excuses for him—for the way he treated
    me, even when he hit me the first time. Well, that and the poetry. It was incredible, finding out someone in
    the "it" crowd had a poetic soul.
    I'm fumbling for my pen, but I'm looking at the way the bottom of his hair meets the top of his cheekbone.
    He's wearing a white T-shirt that is shocking beside his brown skin. I know how it would smell if I got
    closer, like bleach and Calvin Klein cologne, with just a hint of the beach where he lives.
    And if I close my eyes, I can feel his fist, smashing into my face.
    Keep that thought. That's a good thought.
    "Hey! Your tea."
    I see Nick's eyes flicker up. I turn away, feeling my whole body get hot.
    "Thanks." I take my tea. "Um, do you have a pen I can borrow."
    "I only have one, and that's for the register.