Free Joyride by Anna Banks Page A

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.
    â€œCarly, 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.
    â€œOh, crap,” he hisses to Carly. “Is Mr. Tucker your dad?”
    She snickers. “Um. No.”
    â€œThen 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.”
    â€œI don’t have the luxury of being careless.”
    â€œWhat’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.
    And deep down, maybe he does care what everyone thinks. Maybe just a little.
    But obviously not enough to stop him from chasing after her. He snatches the backpack from her shoulders, which halts her in her tracks. She turns around, fuming. “Are you serious?”
    â€œI figured out why people are staring at us,” he says quickly. “It’s because I’ve never been rejected like this before.” This he keeps to a whisper. He hates himself for it too. That something like that would matter to him. I guess I haven’t completely freed myself from the expectation of others.
    She rolls her eyes. “You’re really that full of yourself?”
    â€œLook, I don’t know how to talk to you, okay? I’ll just be direct. I want to give you a ride home today.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYes, dammit! All I’m asking is to give you a ride home.”
    â€œI have a bike.”
    â€œWhich we both know fits in the back of my truck.” She crosses her arms, the makings of yet another rejection forming on her lips. He wipes a hand down his face, hoping to erase any frustration that might be showing there. “Look, if you agree to it, I swear I won’t talk to you for the rest of the day.”
    It irritates Arden that this seems to appeal to her. “You promise?”
    Oh my God, who is this girl? “I promise, or pinky swear, or whatever it is you chicks do.”
    â€œHow can people actually think you’re