Free Cross My Heart by Katie Klein Page A

sa y , twisting my straw around the cup, ice jingling. “He’s a good stude nt. He practically has a four point zero GPA . He’s smart. He has . . . good ideas.” I shift in my seat, annoyed and unc omfortable, wondering why I feel the need to defend Parker in front of my friends — why he needs defending at all.
    Blake wraps hi s arm around my neck and drag s me closer to him, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s fine, Jaden,” he says, planting a quick kiss on my temple. “ All I’m saying is if he lays a hand on you, he’s mine.”
     
     
     
Cha pter Nine
     
    On Monday , I hurry through the cafeteria before Savannah or Blake or anyone else arrives , checking ove r my shoulder, pray ing no one followed . Parker sits outside at his usual table—hard and gray and weathered—a perfect parallel to the afternoon sky: cold and weak and overcast as a lways. Part of me craves t o invite him inside, where it’ s nothing if not warmer . But then , that’s not how Parker operates . Eating among friends and noise and laughter: that’s me. Sitting outside, alone, i s his choice. A simple preference. I admi re him for his audacity.
    “Hey,” I say , stopping just in front of him , breathless . A low wind sweeps between us, rustling the pages of his notebook.
    He flattens them and continues writing, not lifting his head. “Hey.”
    “I, um, was wondering if you want to get together and talk about our themes after school. You know, for Ethan Frome ? ”
    Without hesitating: “Sure.”
    “Okay,” I reply , surprised he answered so quickly . “And um, I was think ing , instead of meeting in the library, you could come to my house . . . or . . . something.” We do n’t have to meet at my house, just somewhere away fr om the library . . . away from school . . . away from people .
    He glances up at me , eyes static, his expression impossible to read.
    I lick the inside of my bottom lip, then bit e into it , waiting for his response. 
    “ Yeah ,” he finally says. He turns his attention back to his wor k. “I’ll need directions .”
    My bag slid es from my shou lder to the wooden bench. A nother icy gust passes through as I unzip it, whipping my hair around my face . I rip out a sheet of notebook paper and wri te down my address in my loopy, cursive script . The town i s small —a few streets off Main and he’ll find me, no problem.
    His eyebrows arch. “So. Your friends giving you trouble? We have to hide out now?”
    “No,” I say , a fiery blush creeping to my cheeks as I hand him the directions. “Why do you ask?”
    “You are a horrible liar,” he says , smirking, eyes brightening.
    I smile , shrugging innocently, glancing at t he cafeteria window. The room i s dim, a nd it’ s hard to see inside. They could be watching. A lready waiting. “I have to get to lunch, but um, maybe I’ ll see you around three-thirty ?” I hate the uncertainty in my voice, like I’m depending on him showing up or something. It’s just a project.
    “Yeah,” he replies .
    “Great.” I take a step, ready to leave, before I remember : “Oh, these are for you.” I open my b rown , paper lunch sack and pull out the extra bag of Sun Chips I stuffed i n side earlier that morning. I toss it on the table in front of him. A peace offering.
    Our eyes align a nd that electric current surges , shimmies up my spine.
    “Aw, Jade. You were thinking about me.”
    “Don’t be so sure,” I reply , forcing away the tingly feeling inside and the smile t ugging at my lips . “I’ll see you later.”
    I stroll toward the cafeteria , taking short, shallow breaths— the dead, winter grass crunching beneath my Mary Janes — to me et my usual friends, to eat my usual lunch, to sit at my usual ta ble. But even though my steps a re sure and full of purpose, I fi nd myself stealing a glance at Parker , suffocating in the flat, brown and gray world around him , just before pushing through the metal door.
    *    *    *
    I bound into