Free Wanted by Heidi Ayarbe Page B

night?”
    I clear my throat.
    “Sorry. Just curious. It’s not every night a bloody-kneed damsel in distress comes knocking on my door. I’m feeling pretty heroic today, as a matter of fact.”
    I place my hand on my forehead and swoon. “My hero.” He’d probably be insta-repelled if he knew I was really swooning. Like blood-deficient, wishing-he’d-kiss-me-right-here-right-now swooning.
    Seth walks by and tosses me a paper. He winks at me and I can’t help but smile. “Friends?” he asks.
    “Friends.” I nod.
    “Cool.”
    “That guy is fearless,” Josh says. “His story?”
    “Seth is sibling number four of, like, seven or something.”
    “Seven kids?”
    I nod. “Very biblical. Anyway, King Hand-Me-Down but wears his clothes with style. When he was a freshman, he refused to shower until his parents stopped making him go to seminary, and the school, after four weeks, wouldn’t let him in the doors. I asked him if he really didn’t believe in the Mormon doctrine or just wanted to sleep in, and he said, ‘I need time to think about it. Just not every morning at five forty-five.’”
    Josh nods. “Cool dude.”
    I skim the headlines of PB & J and read his editorial, a rant against using student-body funds—extra cash earned from the sale of student ID cards—to pad the ski trip to Heavenly that nobody can afford.
The Student Council Synonymous with Bourgeois (and Most Likely Doesn’t Know What Synonymous and Bourgeois Mean)
Elitist Dictionary for Dummies: Word of the Day: Pecksniffian
The Bumpy Road to the Super Bowl: Upsets and Surprises
    “He’s right. I mean, everybody had to buy those cards and now they’re using the money for an exclusive ski trip.”
    The bell rings.
    Callie and Trinity, the student council secretary and treasurer, are selling all-you-can-drink hot chocolate coupons for tomorrow’s trip—a last-minute “Heavenly” special. They finalize the last purchase and close the metallic box filled with money from the sales, a pretty thick pile of tickets remaining.
    Exclusive. Subsidized by student-body ID card sales. They put the ski trip to a vote and said they won by a hefty margin. I don’t even remember voting on it.
    They walk by, the box latch clanging. “Tomorrow morning will be awesome,” Callie says. “I’m wearing my new Columbia jacket.”
    “Columbia?” Trinity scoffs. Like an actual scoff. “That’s cute.”
    Callie deflates, then rebounds like some kind of bouncy ball, returning to her singsong happy voice. “It’ll be so fun!”
    It’s like watching perky blond clones.
    “Tomorrow will be the best ,” Trinity agrees. “Like . . . the best .” She swings her head around, her ponytail practically knocking my new glasses off my face. She flips around. “How about a little spa—Oh. Hey, Mike. Are you going on the ski trip?” she asks. “Or maybe it’s not your thing. I mean, growing up, I’m sure your family couldn’t afford this kind of stuff. And it’s hard to start skiing with your full figure, balancing that extra weight.”
    Callie looks away, and I think she’s probably embarrassed. Pretending Trinity is anything less than the spawn of evil is like going along for the ride.
    I stare at Trinity and get that burning feeling in my stomach. I try to look at her for who she really is. I try to see beyond the lacquered, shiny coat to the dry rot underneath.
    Trinity’s pristine smile falters.
    “Hey. We’ll be late for class,” Josh says.
    Trinity smirks and says, “Hello, Joshua Ellison. I thought you’d never ask.”
    Josh scowls and puts his hand on my arm. “Michal?”
    Trinity looks from Josh to me and gives Callie a look like she’s seen Elvis. Her cheeks get bright red dots in their centers. She spins on her heel and walks down the hall, Callie trailing behind.
    “Hello?” Josh waves his hand in front of my face.
    “Yeah. Thanks. I’m in Zombieland today.” I stare at the poster.
    “Are you thinking what I’m