Free Shade Me by Jennifer Brown Page B

Jones’s arms. For those first few moments after blinking into consciousness, I could even pretend that maybe I wasn’t in hate with love, and that our bodies fit together perfectly for a reason. That feeling only lasted a few seconds.
    â€œWhat do you want?” I asked, cutting him off before he launched into kissy noises or some other sappy bullshit.
    â€œDid I wake you up?”
    â€œIt’s six o’clock in the morning, Jones, what do you think? I wasn’t out running a marathon.”
    â€œWow, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” he said. “I’m just checking in. Just because we broke up doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you.”
    I wish you would, I thought. “If only I’d woken up on a bed,” I mumbled instead. I rubbed my cheek. I could feel creases in my skin where the phone had been pressed into it for God-knew-how long. I yawned. “I fell asleep at my desk.”
    â€œChem? You need help?”
    â€œNo. I mean, sure, I always need help with chem. But no, I wasn’t doing schoolwork.” You probably should, the voice in my head reminded me. Academic probation, remember? But I ignored that voice. It had been a long time since I could be guilted over not doing schoolwork. “I was watching videos.”
    â€œOh,” Jones said, his voice going up into that obnoxious falsetto he got when he was trying to be flirtatious.
    â€œNot those kind of videos, you freak,” I snapped.
    â€œKidding, kidding,” he said. “You gonna be like this all day? Just asking so I can avoid you at school.”
    â€œYes,” I said, relieved. At least I could cross dodging Jones off my to-do list for the day. “I’m planning to be a huge bitch all day. Avoidance is a good idea.”
    â€œYou could never be a bitch,” he said. “That’s why I love you.”
    â€œTry me.”
    He yawned, and again I could imagine him, his bare chest tan and warm, his amazing abs descending to a V right where the sheets pooled deep around his hips. I needed to stop thinking about it. “I’m not too worried. I know you better than you do, sometimes,” he said. He groaned as if he were stretching. “I probably should get ready. I just wanted to say good morning. I’ll see you at school.”
    â€œOkay, whatever,” I said. Gibson Talley’s paused face stared at me, his hand in a downstroke on the rhythm of “Your Mother Loves It.” I started to hang up, but stopped myself. “Hey, Jones?”
    â€œYeah?” Hopeful. Eager. I rolled my eyes, hating that do-anything sound in his voice, and hating even more that I was about to take advantage of it.
    â€œYou know Peyton Hollis, right?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œDo you know the guy from her band? Gibson Talley?”
    He made a humming sound. “I think I might know who you’re talking about. Dropout, right? With the green Mohawk?”
    â€œYeah, that’s the one. What do you know about him?”
    â€œNot much,” he said. “Only that he lives in those apartments by the storage place. What’s it called? Fountain something. Come to think of it, I saw Peyton Hollis walking over there not that long ago.”
    I sat up straighter, the cobwebs suddenly blasted out of the sleepy corners of my mind. “When?” I asked.
    â€œI don’t know. It was probably a week or so ago. I only remember it because everybody was talking about how she freaked out. Had some sort of mental breakdown or something. You saw her hair, right?”
    â€œYeah, I saw it,” I said. “And you’re positive that it was her you saw walking there?”
    â€œTotally positive.”
    â€œYou’re not messing with me just to get me back, are you?”
    â€œNikki, I can’t believe you think I would do that.”
    â€œAre you?” I repeated.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBecause we’re