Free Just a Matter of Time by Charity Tahmaseb Page B

temples. Except I wasn’t really hungry—not after the library.
    “Sadie, please!”
    Maybe it was that please , or the tone of his voice. I didn’t turn around, but I slowed down. When Gordon landed next to me, panting, I realized I’d stopped right in front of his locker.
    A flush burned my cheeks.
    “Hear me out.” Gordon raised a hand, as if that alone could hold me in place. “Then I won’t bug you anymore.”
    I nodded, too stunned to protest.
    “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s possible to steal someone else’s time.” He gave me that intense stare again. His eyes, I realized, weren’t just dark. They were the color of wet tree bark, but flecked with green. No matter how hard I’d tried during ninth grade, I’d never stood this close to Gordon before. The unfairness of that almost made me walk away.
    “People steal time,” I said, instead. “Right.”
    “Think about writer’s block. It’s the perfect example. Know where it comes from?”
    I gave my head a little shake. As much as I hated to admit it, writing essays was getting harder and harder. I’d taken to waking up spontaneously at three a.m., my head filled with words, and writing then. But that was the only time I could.
    “Ever sit down to write something but get nothing but a blank?” he asked.
    He’d just described my school day, nothing but a great big white space.
    “And even though you’re there, and you think you’re working,” he continued, “it feels like nothing. Or at least, that’s how I think it feels.”
    “Don’t you know how it feels?”
    He shook his head. “No one’s ever stolen my time.”
    Wow. This was insane. Gordon Bakersfield, of the epic ninth-grade crush, was insane. “You know what I think?” I said.
    He leaned forward, ever so slightly, like he was certain of the outcome. I almost hated to disappoint him.
    “I think you’re wasting my time.”
    After two years of confusion and hurt, being the one to walk away was epic.
     
    * * *
     
    For the rest of the week, I avoided Gordon. Or maybe he avoided me. The only person I couldn’t lose was Maya. Library at lunch? There she was, two tables away. On the bleachers during open gym? Directly across from me, a perpetual smirk just visible in the parting of her red curtain hair.
    And today, in the cafeteria? She stood up and moved closer to me.
    Closer .
    Fortunately, I’d finished my extra credit report early that morning—in another weird three a.m. writing session. First, I’d checked all the doors, even though I knew they were locked. With Dad gone, it was like the air had changed; it was thinner, harder to breathe, the house not just empty, but lonely.
    I was examining some applesauce on my spoon (how long I’d been holding it there was hard to say, but long enough to be embarrassing) when Gordon slid into the chair opposite mine.
    “Look, I know you think I’m crazy, but she is seriously killing you.” He whirled and nailed Maya with a look that made her head jerk back. If it weren’t for the whole crazy factor, I might have clapped—just a little.
    “No,” I said, “she’s just creeping me out. I can’t get away from her.”
    “Because she’s using you. She’s sucking up all your time.”
    I spared Gordon a glance before contemplating my applesauce again. “Right.”
    “Think about it. What about the violin solo that should’ve been yours?”
    His words knocked the appetite from me. I dropped the spoon. During auditions, my bow had come to a screeching halt. My violin hadn’t screamed like that since sixth grade. It was like I’d murdered it, and I certainly butchered the audition.
    “Where was Maya?” Gordon asked.
    “Outside the . . .” I trailed off, not wanting to confess she’d been right outside the door when I left the audition.
    “What happened today when she switched tables?”
    My gaze darted toward my applesauce.
    “Yeah. I’m sure it’s fascinating stuff.” He snorted. “But it took you five minutes