Free Punch Like a Girl by Karen Krossing Page B

leopard-print hoodie, jeans and his trademark fedora. They’re melded together in a parting kiss, with her hand on his waist and his arm stretched to her shoulder, since she’s taller than him. She’s leaning down to reach his lips.
    Since I have to walk right past them, I figure, what the hell? Why not break the silence?
    I tug my sleeve down lower over my cast and say, “Hey, Jamarlo.”
    Maybe I call to him out of habit. Maybe I just miss him too much.
    I keep walking, since I don’t want to hassle them or deal with Jamarlo’s wrath, but before I get much distance between us, Jamarlo and Carmen pull apart, looking startled.
    Carmen blinks rapidly, as if she’s just waking up. “Check out that cast!” she says, disentangling from Jamarlo and drying her lips on the back of her hand.
    â€œWhoa!” Jamarlo says, as if he hasn’t been refusing to talk to me for weeks. “What happened to your arm?” He plays with Carmen’s bobbed, white-blond hair, twirling it between his fingers like he’s proud to have access.
    â€œUh…it’s my hand.” I’m thrown off by how easy it was to get him to talk to me. “I slipped on the soap,” I lie. “Showering is a dangerous occupation.”
    â€œDid you hit your head too?” Carmen points to the cut above my ear. Obviously, my concealer is failing.
    â€œUh, shaving accident,” I say.
    â€œYeah?” Jamarlo links fingers with Carmen and tugs her closer. He glances up and down the hall as if he’s checking out who’s noticing them together.
    â€œUh, yeah.” I’m glad he’s got a girlfriend, but he could at least pay attention to me when I’m trying to make up with him.
    Carmen cracks her gum. I don’t want to know where she stashed it when they were making out. “I never got why you shaved your head,” she says.
    Carmen can be tacky and insensitive, like when she told Alena that she would be pretty if she wore more makeup. I also blame Carmen for inviting Matt to her party. But I’ll endure her for Jamarlo.
    â€œJust a haircut that got out of hand,” I say.
    â€œTori likes the tough-girl look.” Jamarlo grins, but his tone has a raw edge to it. “She thinks she can beat up guys twice her size.” He pretends to punch me.
    I pretend to duck. It’s our usual game, even if it feels a bit off. “Size doesn’t matter.” I keep my tone playful, teasing. “You should know that, Jamarlo.”
    Carmen laughs. Jamarlo loses his grin. I guess we’re not back to joking yet.
    â€œI’m kidding, Jamarlo.” I force a laugh too, but it sounds as if I’m choking.
    â€œI know that.” His dark eyes are on mine. He frowns.
    â€œYeah, well,” I manage to say, “I’ve got to get to class. See you later.”
    He nods, still frowning.
    I duck into World History and head to the back of the room. What just happened? Jamarlo and I may be talking again, but we’re not okay.
    A few minutes later, Carmen enters the room and slides into a seat beside me. I wish she’d sit somewhere else, but I’m not that lucky.
    â€œSettle down, class.” Mr. Hadley pulls down the screen at the front of the room. “Today we’re going to talk about some of the key passive-resistance movements that occurred after 1945 .”
    I usually like Mr. Hadley’s discussions, but today I’m hoping for a long movie so I can think about what happened with Jamarlo.
    Carmen leans over to me and whispers loud enough for others to hear, “So do you and Matt want to come over this weekend? Jamarlo and I are having a few couples to my place since my parents are away.”
    Hell, no.
    My throat goes dry. I swallow hard. “We broke up,” I say. Obviously, Jamarlo hasn’t been sharing info about me.
    Mr. Hadley sits on the edge of his desk. “The best-known movements are those led by