Page 115

The day has come. A week after the ball. A week after I told Aly how I felt.

It’s finally Friday, but the only downside is Mr. Burke is coming back on Monday, and that leaves me out of a job. But it’s okay; it’s time for me to focus on the track.

Today is also Aly’s birthday, so on our last day together, I haven’t made the class do a goddamn thing besides mess around. I also have them making her cards. I figured it’d be a nice gesture. I’ve missed ten birthdays, and this one I’m going to make special for her.

“Hey, Ridge, what has four wheels and flies?” Brennan asks, his brow furrowed, biting down on his lip as he concentrates on staying inside the lines on his card.

I look around the room, all twenty-some kids with their heads down working on cards for me. “A garbage truck.”

You’re wondering what cards they’re working on, aren’t you? It’s certainly not an apology to Austin. Actually, they’re birthday cards for Aly. It’s my grand gesture at love.

Brennan nudges my elbow. I mess up on my red A I’m trying to perfect. “Why did the math book look so sad?”

I scowl at him. “Because it had so many problems.”

“Why can’t Elsa have a balloon?”

“Because she’ll let it go.”

“What—”

He doesn’t get to finish. I stick a wadded-up piece of construction paper in his mouth. “Stop it. You’re wasting your time. I’m the king of jokes.”

He spits the paper out. “Why are we making these cards for Aly?”

“Because it’s her birthday.”

“Are you getting her a cake?” Arrow asks on the other side of me, a sour edge to her voice. She’s still upset about the vanilla cupcake incident. To be fair, we celebrated Arrow’s birthday in class last month with Twinkies.

“Yes, a chocolate one,” I tell her, winking at the white-haired little girl. And then I notice how sad she looks. “Why are you sad?”

She continues cutting out a heart for the front of her card, intently focused on it. “I don’t see why you like her so much.”

“Who?”

“Aly.” Oh, wow, did you notice the way she says Aly’s name? Christ, even at eight girls are jealous?

“Because she’s my girl.”

She stops cutting, her gray eyes finding mine. A chill shakes through me. She looks like she’s going to take the scissors in her hand and slit my throat. “ButIlike you.”

“You hate me.”

Arrow shakes her head. “That’s not true.”

I pause, then start cutting away at the L on my card. “Well, I’m too old for you.”

“My dad is fifteen years older than my mom.”

Again, I pause. “That. . . explains a lot.”

She regards me curiously. “What?”

“Nothing.” I hold up the heart. “Does it need glitter?”

“Yes. Always yes when it comes to glitter.”

After handing me the bottle of glitter, Arrow looks contemplative again, and I’m almost afraid to ask when she asks, “Will you come over for dinner?”