Page 18 of Fade into You

“Oh.”

“Don’t look so shocked,” she says. “What did you think, I’m only interested in taking ceramics so I can just sit around and make a bunch of bongs all semester long or something?”

“No,” I lie, as I make my way into the classroom, which is set up with four large wooden tables in the center, and a row of computers lined up along the back wall under a bank of windows.

She scoffs as she walks behind me, muttering, “Bullshit.”

“Welcome!” Mrs. Rivera says as we join a handful of other kids, spaced out at each table, including Paige and Brianne, who are currently looking at me, their eyes sending clear messaging that I’m not to even attempt to sit with them. “Take a seat, any seat.”

I set my bag down at an empty space at an empty table and Jessa sits down right next to me. I guess I must look shocked again, because she says, in that patented sarcastic tone I’m already coming to expect from her, “What? This seat is taken or something?” She looks all around, like,I don’t see anyone begging to sit next to you.

Shaking my head, I wave my hand. “All yours.”

“Thanks,” she says quietly. “Dade was supposed to be taking this class with me, but he dropped last minute to take drama withKaay-la. Drama,” she repeats.

“Do you have to say her name like that every single time?”

“Excuse me, but I was having a private conversation with myself.”

“Fine.”

I pull out my notebook and favorite gel pen and when I open the cover—with admittedly too much force because I’m already annoyed as hell with Jessa—the snapshot of Silas and Kat goes flying out, skidding across the table and onto the floor. I duck under the table, but I can’t get to it. Jessa reaches down and picksit up from where it landed beneath her chair. As she sits back up, she holds the picture carefully at the corners, studying it, then looks over at me.

“Do you mind?” I snap, holding my hand out.

She lets go, and as I place it back in its spot inside the cover, I tuck it more securely into the binding.

“Who are they?” she asks.

I glance over at her, my heart thump-thumping too fast. “None of your business.”

“Well, they certainly seem cooler than you,” she quips, and I’m surprised at the ping in my chest. It hurts because deep down it feels true. Maybe they were cooler—no, better,braver—than me, and they took me in as some sort of lost puppy.

“Elizabeth?” I hear in the background, my pulse like the ocean rushing in my ears at the forefront of my awareness. “Elizabeth Nardino?” the voice says.

“What?” I answer, too roughly, too rudely. Especially when I turn my head to see that it was Mrs. Rivera who said my name.

“A simple ‘here’ will suffice,” she says, and checks my name off her sheet.

Beside me, Jessa laughs, silent except for the staccato breath escaping her in huffs.

“Delphine Jess—” Mrs. Rivera begins, but Jessa raises her hand, instantly pulling herself together to correct the teacher.

“Actually,” she interrupts. “Hi, Mrs. Rivera, that’s me. Jessa.” Then she twists in her seat to address the rest of the class. “It’s just Jessa. If you could call me Jessa, I’d appreciate it.”

“That’s right,” Mrs. Rivera responds with a smile as shescribbles down the note for herself. “Jessa. Good to see you again.”

And now I’ve missed my chance to tell hermypreferred name. Great. I’m Elizabeth for the whole year now.

“Elizabeth,” Jessa whispers, leaning closer to me. “You know, you could really stand to loosen up a bit.” She pinches her thumb and index finger together and brings her hand to her mouth. “If you know what I mean.”

“Shut up,” I whisper back, but I can’t not be trapped by the playful glimmer in her eyes, holding me there. She shrugs and looks away, finally releasing me from her gaze to open her messenger bag, because of course she’s too cool for a backpack.

We go around the room, introducing ourselves, everyone taking turns to tell the class why we signed up for this particular elective, what we hope to get out of the course. There’s a freshman whose name I forget already who has no idea how they ended up registered for this class. A junior whose parents made them sign up. Another senior who says they’re trying to beef up their college application. Paige looks at me when she says, “I signed up by accident last year.” She signed up because of me. Brianne says something more appropriate: “I think it’s interesting to hear both sides of a story, and I guess that’s what journalism does.” Switzerland strikes again.

Mrs. Rivera nods in response, smiling. “Very true.”

When it’s our table’s turn, Jessa goes first.