Page 11 of I Would Stay Forever (Parkhurst Prep #2)

nine

The first day of school hadn’t exactly been the fresh start I was aiming for, but today was a new day and I was determined to make it a better one.

I took a deep breath as I got out of my car and looked up at the stone building in front of me, reminding myself of my most important goal for the day: not seeing Dean Graham again.

If he slipped another note in my locker, I would ignore it. If he tried to text me, I would delete the messages. And if he showed up anywhere near me, I would make sure I wasn’t within grabbing distance and then make a break for it.

I was still mad at him for what he said yesterday, but more than that, I was mad at myself for still being so upset about it.

I hated that I was transparent enough for him to see right through my lies when I said that I was over it.

The truth was as much as I wanted to be over it, I still wasn’t, and I didn’t like that he knew me well enough to be able to tell.

As I walked up to the school, I was surprised by how quickly everyone had bounced back into their usual routines.

The cheerleaders were dancing around by the main entrance, reminding everyone that tryouts were after school today.

In the entry hall, I saw Tiffany yelling at Sebastian about how he hadn’t called her back last night after she hung up on him.

I rolled my eyes but didn’t interfere. When I walked up the main staircase to the second floor, I saw the bright blue Friendship Bench occupied by three different couples making out, unconcerned by the paper airplanes some jocks were throwing around above their heads.

It was oddly comforting just how predictable school could be after a summer of feeling like my world had been so shaken that I didn’t recognize it anymore.

There was still a few minutes until the bell, but I headed straight for my first class, History of Warfare.

Mr. Thompson said we didn’t have to sit in the same seats every day, but when I walked in, I saw that everybody who had already arrived were sitting in the same ones they’d been in yesterday, so I followed suit and took my place in the back corner by the window again.

As I’d suspected, there weren’t many people in the class, but the classroom was equally small so almost everyone had to share desks.

I’d gotten my own desk yesterday, but Mr. Thompson said we were missing some students, so I wasn’t holding out hope it would remain that way.

As I waited for class to start, I pulled out my notebook—red, because that seemed most fitting for a class on warfare—and opened it up to the first page. We hadn’t done anything that required taking notes yesterday, but I had to assume that would change now that it was the second day.

“Is this seat taken?”

I glanced up—ready to say go ahead since I knew it was one of the only empty seats left in the class—until I saw who was standing there.

I scowled. “What are you doing here?”

Dean had the audacity to look surprised by my tone. “I’m… in this class?” The words came out more like a question than a statement, as if he wasn’t sure what answer I was looking for.

“No.”

“No?” he echoed. “Like no the seat isn’t taken or no I can’t sit here?”

“Like no you’re not in this class.” My voice came out harsher than I intended, and a couple people turned around in their seats to look at us curiously.

My face warmed at the attention, but I didn’t look away from Dean out of fear that he would take that as me telling him he could sit there, which he was absolutely not welcome to do.

“My schedule would say otherwise,” Dean said.

I narrowed my eyes at him, the memory of yesterday echoing in my mind.

The way he physically pulled me under the bleachers just to make me feel worse about a situation that was already crappy, all under the guise of checking on me .

If he could be that annoying in a ten-minute conversation, how could I manage to sit in the same classroom as him for an hour every single morning?

“I don’t give a crap what your schedule says. You are not sitting here with me and you are not staying in this class.”

Dean tightened his grip on the back of the plastic chair and leaned in, coming almost eye to eye with me. “And you’re going to be in charge of that? Because then you might have to be the one to fight my guidance counselor on it.”

“You weren’t here yesterday,” I said. I put my hand on the extra chair as well and pulled it toward me, yanking it out of his grip. He stumbled forward from the sudden change in balance and I smirked a little, even as people glanced over at us again.

“I was in the guidance office fixing my schedule.” He pulled the chair back toward himself again and it scraped loudly against the linoleum floor. I cringed at the sound but didn’t take my hand off the chair. “Now, if you don’t mind…”

He dropped his bag on the floor and it was clear he was planning to sit, so I pulled the chair even further toward me this time, practically boxing myself in against the wall.

I guess he could have sat down regardless, but he would have to squish up against me and I didn’t see him wanting to do that, especially when Mr. Thompson might walk in at any moment.

“I told you, Graham . You can’t stay here.”

“And I told you, Novak , that I need to take this class.”

“Why?” I snapped. “Why is it so important that you have to be in this particular class instead of any other one in the entire school right now?”

His face pinched in a frown. “I need the extra history credit. Why do you need to be here?”

“Because…” I faltered. I didn’t have a reason to be here other than that the guidance counselor had placed me in it randomly because course registration happened right after my dad left.

But if I told the guidance counselor I wanted to switch my classes around, she would undoubtedly ask why I’d let her choose them in the first place, and I couldn’t even talk about Dad with Dean, so explaining it to her was out of the question.

Any other excuse that I could have come up with was cut off by the P.A. system crackling to life. “Please rise for the national anthem.”

I got to my feet, but kept the death grip I had on the back of the chair, not giving Dean the chance to pull it back toward himself.

He slipped his hand onto the back of it as well, making it clear that he wasn’t giving up the fight.

The chatter of the room died down as O Canada began playing from the speakers.

It wasn’t a particularly long song, but it felt never-ending as Dean and I practically stared each other down.

It was obvious that neither of us would be switching out of the class, but I didn’t understand why he had to sit next to me.

There were still a couple of open spots around the room and he could pick any of them—why had he chosen here ?

He wouldn’t have fought this hard if it was just because this seat was the first one he saw when he walked in.

He must have sought me out. For whatever reason, Dean Graham wasn’t avoiding me the way I was avoiding him, and I didn’t understand why.

I couldn’t think of a single reason why he would want to keep spending time with his best friend’s little sister, especially after having to tell me my dad was having an affair.

Why didn’t he just want to stay as far away from me as possible?

When the final notes came to an end, I dropped back in my seat but didn’t let go of the other chair, debating if there was some way I could convince him to take the one other empty seat in the room.

I could move onto the chair, but I had a feeling then he would just come around and take mine instead.

I thought maybe I should suggest that sitting next to the pretty girl in the front row would be a good way to ask her out, but then another girl walked in late and took the seat.

I was so distracted by my own thoughts that I missed most of the morning announcements, including the time and location of the volleyball team tryouts this week. I’d have to ask Zoey about it later.

When the announcements finally ended, Mr. Thompson walked into the classroom and said, “Everybody, please take your seats.” He walked straight to the board and started writing on it, so I wasn’t even sure if he noticed that Dean was still standing or if it was his general morning statement.

Dean raised his eyebrows at me, clearly waiting for me to let go of the chair and let him sit. Even though I knew that he had every right to sit there, and that there was nothing I could do to stop him, I stubbornly refused to do so.

It took Mr. Thompson a moment to notice us once he turned around and started wiping the chalk off his hands. He paused, his brows furrowing in confusion as he looked at Dean.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Just a small matter of where I should be sitting,” Dean said politely. “This is the only seat left in the room, but it seems to be spoken for.”

I hadn’t noticed the other empty seat get taken but I guess somebody else had snuck in during announcements when I was distracted. I wanted to snap at Dean that it hadn’t been the only seat left when he walked in but with everyone’s eyes on us, I couldn’t act like that.

Mr. Thompson picked up the class list and ran his eyes over it quickly, then looked over the room, counting under his breath.

“Everyone who’s registered for the class is here,” Mr. Thompson said. “That seat is for you, Mr…”

“Graham, sir. Dean Graham.” Dean kept his eyes on Mr. Thompson as he yanked the chair back toward himself.

I finally released my grip on it, knowing that I couldn’t keep fighting him on it now.

It would sound petty to anybody else that I didn’t want him sitting next to me and I certainly wouldn’t be getting into the whole history of why I didn’t want him here.

All I wanted from this year was to keep my head low, graduate, and get out of here.

Drawing attention to my family issues would not help with that.

I refused to look at Dean as he sat down at the desk and started pulling out his school materials from his bag. Mr. Thompson, satisfied that the issue had been resolved, started the lesson, but I barely heard a word. All I could think about was Dean.

Dean sitting next to me.

Dean pushing his notebook my way like he was passing me a note.

Me refusing to look at Dean’s note because I would not let him think that we were becoming friends.

Maybe I could go to the guidance office today and come up with some fake sob story about why I couldn’t be in this class.

Maybe I could say that I was a pacifist and didn’t want to learn about violence, or that I wanted to have my free period in the morning instead of the afternoon.

But messing with my schedule would probably move around my other classes, and what if I accidentally ended up in another one—or more—with Dean?

I couldn’t exactly go to my guidance counselor and tell her to make sure my schedule was completely different from a random boy’s.

Dean shoved the notebook harder at me, the spiral binding hitting me in the arm. I glared at him but he just pointed at it. I dropped my gaze and read the note scribbled at the top of the page, in the same handwriting as the note I’d gotten in my locker yesterday.

Meet me after school. I just want to talk.

I picked up my pen—a glittery purple one that I used for headers in my notebook—and wrote a simple answer.

No.