Page 31 of I Would Stay Forever (Parkhurst Prep #2)

As if the universe heard me, the drive to school provided me with the perfect distractions in the form of being the worst drive possible.

I had no music playing because I’d left my dead phone in my room and I wasn’t sure how to get the radio playing.

Every single light turned red just as I approached.

The stupid elastic I’d grabbed for my hair snapped, making my hair fall sideways.

My bag wasn’t properly zipped up, so when I slammed on the brakes too hard and it went flying off the seat, everything fell out of it scattering around the floor of my car in a way that I knew would be a pain to clean up later.

When I finally pulled into the school lot, parking at the very back because almost every spot was filled, I had just under ten minutes to spare and felt ready to murder someone.

I dug through my glove box, sighing in relief when I found an extra hair elastic that I must have stashed in there after volleyball practice one day.

I had to use my rearview mirror to see what I was doing so the bun probably didn’t turn out as pretty as it could have otherwise been, but it was still better than nothing.

I grabbed the textbooks and notebooks that had fallen out of my bag, but left everything else on the ground, deciding I’d rather go without some materials for the day than get detention, and booked it toward the school building.

Finally, I walked into the office with one minute to spare. And seriously, it wasn’t a moment too soon. I could see the secretary flipping through her phone book, clearly on her way to call the parents of any students who hadn’t shown up today with no excuse—and I didn’t imagine there were many.

“Hi,” I said breathlessly as I came up to the desk. She glanced up in surprise but smiled at me. I handed her my student card. “I had a dentist appointment this morning and I think my mum forgot to call to say I would be late.”

The secretary glanced at my student card then turned to her computer.

I awkwardly shifted from foot to foot as I waited for her.

She would be well within her rights to call my mum to corroborate the story or ask me to bring a note in tomorrow, but I hoped that since it was the second week of school and it was still first period, she would let it slide.

“Lavender?” a peppy voice asked from behind me.

I spun around automatically, then regretted it slightly as I saw Emma standing by the copy machine.

Like the day she’d called me in to discuss universities, her hair was slicked back in a low ponytail and she was dressed up, though this time it was in a blouse and skirt instead of pantsuit.

Her high heels clicked against the floor as she walked toward me with a bright smile on her face.

I was glad that she either didn’t seem to notice my horrendous outfit or was being polite enough not to mention it.

“I thought that was you. Running a little late this morning, are we?”

“Dentist appointment,” I said as casually as I could muster, throwing in a small shrug to add to the illusion. “But I’m glad I made it for the second half of History of Warfare. The class is more fun than I expected.”

Okay, yes, I was buttering her up since I was pretty sure she was the one who had selected my schedule for me, but it seemed like my best method of getting through the rest of this morning unscathed.

She continued smiling, though I couldn’t tell if it was in response to what I said or if she just didn’t know how to stop smiling ever.

“That’s great!” she said. Her eyes flicked over to the secretary, who was still studying the computer, then back to me.

“I won’t take up too much of your time, but I’m glad I ran into you—I got some new university brochures, including a few that are specific to psychology programs at universities across the country.

I was thinking we could set up a meeting to go over them. ”

At some point, I would have to tell her that I wasn’t actually all that interested in studying psychology, but today wasn’t going to be that day.

“Sure,” I said. It probably wasn’t a bad idea for me to keep looking at university programs, even if I knew my choice of which one to attend would be more about getting away from here than being sure of my major.

Plus, talking about wanting to go to university would probably help convince the secretary that I wasn’t lying about why I was late, right?

It showed I was serious about school and not slacking off.

Maybe I was just being delusional, but I held onto that piece of hope.

“Do you need me to come by the guidance office to make the appointment?”

“I’ll set something up for next week,” Emma said. “I have access to your schedule, so I’ll find a time that works.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the secretary pulling out the stack of blue papers for excused tardiness and let out a tiny sigh of relief that I hoped neither woman noticed.

There was a stack of yellow slips beside it for unexcused tardies and beside that, red for detentions.

Both sat untouched as she wrote my name on the blue.

“I’ll let you get to class,” Emma said. “See you next week.”

I said goodbye, but my attention was mostly on the secretary. She handed over the blue slip and my student card with a smile.

“Remind your mom to call next time so we don’t worry,” she said, not unkindly. I just bobbed my head, taking the items from her hand, and walked out the office door.

The hallway was mostly empty now that it was halfway through first period, and I walked somewhat leisurely now that I knew my absence had been excused.

I considered dropping by my locker to see if I had any extra clothes in there that would be close enough to the uniform for me to get away with it—maybe some gym shorts from the official store—but I didn’t think I had any, and I wasn’t sure anything would be that much less embarrassing than my clothes now.

I paused as I reached the classroom door, taking a deep breath and smoothing my hair back as best I could, before I stepped inside.

Every single head turned my direction in a way that made me want to both tug my skirt down and somehow cover up my chest, where the buttons of my blouse were threatening to pop open.

But I knew neither of those would actually help and would only bring more attention to what I was wearing, so I walked forward as confidently as I was able to, handing the slip to Mr. Thompson, who took it without batting an eye.

He waited to continue talking until I was partway down the aisle, leaving me to think about nothing but how everyone was staring at me and my visibly mismatched socks, messy hair, and skirt riding up higher than the school rules definitely allowed.

I squeezed past Dean and sat down, trying very hard to pretend that I was invisible.

I could feel both my socks slipping—the thin one almost off my heel completely and the fuzzy one sliding down to the ankle—while my skirt was riding up.

I tugged my skirt down under the desk and took a deep breath, hoping my face wasn’t as red as I felt like it must be.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Dean shift in his seat, and I tensed. He leaned back slightly in his chair, just enough that his voice would reach me, but not enough for anyone else to hear. His pencil tapped once against the page. Calm. Measured.

“You miss the bus or were you attacked by a wild animal on the way here?”

I kept my eyes on the board, even though I had no idea what today’s class was on. “Don’t.”

“You know,” he added, voice lower now, “I think one sock is actually judging the other.”

I risked a glance. His mouth was twitching.

Not quite a smile, not quite not. The kind of look that made you want to roll your eyes and laugh and punch him all at the same time.

I was annoyed that he was making fun of me, of course, but apparently my stomach didn’t get that memo because butterflies started fluttering in it.

“You just don’t understand fashion,” I muttered back to him in a low tone so nobody else heard either. “This look is all the rage right now.”

Dean’s grin deepened, but he stayed facing forward, pretending to pay attention as Mr. Thompson started talking about trenches.

“Did your shirt always do that thing?” he asked casually a moment later.

I looked down, heart stopping. “What thing?”

“The gap at the buttons,” he said.

I knew it . I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to cover up the gap as if that would take away the memory of him seeing it.

I wasn’t sure why I was so embarrassed—this was the same boy who, in the last week alone, had seen me in just a bra and in a towel right out of the shower.

This outfit was tame by comparison. I shouldn’t have cared, and yet I couldn’t push the embarrassment out of my mind.

“No,” I said sullenly. “It hasn’t.”

Dean’s grin slipped. Then, just to add to my mortification, my hair elastic snapped.

I could feel my hair slipping out of the barely-held-together messy bun and drape along the back of my neck.

Frustration welled inside of me, so strong that for a second, I felt like I might cry.

I dropped my forehead to the desk and let out a soft whimper.

“Hey,” he said. I didn’t look at him. He poked me gently with the tip of his pencil. “You okay?”

His voice was gentler than I’d heard it in a while.

The last time he’d spoken to me like that…

I thought of the first day of school when I met him under the bleachers.

When I hated him for being able to see through me and the facade I put up for the rest of the world.

It was strange how only a week later, I actually felt a little bit touched that he cared.

“I’m fine,” I murmured, not wanting him to worry about me. “It was just one of those mornings.”

He hummed. “Yeah, I can see that.”

I glared at him. “You don’t need to point it out.”

“Hey, I was just agreeing with you.” He nudged my foot gently with his.

I rolled my eyes but grinned and kicked him back gently.

He didn’t say anything else so I turned my attention back to the board.

A second later, though, I noticed a scrunchie placed on the desk.

It was a blue and grey plaid one that looked like it was designed to match the school uniform.

I looked at Dean curiously and he shrugged.

“Nora’s. They always end up in my bag somehow. She won’t care if you use it.”

I blinked at him then dropped my gaze down to the scrunchie. It seemed wrong to use his sister’s scrunchie for a number of reasons, but if the choice was between that and leaving my hair as it was… I took the scrunchie and tied my hair up again.

Neither of us spoke again for the period as we kept watching Mr. Thompson, but I swore Dean’s chair moved a little closer than it had been before.

His upper leg was pressed against mine, sending shivers up my spine just like yesterday, but this time I didn’t jerk away or try to avoid him.

Instead, I just enjoyed the feeling of him right next to me, a solid and comforting presence.

My hair was still a mess, my socks wrong, and my skirt was threatening to slide high enough to show off something I did not want to be seen— but somehow, sitting next to him, the day didn’t feel quite as catastrophic anymore.