Page 5 of The Boy Next Door

When it rains, it pours.

Sitting in art class, life sucks. On the day after I saw Dylan sneak a girl into his room, not even the sea of bright flowers on the tables lifts my spirits.

"Where was I?" Mrs. French wonders, clutching the petals of yellow tulips in her hands. "Ah, right, moments of ingenuity! Anything can become your canvas and your paint."

She's moved on from inspiration to ingenuity. The flowers she gave us before inspired her, so she brought more. We're making watercolors using the petals for paint.

"You don't know for sure," Clay whispers. He frowns, plucking a petal from an amaryllis and dropping it into a small bowl.

"I do." I rip the pathetic petals off the delicate violet with vicious twists.

"We only handed them in yesterday. It's too soon."

He's right. Our projects are important. She can't grade them in a day. However, she isn't exactly subtle about her first impressions.

"Now when I come around with the water, use your stirrers…" She glances to the nearest tables. "Oh, did I forget that part? Kara, will you, no. Steve, you hand them out." She gives the girl a serene smile. "Kara, you just sit there and dream of your next masterpiece."

"She's hard to read," Clay comforts, poking at the flowers in his cup with a stirrer he just received.

"Are you crazy? She's not, not at all."

"Sam," barks the extremely transparent art teacher as she reaches our table with the hot water. "What are you talking about while I give you this invaluable advice?"

"Sorry, Marjorie," Clay answers for me. "We were discussing the rivalry between Picasso and Matisse."

"Oh, of course." She bows as she pours water into his cup. "Carry on, carry on!" She shifts, adding the liquid to my violet petals but turning back to Clay. "And Marjorie? I like it."

"Is it right?" he whispers as if it's their secret.

She winks. "I'll never tell."

Okay, the name she scribbles on her canvases is 'Alessandria French.

' It’s not her given name. Her real first name does have three syllables or more, she says a personality like hers doesn't get out of bed for less than three.

Our class has gotten into the habit of trying to guess her real name, throwing out guesses and seeing how she reacts.

Our teacher is eccentric or even kooky. But her artwork is featured in galleries across the globe. Hard to say how much money this earns her, but it's doubtful she teaches for any reason other than she wants to. It's hard to believe she does anything for any other reason.

As the water turns blue in my cup and a few petals float on the surface, I begin stirring the mixture. There's literally no skill involved. Yet…

"Oh, Sam, Sam, Sam." French shakes her head with a pitying smile. "You're just doing the best you can, aren't you?"

My plans for being with Dylan this year are looking seriously bleak and now my artistic endeavors are plummeting as well. She didn’t like the project I handed in, it’s so obvious.

"Mrs. French?" calls a voice from across the room.

"Excuse me." She curtsies. "Leah needs my help." She rushes away, her vivid red shawl trailing behind her. "I'm coming, Leah! I'm coming right now!"

Yeah, who wowed her and who failed miserably? It's no secret.

~

Come to lunch, Maggie texts me. Everything will be fine.

Hmm. Lunch sounds risky. My eyes are automatically going to search for Dylan. What if I find him? What if he's with her?

Maggie: Clay promises he won't even roll his eyes if you spend the whole period moping , she sends next.

Huh. A tempting offer. But I'm afraid it will hurt too much. I'm not ready to see him yet.

"Hey, there you are!" Dylan says, appearing in front of me in the hallway.

Then again, no time like the present.

"Oh hey, I'm heading to lunch." I try to walk backwards from him.

"Me too. And you're just who I wanted to see."

"I am?" That stops me short.

"Don't act so surprised," he laughs. "You're one of my closest friends."

"You're one of my closest friends too." Though admittedly, my social circle is much smaller.

He leads me away from the cafeteria and I can't protest. My heart melts a bit. Sure, he called me a friend. But the combination of being close to him and hearing we're close personally, it's so sweet.

"Since we're such good friends and all, it's about time you meet my girlfriend."

I stop a few feet short of the exit we're heading toward. "Uh, what, um..." After taking a breath, I try again. "Congratulations." Doesn't sound quite right either. "Am I supposed to say congratulations?"

"I'm not sure but thanks. You're the only one who hasn't met her." Huh, does that mean something? Why keep me away? "Since she already knows all the cheerleaders and football players."

Oh, it means nothing. Except that she's gorgeous and popular and I'm…

"Hi, Sam!" she says when we exit the doors. She's perched on the hood of his car, and she hops down with a spring in her step.

"Sam, this is my girlfriend, Renee," he introduces while wrapping an arm around her.

"Girlfriend." She sinks into his hold with a smile, pecking him on the lips. "I never get tired of hearing that."

Really? I never need to hear it again.

I avert my eyes while they kiss. I'm tempted to count the seconds and see if they're setting a record for oxygen deprivation, but it hurts too much. Plus, I'm busy summoning all my strength to avoid embarrassing myself by collapsing on the ground or sobbing.

Finally, they come up for air.

"It's so nice to meet you," says the tiny mountain of lush red curls. "Can I give you a hug?"

"Um—" Hey, we're already hugging.

"Sorry," she apologizes while pulling back. "Sorry! Jumped the gun, didn’t I? I should have let you answer. Dyl says you're…" Shy? Nervous around new people? Terrible and awkward? "I'm just so excited to meet you!"

They both watch me, so it's my turn to say the socially appropriate thing in this situation.

"You must be at the top of the pyramid," I state dumbly. "Uh, with cheerleading."

"Oh, I'm not." She laughs, though it's hardly a stretch to think a petite, bubbly storm leads others in cheers. "I take pictures for Newspaper and Yearbook." She places a hand on his chest. "That's how we met."

Fortunately for the cheerleaders, she isn't one of them, since her boobs must weigh 20 pounds each. She's so petite, there's only hair and boobs. And tiny shorts with tan legs.

"Photographer?" I ask when I catch up. "You aren't in the afterschool club." Dylan and I are members.

"Good thing too," he laughs, squeezing her—actually, I don't want to know what he's squeezing. "She'd put us to shame."

"Stop, you're good!" She looks at me with a grimace. "Not that he's even going to be there much longer, right?"

What? That's news to me. We only meet one day a week every other week. Does he really need more time to potentially fall into her nest of curls and disappear forever? Does he really need more time to squeeze parts of her I never wanna think about?

Dylan meets my eyes sheepishly. "Dad thinks I should quit. It's just a dumb hobby, right?" Obviously, his father's words, not his.

Renee and I both frown. Oh. Okay, it wasn't her idea for him to quit photography.

"Are you really quitting?" I ask.

"Maybe, I don't know. I am already in an art class this semester." He winces. "Granted, I suck at it, but—"

"Hey, losers," says a voice from the side. "We can chat while we eat. Let's go."

Whoa, I was too busy agonizing about the new girlfriend to notice Hunter's here, leaning against his car.

"In a hurry?" Dylan teases.

The older brother looks around with contempt. "I'm done standing in the parking lot of my old high school, wondering if maybe I just applied myself like all those teachers begged, I wouldn't have ended up back here."

"You can take Sam, right?" Dyl asks as he heads to his car hand-in-hand with Renee. No, no, no.

"Sure, we definitely need two cars for four people." Hunter tosses me a dry look over his shoulder as he walks to the driver's side, though it seems more at their expense than mine.

Wait. "Um, we're going to eat?"

"Seniors leave all the time for lunch," Dylan says, which is different than being allowed to leave. "Wanna take a risk?"

Not remotely, given the company. I even have the perfect excuse: it's against the rules. Yeah, I'm lame, but I'd rather be lame than sit through the happy couple’s PDA-fest.

Except standing behind the open door of his car, Hunter's watching. His eyes hold a challenge. I can see exactly what he’s thinking. Take a risk? Not Sam. His smug smile says he's already won. Be bold, he’d told me like he was in a position to hand out unsolicited advice.

I give in. "Okay, sure."

"Alright!" Dylan cheers.

Hunter eyes me. "Wow, good thing I didn't bet money."

"I can take risks." Even life-threatening ones.

“Like playing hooky one time?” he wonders doubtfully.

"No, like riding with you. Risking my very life since I swore I'd never get in a car again with you after the incident."

"That turtle came out of nowhere and I just got my license then!" Hunter hollers, still defensive about turning the turtle into roadkill, and it makes me happy.

Hunter losing his cool for even a second makes me happy, not the turtle death from the one time he drove me anywhere.

"Oh, I have to hear this story," Renee says.

"Me too," Dylan agrees, looking a bit offended. "How come you never shared this story before?"

Hunter's back to smirking. "I bribed him to keep quiet."

"No, no." I glare at him. "You threatened to take me out if I snitched."

"And look at that." Hunter winks. "We're going out."

I roll my eyes. “That’s not what you meant. You were going to kill me.”

“How do you know? You never rode with me again and found out.”

“Whatever,” I huff as the two of us get into his car.

“Hey, be nice and we can split a milkshake.”

I contemplate leaping out of the vehicle even as I buckle my seatbelt. “No, you’re buying me my own milkshake.”

Not sure what gives me the audacity to make demands of Hunter Cruse, but he only raises an eyebrow. “That all? Who knew you’d be such a cheap date?”

Hunter wasn’t always a jerk, but he did like teasing me. Not always mean, just annoying, saying things to rile me up and get a reaction from me. Guess that hasn’t changed.

“This isn’t a date!” Wow, not a sentence I ever thought I’d need to say to him, because even though we both like guys, there is no scenario in the world where we would ever, ever, ever date. Ever. “Why would you even say that?”

“Because you make the funniest faces.”

Ugh, how am I gonna survive lunch with him?