Page 176 of The Compass Series

A smile slipped out of me, knocking my stubbornness sideways.

Sweet jerk.

I couldn’t stand that man, who I’d stupidly missed more than words over the past year.

When we were kids, our moms always called Aiden and me Tom and Jerry because we were always chasing each other back and forth day and night like the classic cat and mouse cartoon.

We were glued to one another’s hips growing up.

He was my Tom; I was his Jerry. We even wore friendship necklaces for it.

He wore me around his neck, a little mouse.

And I wore him around mine, a feisty cat. Corny? Yes. Us? Completely.

He'd even accepted his Emmy award wearing said necklace. That made me smile.

“Okay, well, if we’re going to start our senior year hating one another, at least let me tell you that I missed your bad attitude,” Aiden said.

His dark brown hair was smoothed back, highlighting his waves.

When did the guy start using hair gel? And was that sweet, earthy, oak scent coming from him?

What did those Californians do to my best friend?

I hated it because, well, I kind of loved it, and it was messing with my head that I loved the changes.

My heart was pounding aggressively against my rib cage, and I didn’t know why.

“Whatever.” I gave him a hard look and shrugged. “I missed you, too.”

“Handshake?”

“Aiden, we’re seniors now. We can’t go around doing our corny handshakes anymore.” He began wiggling his fingers in my direction, and I groaned. “Seriously, Aiden. We made that up when we were nine. We need to let it go.”

Still ignoring me, he put his hand out in front of him, palm facing me, and began the chant. “Pancake, pancake, up real high.”

Without hesitation, I joined in patting my hand against his. “If you toss it, it will fly.”

He smacked the back of his hand against mine three times. “If you drop it, it will go.”

We both spun once, then faced one another, patted hands, and did a weird body roll as we said, “Down the drains where the creepy clown flows.”

When we were kids, we had a sleepover at my parents’ house on Halloween, and when it was time for us to go to bed, we snuck downstairs and watched IT . Ever since then, we had a thing for creepy clowns, horror movies, and corny handshakes.

The obnoxiously loud pale-yellow school bus hiccupped and skirted in our direction. I silently thanked myself that it would be my last year of riding the banana train to hell.

“Aren’t you a famous actor now? Shouldn’t you be driving us to school in a Mercedes-Benz or something?” I asked.

“My parents said the same thing, but I wanted to experience the whole school package one last time. You know, one for the road.”

“You’re a really weird person.”

“Says my best friend.”

Fair enough.

I climbed the steps of the school bus and took a seat beside the window. Within seconds, I knew it would be an odd year because those on the bus already began whispering about the handsome creature taking Herculean strides behind me.

“Oh my gosh, is that Aiden?”

“No way! He’s a total babe!”

“I wonder if he’s single?”

“I saw his show a few days ago!”

“He’s famous! Did you see his interview with Jacob Elordi?”

“I wonder if he knows Zendaya.”

“Is he really going to sit next to Hailee? They can’t still be friends, right?”

Great. Just great. I’d prided myself in flying under the radar of other students for the past three years of my high school career.

People knew of me, but I wasn’t enough of a topic to make fun of or a cool enough person to acknowledge.

I was an average Jane, which was fine and dandy in my book.

Aiden, pre-Captain America glow up, was underrated in terms of popularity, too.

Now, though? Now they were looking at his double B’s—butt and biceps.

Aiden sat beside me, acting completely unaware of the gossiping that was taking place because of his new persona.

He dug into his backpack and pulled out his school schedule as the bus drove off to the next stop. “Swap,” he ordered, passing his paper to me. I dug into my backpack, grabbed my schedule, and handed it over to him.

“Oh man, you have crazy Mr. Dom for AP chemistry,” Aiden remarked. “With your smart self.”

“Says the boy in advanced drawing class.” There was almost nothing that Aiden couldn’t do, but his ability to draw was just as great as his ability to act.

I would even go as far as saying his drawing skills were better than his acting—which was saying a lot.

“Also, I find it funny you’re in Acting 101. ”

“Why is that funny?”

I stared at him as if he were insane. “You have a freaking Emmy sitting on your mother’s mantel.” I swore, sometimes it was as if Aiden didn’t realize he was Aiden Walters—Hollywood’s next big thing.

“It’s just a piece of metal. A million unknown people out there are better at acting than I am but will never get the opportunities I got. Winning an Emmy doesn’t really mean anything at all.”

“That sounds exactly like the response an Emmy winner would give in order not to sound cocky.”

He smirked. “Did it work?”

“Almost.”

“I’ll keep practicing the speech, then.”

“Maybe they can help you in Acting 101,” I joked.

By the time Aiden was ten, he’d had a nationwide commercial.

By fourteen, he’d starred in three movies, and by seventeen, he had done a television series and received the Emmy.

It was no shock that Aiden was Hollywood’s newest sweetheart.

After spending five minutes with him, everyone fell in love with the guy.

I couldn’t blame them. My best friend was like a puppy—ridiculously lovable.

Aiden’s eyes darted across the page, and the gleam in his eyes dissipated as he read further into my classes. “We don’t have one class together. We don’t even have the same lunch period! You’re lunch A, and I’m B.”

I shrugged. “That’s okay.”

“That is not okay. How are we not supposed to eat lunch together?”

“Uh, we did it for the past year.”

“That was because five billion miles were keeping us apart. Now, it’s unacceptable. It’s our senior year of high school. I need to have lunch with you for our senior year.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, it is. The administration is going to hear from me. Mark your words.”

“You mean, mark my words.”

“That’s what I said. Mark your words.”

I shook my head. “No. That’s not the saying.”

“Whatever. Your words are my words; my words are yours.”

I rolled my eyes as I leaned against the window. “You have too much energy for seven o’clock in the morning.”

“If that’s your way of saying you missed me, I missed you, too.”

Once we walked into Satan’s dungeon, everyone noticed Aiden. He was determined to have a typical senior year before his career exploded even more, which it would without a doubt, but it was clear that nothing about this last year of school would be normal. All eyes were on him.

We were separated early on, but the echoes of people talking about his transformation and his Hollywood success were ridiculous.

Just a few years ago, they were mocking him about his dancing taco commercial, but now that he was on the cover of magazines and hanging out with Marvel actors, they were his biggest fans?

What a bunch of crappy hypocrites. Sweet Aiden would’ve welcomed their fake kindness, too.

That boy was too wonderful to know when people weren’t being genuine.

He was the definition of a golden retriever.

Loyal to a fault to any and everyone who smiled his way.

If he had a tail, that thing would’ve fallen off from wagging with excitement.

A pit sat in my stomach as I headed to the bathroom before first hour. The popular girls were giggling in the bathroom about Aiden, and I hated the idea of them getting their manicured hands anywhere near him.

The intercom screeched in first hour, reminding us of our broken-down school equipment. Principal Warren’s voice broke through the scratchy sounds with the morning announcements, and he welcomed us all back for yet another year of being told to sit down and shut up.

“Last, I want to welcome back Leeks’ own Emmy-winning actor, Aiden Walters, to school. We are excited to have his return. Make sure you all stream his Emmy-winning television show Forgotten when you get home tonight. Welcome back to school, everyone. Here’s to a new year!”

Intercom speeches about my best friend? Normal was the opposite of what our senior year was about to become.