Page 7

*the wonder woman panty scandal*

“P SSSST .”

I rolled my eyes and ignored Jackson as I listened to Mr. Shields drone on about lab cleanliness. I was contemplating texting my mom to see if she could bring me a new shirt, but I knew if I got out my phone right now, Mr. Shields would take it.

He was that teacher.

So gahhhhh, I had to wait, but I sooo didn’t want to wait. Because every moment that I existed in that atrocious fluorescent nerd shirt was a moment further away from being seen as Dream Girl by Evan Winters.

I heard the snapping of Jackson’s fingers (like I was really going to answer to that; I wasn’t a dog), but then his notebook slid in front of me on our lab table. Written in pencil were the words I AM SO SORRY .

Sure you are , I thought, picturing the way he’d smiled at the sight of me with my inflated honker and atrocious shirt.

I took my pen and drew a hand gesture that perfectly captured my feelings, then slid it in front of him (without tearing my eyes from the teacher, of course). Someone who was sorry wouldn’t have been smiling like an outrageously happy puppy at the ridiculously awful sight of me, so I was not accepting his apology.

The notebook slid back over.

I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU HAVE TO WEAR THAT SHIRT BECAUSE OF ME .

Part of me wanted to laugh at that sentence, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I picked up my pen and wrote: If you’re really sorry, you’ll wear it tomorrow.

I shoved the notebook back toward Jackson and glanced over at Evan, who appeared to be asleep.

Yes. Please sleep through this dreadful first impression of seventh-grade Emma.

“There are five minutes left in class,” Mr. Shields said, wrapping up his mind-numbingly boring presentation. “So why don’t you get started reading unit one until the bell rings.”

I sighed and reached for the textbook he’d handed out as Jackson said to me, “I’ll wear it.”

“What?” I looked over at him, expecting sarcasm, but he looked dead serious.

“I’ll wear the shirt,” he said, kind of looking like he felt bad. “Just, like, toss it on my porch or have your brother bring it over.”

“My brother?” I didn’t think they really hung out, aside from those random interactions that’d led to Jackson throwing rocks down the portal.

“Yeah, we’re shooting hoops later,” he said.

I rolled my eyes again, and this time I wasn’t even sure why.

“Dude, you’re seriously going to wear that ?” said a voice behind me.

My heart started pounding in my chest as Evan, who was apparently awake now and eavesdropping, pointed at my shirt. He looked amused (and beautiful, of course, as he leaned back on his lab stool like some sort of science-themed supermodel), and I wasn’t sure if I should be offended that my appearance was what was making him smile or glad he was noticing me.

Are you mocking me or discussing? MOCKING OR DISCUSSING?

“Dude, it’s my fault she has to wear it,” Jackson said, talking to him in that we-are-bros-and-speak-the-same-language sort of voice. “I gave her a bloody nose with a football before the first bell and destroyed her shirt.”

“Facts,” I interjected, my desire to kill Jackson lessening to more of a “lightly maim” situation. Hallelujah! Evan Winters knew that I hadn’t selected the very hideous shirt from my closet this morning. “And it was a great shirt, by the way.”

“Well,” Jackson said, scrunching up his nose, “I don’t know if I’d say great .”

“Oh, it was great,” I corrected, giving Evan what I hoped was an I’m-so-charming smirk.

Jackson leaned closer to me and said under his breath, “Yeah, but you also thought your Wonder Woman underpants were great, according to your brother, so…”

“ What? ” I said a little too loudly, forgetting all about the fact that we were supposed to be reading. I’d been a preschool legend on our street because I loved my Wonder Woman underwear so much that I refused to wear pants, but the fact that Jackson knew about it and was mentioning it in the vicinity of Evan made me want to scream.

The bloodcurdling scream of someone about to be murdered in a slasher movie.

“Miss Rockford,” Mr. Shields snapped, his eyes bugging like my outburst was the most shocking thing that’d ever happened to him.

“Sorry,” I said, my cheeks hot as I opened my book and wished for death.

Evan was still looking at us, so I tried again.

“For the record, it was a fantastic shirt,” I said, grinning at Evan with what felt like a scary clown smile.

And I was torn at that moment between wanting to destroy my brother for bringing this hat-wearing jerk into our lives, and wanting to kick Jackson’s stool out from underneath him.

“Sure it was, Em,” Jackson said, which made Evan start laughing.

“It was ,” I said in a squeal type of voice that even I found annoying, but that only made them laugh harder. “You wouldn’t even know because you ruined it so quickly by being terrible at football.”

“Ouch,” Evan said, giggling like this whole exchange was hilarious, wrapping his arms around his midsection as if the cackles coming from his body were so incredibly deep that they were painful.

Also—had Jackson Matthews just called me “Em,” like we were friends, when we definitely were not?

The bell rang, and I angrily gathered my things while the two of them left the classroom together. The fact that they seemed to have bonded over laughing at me made me want to chase them down, tackle Jackson to the ground, and tear off the stupid hat that he obviously thought he looked hot in.

“Did you say something, Miss Rockford?”

I glanced over at Mr. Shields as I realized I might’ve made a growling noise while picturing Jackson lying face down in the hallway.

“I was clearing my throat,” I lied, wishing the entire day had been a bad dream.