Music is basically a free period. Weâve had a subbie teacher since the start of term, so giving us a textbook and telling us âhave at itâ is the extent of his pedagogical capacities.
Iâm a good student but Iâm not a drip, so after fifteen minutes of shuffling and reshuffling the papers in my bag I ask if I can go to the bathroom. Like a godsend he says yes without even thinking about giving me a toilet pass. I grab my bags with ninja agility and whip out of the doors, ready to get some actual studying done in the library.
I take the stairs on the left up to the second floor and round the corner of the Computer wing because the library is up past English and the detainment rooms, right at the other end of the school. Outside is a miserable grey colour and my heart swells with joy. I love this weather. The rain trickles down the panes in a never ending cascade and, if weâre lucky, in a minute or two weâll get a rumble of thunder crackling in the distance.
Iâm walking quickly past the next stairwell junction between the Lit classes when I see them. One of the science teachers is walking with purpose to the Detention Office, and filing behind him is a trail of three smug-looking jocks. Theyâre slowly swaggering like theyâre just going for a mid-afternoon stroll and, from the state of the white shirts that are clinging wetly to their sophomore swim-team muscles, it looks as though thatâs what they were just caught doing. Outside. During fourth period.
Itâs the guy with the black hair who notices me first. Shoulders, I do recall. Heâs wearing his tie around his head for the full In order to avoid them I would stop and pretend that I was about to open up a locker but, after last week, thereâs the potential that theyâll remember that my locker isnât actually on this hallway, so instead I fiddle with my bag, buckling and unbuckling the fastening, whilst trying to not pass out at the sight of Tate Coleson.
Tate gets a nudge on the arm and he looks up at me mid-laugh.
Iâm so dazzled that I canât breathe. I consider unbuckling my bag again so that I can take a gasp on my inhaler.
The amazing thing is, he doesnât stop smiling. Heâs still laughing from somewhere deep in that unbelievably broad chest of his, and heâs grinning in that sexy-cocky way. He has a badly behaved twinkle in his eye and I feel it pulse brighter the closer I get.
Dirty Blond snaps me out of it.
âJeeeeee-
Tate glances over at him, still laughing, and puts him into a rough headlock. The other boy snorts and they disappear into the naughty boysâ pen, shaking the rainwater out of their hair like a pack of wolves.
The teacher who was accompanying them waits outside of the room and barely spares me a glance. A small female student, wearing glasses and a skirt from Goodwill? No way would she be ditching class.
I slow my pace before I turn for the library and I risk a glance in the direction of detainment room. Through the porthole window I see the three of them, hands behind their backs as they listen to their slap on the wrist scolding. Two of them are facing forward, struggling to keep their smirks at bay. The other one has his head ducked towards the door, eyes alight and molten, with a grin tugging at his lips.
My heart shivers with pleasure as I rush towards the library.
Tate Coleson just smiled at me.
*
I feel like Iâm on a sugar high. Tate Coleson is a chocolate caramel sundae injected straight into my bloodstream. I have so much energy during my hour in the library that not only do I finish tomorrowâs Math practice paper, I also finish my French assignment for next Iâm a junkie. Gimme, gimme, gimme.
When the bell for last period sounds I consider skipping another class. I could easily be ill and in the bathroom â my disappearance from Music would match the alibi. I want to mill around the Detention Office and see if heâs still in there. I want him to grin at me again. I want to be so close to him that I can see all of the colours in his eyes.
I also want to push that dirty blond friend of his out of the window.
Why is Tate friends with him? He seems like a jerk.
I go to my Design and Technology class and end up making a mock-up poster for the Homecoming dance. Itâs mainly dark navy except for the text, and in the centre I overlaid an in-motion shot of a girl twirling so fast that all you can make out is her waistline and the lifted hem of her baby pink dress. Cliché but cute. It probably wonât get picked anyway.
My good mood exceeds the final bell and Iâm still a little shimmery when Iâm cleaning up the dishes after dinner with my mom.
I hear the door slam outside from across the street, but Iâm so zoned into my History notes that I donât go to the window and check. Okay, the main reason why I donât check is because Iâm scared that one of these days Iâm going to see him with a girl. Itâs a fully-fleshed out nightmare that I sometimes traumatise myself with for about an hour and a half before I go to sleep.
I am truly insane.
Once I finish highlighting and annotating my History notes I stuff the work into its binder and kick back my chair. Iâm just stretching my neck, hair cascading down my shoulders and my arms lifted over my head, when I notice him.
Itâs literally eight p.m. and I swear that Tate left his house at around half six. I leave my lamp on, because I donât want him to notice the change, but I sink down further in my chair so that heâs less likely to catch me as I stare.
Heâs sat on the top of his porch steps in his hoodie and track shorts, and with what looks like a homework binder and paper pad laid out behind him, under the shield of the porch roof. His elbows are bent up on top of his large tan knees and he has his hands splayed over his ears on the outside of his hood. His eyes are shut tight and his fringe is falling over his face, dripping a little from where the rain has caught him.
What. The. Hell.
I thought that after his sports practices he came home to eat and then left again to hang out with his friends.
Has he been sitting out there alone Cautiously I stand up and reaching out slowly I turn off my lamp. Tate senses the change like an animal and his eyes shoot up to my bedroom window. I wonder if he can see me. As I contemplate this I remember that I didnât change out of my uniform tonight and, suddenly impish, I decide that maybe now is as good a time as any.
I slip my fingers into the knot of my school tie, gently ease the length through the loop, and then I throw it onto the floor next to my school bag.
Tate sits upright.
So you Iâm feeling bold and I like it. I tug my sweater vest up at the sides, slide my fingers beneath the hem, and then I pull it over my head, before dropping it to the floor with the tie.
Heâs really on the edge of his seat now. Shirt? Skirt? What could possibly be next?
I move over to the ledge so that I can see him clearly through the rain thatâs streaking my window. Weâre watching each other like two primates in the wild. Neither of us has blinked in the past thirty seconds.
Iâm going to be sneaky this week. Every day that I hear the slam of the door Iâm going to wait for ten minutes and then see if heâs still outside. Then Iâll wait an hour and check again. By Friday, if I realise that heâs been sitting outside of his house every single night, Iâm going to do something about it.
But for now?
I flick the top button of my shirt through the hole and then I whip my curtains shut.