Page 30 of Burning Embers
“Why didn’t you have to head in early for weight training or whatever?” I query as he claps hands with another bulky man—no doubt a fellow football player.
“You can choose to weight train either in the morning before school or in the afternoon after practice,” he explains as we move up the steps towards the entrance of the school. He holds the door open for me and waits for me to step inside before following in behind me. “Most choose to do it in the morning. I chose after practice.”
The interior is exactly what I would expect from a school that’s located in the middle of nowhere. It’s so stereotypical that I have to hold in the laugh that threatens to burst free.
The white tiles are polished so meticulously that I can see my reflection on the surface. Lockers line either side of the hall, interspersed with doors that lead to classrooms. I don’t see a stairwell leading to the upper levels of the school, but I assume that’s because it’s in a different hall.
“Do you have your schedule? I can’t remember your classes,” Jake says, and I immediately reach into my backpack pocket to hand it to him.
He smooths out the wrinkles on his knee before holding it up to his face and studying it intently.
“So you already know that you have AP Literature with me. That’s going to be on the second floor. I can meet you at your classroom before that, and we can walk together. Let me show you where your first few classes are, as well as the cafeteria.”
The layout of the school proves to be rather simple. The majority of the senior classes are on the first floor—a benefit of being older, according to Jake. All of my AP classes are on the second floor. The only class I have on the third floor is Art, a requirement I desperately wish I didn’t have to take. I have the artistic ability of a turtle with both of its fins cut off. The last time I tried to “craft,” I superglued my hand to my face.
As we move through the halls, I can’t help but inconspicuously survey every student present. Everybody seems to know everyone, and the familiar pangs of isolation bombard me. I’m used to feeling like this—alone, even when I’m in a crowded room—but it’s never felt so pronounced before.
There’s a certain ease and companionship amongst the other students in the hall that I long to emulate. I wish I could walk up to that random girl, say hi, and have her smile back at me. I wish I could high-five that burly football player with the easy-going smile and sparkling eyes.
Jake tries to introduce me to everyone we come across, but after the tenth name, I begin to feel dizzy. What was her name again? Rachel? Rebecca? Raina? Fuck.
It’s only as we move to the cafeteria and claim a table near the center of the room do I realize who I’m actually looking for.
A certain gorgeous nerd with mussy blond hair, glasses, and a timid smile…
A wave of heat rushes through me, causing my cheeks to burn.
Jake remains oblivious to my thoughts as he chats with one of his friends—some football player named Dec, a man with spiked red hair and laughing green eyes.
“Don’t look now,” Dec whispers suddenly, the words uttered from the corner of his mouth as he attempts to remain inconspicuous.
“What?” Jake’s head whips up, and almost immediately, his cheeks turn crimson. He ducks his head with a noncommittal grunt.
“I told you not to look,” Dec chastises, though I detect amusement in his voice.
“Fuck off,” Jake growls.
“Who aren’t we supposed to look at?” I keep my voice low, though Jake still feels the need to shush me, going so far as to place his hand over my mouth.
Dec smirks. “Desiree, Emilia, and Mimi.” He jerks his head towards something over my shoulder. “Otherwise known as the love of Jake’s life.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Jake snaps scathingly, glaring at his friend.
I try to turn towards where Dec’s staring, but Jake places his hand on my knee, providing just enough pressure to elicit a tiny gasp from me.
“Don’t you dare,” he warns me.
I grin at his obvious embarrassment. “What do you think I’m going to do? Jump up on the bench and declare that you have a crush on…?” I look to Dec to finish that sentence.
“Desiree,” he answers with a shit-eating grin.
“Desiree.” Ignoring his hand still on my knee, I flick my hair over my shoulder to get a better glimpse of the three girls.
I can’t see them clearly from so far away, but I can tell that they’re beautiful. Flawless, even. One girl stands in front of the other two, and her chestnut-colored hair falls in perfect ringlets down her back. She moves with a grace that suggests she knows how beautiful she truly is…and relishes in the fact. She’sdefinitely not the type of girl I thought Jake would be interested in.
But to each their own.
The ringleader—Desiree, more than likely—says something to the other two that has them both giggling. She then tosses a perfect curl over her shoulder and sashays away, not sparing a glance towards anyone in the cafeteria.