Bright Before Sunrise (4 page)

Miller tilts her head as she considers this. “Fair enough. All right,
estudiantes
, hand in those worksheets and have a great weekend. I’ll see you all on
Lunes
.”

There’s the usual
adios
es, “have a good weekend”s, and
gracias
es during the scramble for the classroom door.

A girl with pearls and a ponytail touches my arm as I exit the room. I look from her hand to her face and raise my eyebrows. She removes her fingers and smiles tentatively. “You could’ve paired with us, you know. Maybe next time?”

I just stare at her.

The girl’s smile fades to a scowl. “Or maybe not.”

I stay silent, just like my phone. She takes the hint and leaves.

Why hasn’t Carly answered me? I can’t think of anything I’ve done to earn her silent treatment—
again
. I push
my way through the hallway congested with people making plans and wasting time. I pull out my phone’s battery and reinsert it, hoping it’s a glitch in the programming or it needs to be reset. It’s old, so either of these is possible. The two minutes it takes to reload are painful.

I have a new text message. I curb the urge to fist pump and click on it. Carly.

How soon can U get here?

I do a victory slam of my palm against my locker—the door pops open. So much for Brighton’s fix. But who cares? I exhale as I shut the door. It’s more than forty-eight hours till I’ll have to open it again or walk the halls of a school that’ll never feel like mine.

I make my way to my ten-year-old blue Accord, climb in, and wait impatiently in a line of tricked-out Benzes and BMWs for my turn to make the left down Main Street and drive the two miles to Mom and Paul’s subdivision.

ASAP
I text Carly, and fight the urge to blare my horn at the Escalade in front of me where a blonde is holding up traffic to lean out her window and kiss a guy in a CPHS baseball shirt.

“As soon as possible” is not soon enough.

6
 
 
Brighton
 
 
2:15 P.M.

Amelia pulls me to the side of the hall as soon as class is over. “Let’s go get mochas and talk. I know you’re stressing.”

“Can’t. Friday—manicures with Mom.” My answer is quick, my mind immediately shuttering off tempting thoughts of sinking into a cozy chair at Bean Haven and having an honest conversation with Amelia. “Thanks, though.”

“I think she’d understand if you wanted to skip this week.”

“I really can’t. I can’t mess with her routine right now. She’s …” I flutter my hand and try to think of the right word, “fragile.”

“And you’re not? B, you—”

“Brighton! There you are!” Silvia’s a sophomore, but I work with her on yearbook and dance committees. She moves a million miles an hour—both on and off the soccer field—and speaks everything with exclamation points. Her energy is contagious … normally. “Did you get my texts? I need help on my lab report!”

Amelia frowns. “We’re kinda in the middle of something.”

“Oh, sorry! I know, it’s Friday afternoon—finally! You probably want to leave. It’s not due till Monday. Want me to e-mail what I have and we can meet up tomorrow?”

“Can’t you ask someone else?” Amelia suggests. I know the hand she’s put on my arm is supposed to be supportive, but it feels like yet another weight, another demand, another expectation.

“Mr. Leland told me to ask Brighton. But I guess if you don’t want to …” I hope the statement ends with “I’ll ask someone else” or “I’ll figure it out,” but Silvia just shrugs and sighs.

“She doesn’t.”

“Amelia!” I exclaim.

Silvia takes a step backward, but I protest, “It’s all right. Really, it’s okay. Show me now.” I squeeze Amelia’s arm and give her an apologetic look. “Have fun tonight with Peter.”

“Call me later.” It’s a command, and I nod before I follow Silvia toward the computer lab.

“Brighton!” Jake Murphy calls down the hall. “What time should I be at the library on Sunday?”

I don’t want to yell, so I hold up eight fingers.

“Eight a.m.? You’re killing me,” he bellows.

“I try,” I say, shooting finger guns in his direction.

This earns me one of his booming laughs and a “For
you
, my coffee and I will be there. Large. Coffee.”

Ellie Cooper stops me next, and it’s hard to maintain a smile. Just this once I’d like to get from point A to point B without having twenty conversations. Invisibility sounds
like the most desirable of superpowers—I’ll have to ask Peter which radioactive creature needs to bite me.

“B, I’m going to be a little late on Sunday. Tennis lesson.”

“That’s okay. We’ll probably be at the library until noonish.”

“Great! I’ll be there by ten. At the latest. Who’s coming?”

The list is at the bottom of my bag—and if I pull it out, she’ll want to talk about everyone on it. So I wink. “Wait and see.”

“You’re the worst. Ugh, okay, I guess I’ll be patient. Oh, almost forgot, Mr. Donnelly wants to see you before you leave.”

“He does?” Mr. Donnelly is the Key Club advisor. I’m sure it’s nothing, just some last-minute reminders about the book project, but it’s yet another thing between me and my car. I pull on a smile. “Thanks, Ellie. See you Sunday.”

Three interruptions later, we finally reach the empty computer lab. Silvia inserts a thumb drive and pulls up her lab report. My chest tightens when I look at the screen. She’s normally a good student, but her equations are a mess. This isn’t going to be simple or fast. I look at the clock and pull out chairs.

“Silvie, this is kind of …”

“A disaster?” she suggests. Laughs. Then drops her head into her hands. “Ugh, I know! I was just so distracted!”

“Well, it shouldn’t take us too long. Let’s get started.” I scroll down the pages looking for something to compliment. I know from yearbook that Silvia needs to hear something positive before a negative. “Your conclusion is solid; we just need to swap around some of the chemical names and results in the procedure so they match.”

“Yeah, I copied most of that from Izzie. I just
couldn’t
pay attention today!”

“Then we’ll need to change the wording, or Mr. Leland will notice.” I take the mouse and start this process.

She sighs. “Sorry! You’re probably totally impatient to get out of here. But, honestly,
this
is not my fault. Anyone would have flaked in my situation.” She looks at me and raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to ask.

I swallow my sigh and let go of the mouse. “Everything okay?”

“Adrian! Forrester!” She says this like it’s an answer, but I’m not sure how it matches my question. When I shrug, she continues. “Do you know him? Super tall? Super blond? Super
hot
? Both our lab partners were absent, so Mr. Leland paired us up for this …”

She stops talking and stares dreamily at the computer screen.

“And?” I prompt.

“Oh! And nothing.” She frowns. “But,
gah
, he’s too adorable! He’s wearing this yellow polo today, with a blue stripe that is the
exact
same color as his eyes. How am I supposed to pay attention when he’s wearing that? And he was telling Max at the next table about his new car—he just got his license. I’d die to be his copilot!”

I don’t have time to be relationship therapist
and
chemtutor, so I offer the obvious solution and hope we can move on. “So, why don’t you ask him out?”

Silvia laughs and plays with the mouse. “Yeah, right! We’re not all
you
. I could never. When it comes to Adrian, I’m just …
hopeless
!”

I’m not going to bite this time. I’m not going to play
Who’s More Popular or list the reasons any guy would be lucky to date her. I know she expects this, and it would only take a blink to conjure up the words.

But I can’t. I just can’t.

“Well, then, let’s focus on something less hopeless, like getting you an A on this lab.”

It’s kinder than what I’m thinking—
it must be nice to have your biggest problem be a hot lab partner
—but my tone is sharper than I intend.

Silvia’s face crumples. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you. You can go. I’ll—I’ll stop being so stupid and figure it out.”

My stomach clenches. Hurting her feels like punching myself in the gut. “Oh, Silvie,
I’m
sorry. That came out wrong.” I give her a one-armed hug and say what I should have said the first time. “Any guy would be lucky to have someone as adorable, funny, and wonderful as you. Your snickerdoodles alone would make most guys drool—combine those with how pretty you are, and how nice? If Adrian hasn’t noticed, then
he’s
the one who’s stupid.”

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.” But there aren’t exclamation points on these sentences. She turns her face toward the screen. “I’ll get started so you can get out of here.”

I’m trying not to watch the clock, and not to guess how long everything will take. I’m impatient—I don’t want to keep repeating myself for Silvia or go make small talk with Mr. Donnelly—and knowing that makes me feel worse. I
adore
Silvie. I
like
tutoring. I
love
organizing service projects.

At least, I usually do. I should probably apologize again, make sure she’s okay, but she’s finally focusing on the
computer screen and it’s taking all my energy not to clench my hands into fists, so I don’t interrupt.

“Great!” I tell her. “You’re getting it.”

My job is purely moral support, company, and prompts to keep going. A talking doll could do this job—probably better than I could, since a doll wouldn’t have snapped at Silvia. A doll wouldn’t make Silvia feel like she had to apologize for every question or thank me for every answer.

It takes me until she hits print to convince her that
I don’t mind
, that
she’s not stupid
, and
really, I’m not annoyed with you. How could anyone be annoyed with you?

Silvia thanks me
again
, and hugs me. “I mean it, B. You’re the best! I’m so glad I don’t have to worry about this over the weekend.”

“Anytime.” I hug her back. “But I should get going if I’m going to catch Mr. Donnelly before he leaves.”

As I walk down the hall I catch sight of a tall guy wearing a yellow polo with a blue stripe standing at a locker. I’m only two doors from Mr. Donnelly’s room, but I’m still suffocating on computer lab guilt, so I pause and smile at him.

“Hi! Adrian, right?”

He looks startled, then grins. “Yeah. Hey, Brighton. I didn’t know you knew me—I guess from that animal-shelter thing earlier in the year?”

“Of course!” I agree. “Anyway, could you do me a quick favor? Please?”

“For you? Yeah. Sure! What’s up?” He pops the tab on a can of Red Bull and takes a sip.

“Do you know Silvia Lombardo?”

“Tall, bouncy girl with brown hair? She’s in my chem
class.” His locker is still open, and it’s a mess of energy drinks, papers, Sharpies, and a trio of Cross Pointe High hooded sweatshirts.

“Great! I forgot to tell her what time Key Club is meeting Sunday, and I’m already late for a meeting with Mr. Donnelly. Would it be a huge inconvenience if I ask you to run back to the computer lab and tell her it’s at eight a.m.?”

“Is that the library thing? I’m going to that.”

“Fabulous!” His name is so not on the list in my bag, but I’ll take all the recruits I can get—plus, Silvia will be thrilled. “And did I hear you just got your license?”

“Yeah. Yesterday.” He blinks and stands a little taller, leans toward me. “I can finally use the parking space my parents reserved for me. Crazy, right? Them paying for a space I only get to use a dozen times before summer break—not that I’m complaining.”

I’m supposed to giggle or roll my eyes at his parents’ excess, but really I want to yank the Red Bull from his hand and chug it. Hope that there’s enough caffeine in the can to get me from now until whenever I can collapse on my bed.

I giggle.

“You know—” He shifts his weight and puts a hand on my arm. “I’m old for a sophomore. My parents kept me back in kindergarten, so I’m practically a junior. If you want to see my car—”