Collateral Damage (21 page)

She sets it on her stack. "What else?"

"I found
Ethan Frome
. That English project I told you about? I borrowed it from the library and thought it would be good to have my own copy."

"You have two." She nods toward the book tucked in my arm.

I have two.

How, exactly, does one explain purchasing two copies of the same book? I could tell the truth—that I'm picking up one for Jaden—but what does that say? It says I like my English partner enough to buy her a book. An expensive book. That I like her enough to look for her in crowded hallways. That I enjoy meeting her in darkened parking lots. That I like feeling her arms wrapped around me.

I swallow hard. "I was comparing them," I lie. "For defects." I return the one in my hand to the table. "It looks like you found a few things," I go on, changing the subject.

"The new shipment came in."

"So...are we ready?"

"We're good," she assures me.

"Good."

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-O
NE

A bag of Sun Chips lands on the table in front of me with a thwack.

"Sorry. I was kind of distracted at lunch," Jaden says, shrugging.

"No one asked you to keep bringing me food," I point out.

"That doesn't keep you from taking it."

Touché
.

She pulls out the chair beside me, and I get a whiff of her perfume—that signature floral that defines her hair, her face, her body. And immediately I'm back in her room, sitting on the edge of her bed. In her car. Passing her in the hallway. It takes every ounce of strength—all of my willpower and determination—not to move closer to her, to breathe her in, to tell her how amazing she smells. How those flowers are like kryptonite, leaving me weak in the knees and lacking in self-control.

"Besides, I thought you liked Sun Chips," she continues.

"I do."

"They're better for you than regular potato chips."

My experience with junk food is limited to what I purchased from snack machines or ate at friends' houses growing up. My mom, though not exactly a "health nut," still managed to make sure my sister and I snacked on decent fare. My dad, on the other hand, was raised further South, where Cokes and Moon Pies were after-school staples. "My dad's not a big fan of either. He's more of a pork rind kind of guy."

Her nose wrinkles. "Ew."

"Tell me about it."

"He should let you do the shopping," she suggests.

"I do the shopping. Pepsi, potted meat, bread, beanie weenies, and pork rinds times fourteen...every week."

Almost true.

My dad was the exception to Mom's rules, and this
is
his list. And though I'd never eat potted meats, I remember the first time he made me a bowl of beanie weenies. I thought I'd died and gone to Heaven.

"Ew," she repeats.

"Sometimes I get lucky and we have a real meal...like Hot Pockets."

"Parker, that's not a real meal."

"That's what happens when two bachelors live together," I tease.

"Two bachelors, huh? Remind me to stay away from your bathroom," she mutters.

I nudge my knee against hers. It's like I can't get close enough to this girl—can't spend enough time with her. "I'm just trying to make you feel sorry for me. Is it working?"

Her eyes roll dramatically. "Yes, I feel completely sorry for you."

I lean back in my chair, satisfied, even if she
is
being sarcastic. "Good. So how are we going to divide up these papers?"

She unzips her bag, removes her notebook and a pen. "Well, we have to do a summary, bio on the author, three character analyses, three themes, and an oral analysis on what we learned," she says, reading the list on our requirements sheet. "Aren't you so glad you have me as your partner to help out?"

There's a smile in her voice.

Is she flirting with me?

"Of course, because God knows I can't complete a project without you," I reply.

She laughs, her eyes shining. Bright. Happy.
And I can't help but think this is exactly when I would've pulled out that copy of
Ethan Frome
. I would've slid it across the table. She would've acted confused, at first. Then she would've refused—saying there's no way she could possibly accept it. But I would've convinced her, and she would've taken it. She would've
loved
it.

"Be serious," she says, punching me playfully in the arm. "You
need
me."

Unfortunately, that's when the library door swings wide, when Blake Hanson enters. I sit up, caught, and even Jaden notices the shift in atmosphere.

"What?" she asks.

I clear my throat, tilt my head toward the door, motioning.

"Jaden?"

Her face pales at the sound of his voice, the color draining from her cheeks, her expression running cold. Whatever was going on—whatever was happening between us—is over.

He strolls toward us, frowning. "What's going on? I waited for you in the parking lot," he says, thumb pointing to the door, accusation woven in his tone.

We're working on a project, asshole
.

"I'm sorry. I, um...I thought you had practice." Jade's voice wavers as she speaks the words. I watch her, surprised at the guilt, the uncertainty in them. How quickly she closed up on me. I don't like this Jaden. This insecure Jaden. This unsure of anything Jaden. I want the Jaden who laughs. Who relaxes. Who sits in her car, talking to me until curfew. Who isn't afraid to climb on the back of motorcycles.
My
motorcycle.

I think I hate Blake Hanson.

"Season's over, remember?"

"Yeah, of course," she says, nodding. "You can sit down if you want." She tries to smile, but it's hard. Forced. The light doesn't reach her eyes. "We're just trying to divide up these assignments, you know, for our English project. We're almost done." She stiffens beside me, pulling away, distancing herself. She clears her throat and must realize that Blake and I haven't properly met, because then says: "Oh. Parker, this is Blake. Blake, this is Parker."

Like I
want
to be introduced to this loser, this guy who just took my English partner away from me.

"What's up?" Blake asks.

"Not much," I reply.

Just sitting here, thinking what a colossal douchebag you are.

"So, what did you decide to do your project on again?" he asks, glaring at me with empty gray eyes. A cold, hard stare. Challenging.

I glare back. "
Ethan Frome
. You?"

"
Animal Farm
," he answers.

"Good choice."

"Yeah. Since we read it in tenth, we figured it would be a piece of cake."

Wow. That's not predictable at all. Doing a project on a book he's already read?

"So, um, topics," Jaden interjects, changing the subject. She tucks her dark hair behind her ears, studies the project sheet, lips pursed. This is awkward enough for her. No need to make it worse.

Blake Hanson isn't worth it.

"Do you want the summary or the author bio?" I ask.

"I'll take either."

"How about I do the summary and you write about the author?"

"Sounds good," she agrees, stealing a quick glance at Blake before writing the note on paper.

What the hell?

Is she really going to sit here and let him make her this nervous? We're working on a
project
.

"Who should our characters be?" she asks.

"There are really only three major characters: Zeena, Mattie, and Ethan. And not to be pushy, but I want Ethan."

"That's fine. If you don't mind doing two of the themes, then I'll take care of Zeena and Mattie."

"That works. What themes did we decide on?"

Blake sits quietly, watching us like some kind of bird of prey. Beady eyes assessing, waiting for us to finish.

She wouldn't have told him about meeting up at Guido's—would she? She wouldn't have said anything about the motorcycle.

It's too crowded at this table. Too hot in this room.

Jaden pours every ounce of attention into her notes, the lines in her forehead furrowing as she concentrates. "I like the idea of winter...and isolation. I mean, I know it was yours, but since I really don't like it—um, winter, I mean—I kind of feel like I relate to Ethan in that way."

"No, it's fine," I assure her. "You can have winter. I'll take something else we talked about, like love, or jealousy or something."

Blake laughs. It's a quiet laugh—subdued—but something I said obviously strikes him as hilarious.

"Is there a
problem,
Hanson?" I demand to know.

"Not at all," he replies, leaning his chair back on two legs, crossing his arms over his chest like the cocky asshole he is.

"Okay, because for a minute there I thought you were in on some little joke I missed or something."

"No." Blake eases his chair back to the floor. "I just wondered why
you
would want to write an essay on
love
."

"It's an important part of the story, Blake," Jaden explains.

He smiles at her—this infuriatingly condescending smile that makes me want to jump across the table and crush my fist against his nose. "It's just not a
guy
topic, that's all."

"Are you implying something?" I ask. "Because if you are say it to my
face
, asshole."

The librarian shushes us from across the room. "Once more and I'm asking you to leave," she warns.

Jaden apologizes. "Guys, stop it, all right? Blake, we're almost finished here. Two minutes," she says, keeping her voice low.

Blake stands, still giggling like the little girl he is. "Fine. I'll be in Non-Fiction."

"Nice guy," I tell her, watching him disappear between shelves. "I hope he doesn't get lost."

"I am
so
sorry," she whispers, pressing fingers into the corners of her eyes. "I don't know what's gotten into him."

"I have a theory or two," I mutter.

"I know."

I glance at her, surprised. And I wonder what theory she's alluding to: that we're partners and he's jealous, or that something is happening between us—something that makes us more than just partners...and he's jealous. Either way, Blake is jealous. But there's a difference between the two, and I wonder if his bitterness is unfounded. Because if it isn't...this might change everything. And now I want to know if she feels that "something," too. I want to know what she's thinking—what she's feeling at this very moment.