You and Me and Him (2 page)

“Tom was telling me about all the amazing places he’s lived,” Nash says as we sit down. “Atlanta, Chicago, Honolulu, Las Vegas.” Nash puts up a finger for each one. “Nine different schools!”

“I’m going for an even dozen.” Tom gives me a smile that I am pretty sure has broken hearts in every one of those places.

“So are you some sort of fugitive?” I pull the top off my yogurt. “Or do you have some rare geographical ADD condition?”

Tom laughs, a throaty chuckle that makes my stomach do a little flip. I remind myself that Nash has dibs and try to ignore the flush of heat climbing my neck.

“No, nothing sinister or medical. And if anyone has ADD in my family, it’s my dad. Let’s just say he has a short attention span where employment is concerned. He’s kind of a computer whiz. Does consulting for all these different companies. He takes a job, finishes a project or gets bored with it, and then moves on to the next best thing. We get dragged along in his wake.”

“That must be so cool,” Nash says.

“That must be tough,” I say at the same time. We look at each other, laughing. “It’s just . . . I’ve lived here my whole life. It’s weird to think of being always new, always unknown.”

“But that’s the beauty of it!” Nash says. “You’re always mysterious. You get to reinvent yourself every time you move. Nobody knows who you are, or who your parents are, or anything about your life.”

I know Nash is thinking about his own family. And the thing about living in a town the size of Cedar Ridge is everyone knows Nash’s story, or thinks they do. He can’t escape it.

Cece and her friend Mike come to the table. No trays. Mike’s got a brown bag and Cece’s holding her Pokémon lunch box. I’ve never figured out if the lunch box is ironic or an authentically geeky move on Cece’s part.

“Hey, Maggie. Hi, Nash,” Cece says. She glances at Tom, but really only has eyes for Nash.

I make the introductions. “Cece. Mike. This is Tom.”

“I like your lunch box.” Tom flashes her that smile. I wonder if he’s making fun of her, but it seems like he’s sincere.

“Thanks.” Cece goes bright red.

“Is it vintage?” Tom asks.

“If by vintage you mean I’ve had it since elementary school.”

“Cool,” Tom says.

Cece waits, fiddling with the yellow plastic handle, Mike lurking behind her. Mike doesn’t seem pleased with the stop at Nash’s table. He’s been not so secretly in love with Cece for a long time, but she’s oblivious to this fact. Mike likes Cece, who likes Nash, who likes Tom, who likes . . . ? Who knows who Tom likes? The endless cycle of high school romance is like that mythological snake eating its own tail.

“We can make room if you guys want to sit down,” I say, grateful for a chance to not be the third wheel.

Nash gives me a look that makes it clear he doesn’t want Cece sitting down. Not today.

Mike gives Cece a similar look.

“Thanks, but we’re going to eat on the steps. I want to enjoy the sunshine while I can,” Cece says. “Call me later, Maggie?”

I nod and turn my attention back to Tom and Nash.

“Maggie and I are going to travel after we graduate, get out of this town. Aren’t we, Mags?” Nash says, picking up the conversation right where Cece interrupted it.

“That’s the plan,” I say, dipping my spoon into my yogurt and taking a bite.

“Really? Where do you want to go?” Tom asks me, but Nash answers.

“We are definitely going to Paris, for one. And London. God save the queen! Far away. Anywhere but here.”

Nash and I discuss this plan all the time, and I know it keeps him from wanting to throw himself off a bridge when Cedar Ridge threatens to crush him under its small-town weight. I do want to travel, to all those places and more, but I don’t ache to leave like he does.

“I went to England a couple years ago,” Tom says.

“Really?” Nash says. “Did you hear that, Maggie?”

I nod, trying to fly under the radar, stay small.

Nash grabs a napkin and starts sketching. He does that when he’s nervous sometimes. Nash is one of those natural artists, so even a napkin drawing from him is worth keeping.

“I’m dying to visit London, soak up all that British Invasion, punk rock vibe. I bet you can tell us all the cool places to go.” Nash is in full gush mode, sketching and rambling, and he doesn’t notice the creep of pink climbing up Tom’s neck and cheeks. He finishes his drawing: the queen standing in front of the London Eye and holding a pint of beer. He hands it to Tom, who grins.

“Wow! This is amazing! Thanks.” He smoothes out the napkin and sets it next to his lunch.

“So what did you do when you were there?” Nash asks.

“I, um, well, I was kind of young, only eleven.” The blush is back, and Tom sputters a little. He starts gnawing on the nail on his middle finger. He’s trying hard to avoid saying something.

Nash and I both wait. Nash because he asked the question, and me because I am curious about what Tom’s hiding.

Finally Tom spills. “Um, we saw lots of medieval stuff—you know, the Tower of London, knights, castles, that kind of thing.” He’s looking at us like he hopes we’ll fill in the blanks and save him from having to explain the rest.

We’re nodding, but it’s clear we aren’t getting it.

Tom sighs. “I was in sort of a Dungeons and Dragons stage, pretty much obsessed with the Middle Ages, weapons, armor, all that. Every guy goes through that, right?”

Tom and I both look at Nash, realizing at the same time that this phase of adolescent manhood passed him by.

“Okay, maybe not everyone, but I grew out of it. I’m not into D&D anymore. I quit after I got passed over as Dungeon Master.”

“Dungeon Master?” Nash and I ask at the same time, but Tom holds up a hand.

“That’s a story for another time,” he says. “I’ve already humiliated myself enough for a first day of school, and I should know—I’ve had nine of them.” He points his finger back and forth at Nash and me. “Besides, now you both owe me.” He leans back, crossing his arms like he’s won some kind of prize.

Nash and I exchange glances.

“Owe you?” I ask.

“An embarrassing story or fact about yourself. One each.”

Nash starts to protest, but Tom puts one hand on Nash’s arm and holds up his other one to silence him. Nash stops talking. Typically nobody can shush him.

“Not now, but soon,” Tom says.

Nash looks at Tom’s hand on his arm and nods. They start talking about other things: plans for after school, which teachers to avoid.

I keep watching Tom. He’s pretty, but there’s something more going on under there, something different. He’s really listening to Nash, leaning in, keeping eye contact. He’s not looking around for an escape route or scoping out his other options. Not yet. A guy who’s been to that many schools knows that hanging with Nash and me is not the best he could do. Yet here he is. Why? That’s what I want to know. I stare at Tom, mulling over his motivations, when I hear my name.

“Maggie?” The voice comes from behind me.

I recognize it right away, even though I haven’t heard it in a while: Kayla Hill.

“Maggie, is that you?” she says, like we haven’t gone to the same school for a decade.

“Kayla,” I say, my voice cautious. Kayla is at the top of the food chain, no mistake. Her end-of-summer tan stands out against a bright yellow sundress that hugs her curves. Her whole being screams popular. I wonder why she’s decided to go slumming by talking to Nash and me—then I see her wide brown eyes laser-focused over my head at Tom.

“How have you been?” Kayla coos. “It’s been so long!”

“Yeah,” I say. “About four years.”

Kayla laughs this little laugh that sounds like a bell ringing and kind of swats at my arm like I’m a real kidder. But we both know it’s been at least that long since Kayla and I spoke.

“Hi, Nash,” she says, polite but not friendly, then reaches out her hand to Tom. “And I don’t believe we’ve met,” she says. “I’m Kayla.” Tom shakes her hand.

“Tom.” He smiles that killer smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“You’re new, right? I’m on the new student orientation committee.” Kayla smiles back at Tom, and their combined wattage is overpowering. “If you need anything, you let me know.” Her voice is warm and inviting, like caramel, and I remember for a moment what it feels like to bask in Kayla’s glow.

“Will do,” Tom says.

“Bye for now,” she says, waving, and sashays over to some long-lost friends at another table. We all watch her walk away. This is her superpower. It’s like she excretes some sort of mind-numbing pheromone that encourages lesser beings to follow her every move and forget everyone else around them. What surprises me is the bristle of anger and jealousy that runs across my scalp as Tom checks her out.

Kayla and I were sort of friends through sixth grade. I guess everyone in our class kind of got along until then. But around that time, someone made the decision that Kayla was boy-girl party, A-list material and I wasn’t. Lines were drawn, and I landed on the wrong side of the cool/not cool divide. Kayla decided to go along with the horde and dropped me like I was a rabid hedgehog. She just stopped knowing me. And she stopped being the kind of person I wanted to know.

“Maggie,” Nash says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Maggie.”

“Huh?” I say. They are both looking at me.

“Tom was asking you about your afternoon schedule,” Nash says through somewhat clenched teeth. He’s irritated that I haven’t been hanging on their every word.

“Oh, um, honors bio and PE.”

“Me too,” Tom says, bumping me with his shoulder. “Cool!”

I wince at the thought of another tortuous semester of PE, and Tom’s expression changes. Nash kicks me under the table.

“Sorry. It’s not you. One of the PE teachers loathes me.” I kick Nash back. Tom nods, but he doesn’t look convinced.

By the time lunch is over, I’m ready to escape to my locker, but Tom asks if he can walk to bio with me. People stop to look at him, so we have to navigate the halls by dodging gawking clusters of the curious.

“Small town,” I say by way of explanation.

He hovers his hand protectively near my back and leans in so he can hear my running commentary. I see why Nash laid claim to this one.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been the new guy a lot.” We sit down at one of the back lab tables.

“No way!” I hear Kayla Hill’s voice for the second time that day. “We have another class together, Maggie?” We had history together before lunch. Kayla ignored me in that class.

“Yeah.” I dig in my bag for a pencil. “Cool.”

“Hey, Tom, I don’t have a lab partner yet.” Kayla indicates an empty table up front.

“Oh, thanks, but I’m going to partner with Maggie,” Tom says.

“That’s great.” Kayla smiles at me but wilts a little. “As long as you’re taken care of.”

“I think Maggie will take good care of me,” Tom says. Now they are both smiling at me like it’s my turn to say something.

“Uh, yeah,” I say. “Totally taken care of.”

“Okay, well, see you!” Kayla waves her little wave and takes her perky little butt back to her seat. I rummage around in my bag again, this time searching for my calculator. When I look up, Tom’s eyes are on me, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh.

“What?” I say, rubbing my face and running my tongue over my teeth in case I have remnants of yogurt lingering.

“Nothing. Just trying to figure things out.”

“Figure things out?”

“Yeah. New town. New school. It takes a couple days to put it all together.”

“Only a couple days?” I’m hoping Tom won’t be one of those guys who decide who you are in the first five minutes.

“Usually,” he says. “Sometimes a little longer.”

“I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’m still trying to figure things out. Must be nice to understand it all in less than a week.”

“I didn’t say I’d understand it all. But schools start to look alike after a while, and so do the people.”

“Flattering,” I say. “So we’re all just clones of people you knew at other schools?”

“Not exactly clones. And there are always exceptions. Nash, for example. And you. You’re definitely not a clone.”

I stare at him, wavering between pleasure at not being lumped in with the other Cedar Ridge robots and irritation that he thinks he’s already figured me out.

“Maybe if you took longer than thirty seconds to get to know people, they might surprise you.” I open my notebook, flipping through the pages. The pen sitting on the notebook flies up, arcing over Tom and hitting the floor.

“Good.” Tom picks up the pen and hands it to me with a flourish. “I love surprises.”

Tom falls into step beside me as we swing into the hallway after class. “Look, I’m sorry if I—”

“Don’t sweat it,” I say, smiling and speeding up a bit. I can’t be late to PE on my first day.

“You in a hurry?” Tom says, matching my pace. “I thought you hated PE?”

“I do. But I hate detention more, and Ms. Perry despises me. If I suit up late, she sends me straight down—do not pass ‘go,’ do not collect two hundred dollars.”

“Ah, the bitchy PE teacher. A high school archetype,” Tom says.

“The skinny, bitchy PE teacher who exercises excessively to make herself forget that what she really wants is a brownie. With nuts.”

“So, why does she hate you?”

I know why Ms. Perry hates me. She hates me because I’m one of those girls who eat the brownie. I glance at him, squeezing my science notebook tight against my body. Nash claimed Tom, so there’s no need for me to impress him. That doesn’t mean I’m going to freely discuss my flaws and nutritional choices with a cute guy I just met.

“Who knows? Maybe she’s scared of my intellectual prowess. Maybe she can’t handle my epic dance moves. Who cares? She’s crazy.” I stop at the entrance to the girls’ locker room. “You’re down there. Next door on the right. The one that says ‘Boys,’” I add.

“Good to know.” Tom backs down the hall a few paces. “See you inside.”

He pauses at the next door, pointing; his eyebrows raise in question. I give him a thumbs-up and descend into the PE locker room, which may not be actual high school hell, but it’s certainly one of its waiting rooms.