Woke Up Like This(80)

I blink, mortified. “I definitely wasn’t staring at Renner.”

“It’s okay, Char. Really. I’m not mad.” He gives me a look as if to say, The jig is up. It’s cool.



Unable to admit it, I press my hands over my face. “I’m sorry, Clay. I don’t know what to say. I’ve had a crush on you for literally ever and—” I don’t know where my courage comes from. Maybe it’s the fact that I probably won’t see him again after we leave high school. And maybe it’s because I’m starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, the awkwardness I feel around him isn’t solely about nerves like I’ve always thought. Maybe it’s because we simply don’t have a spark between us.

“Yeah. I kind of got that impression. I’ve always wondered why you didn’t just talk to me.”

I hide my face. “I’m sorry. I just always felt awkward, I guess? Even today when you picked me up, you were perfect and I just . . . I don’t know. I didn’t feel anything,” I admit.

He looks a little relieved when I say it. “It’s fine, Charlotte. I totally agree. Friends?”

I nod. “Friends.”

I wander out to the hallway for some air, stopping to take my heels off.

The painted brick wall of last year’s graduating class catches my eye as I unfasten the buckle on the strap. The bricks remind me I still have to write the time capsule letter to myself for graduation next week.

In only a few days, I’ll be saying goodbye to this school and these people forever. Mom once described high school as a “trip”—a passage of time that feels tediously slow, but also lightning fast. After chasing perfect grades, the next homework assignment, the next school event, it’s hard to believe all those mini goalposts have culminated in four whole years.

As I amble barefoot to my locker, the click of dress shoes against tiles echoes behind me.

It’s Renner. He’s taken his suit jacket off, as well as his tie, and he’s rolled his sleeves to his forearms. The disheveled-business-intern look is annoyingly sexy.

When I turn around, he clears his throat and says, “I want you to be happy.”



I triple blink and lean closer to ensure I’ve heard him correctly.

He continues. “In the limo, you asked why I can’t let you be happy. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

I lower my chin, unable to compute. The sincerity of his voice doesn’t match my recollection. “Then why would you kiss me if you had a date to prom already? What was your plan? To outdo freshman homecoming or something? To hook up with me and then take another girl to prom?”

Red-faced, he runs his hands down both cheeks. “No! For Christ’s sake, Char. Stop being your stubborn-ass self for one second and listen to me.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “I’m listening.”

He levels me with his gaze. “You’re the only person I ever wanted to take to prom. The only one.”

“Since when?”

“The first day of school.”

“How am I supposed to believe that?”

He runs his hands through his hair, the fluorescent light above casting a white glow over his face. “First period. Freshman year. I asked you for a pencil every single day as an excuse to talk to you.”

I squint at him, blinking slowly. “You did that just to talk to me?”

“You thought I actually lost every pencil you gave me?” he scoffs, nudging me aside to open his locker. He reaches into its depths and pulls out a bundle of my mechanical pencils. They’re tied together with a rubber band. I stare at them, breathless, as he places the bundle in my hand. “I kept them. Of course I kept them,” he tells me.

How is this even possible? How has he kept every single pencil all this time? “But—but what about homecoming?”

“I think we both already know the answer to that.”

A feeling of familiarity blooms. Does he mean what I think he means? Did we have this conversation before?

He watches me intently, waiting for me to respond. Right then, Andie rushes down the hallway. “J. T.! They’re announcing the royal court!”





THIRTY-NINE



Ms. Chouloub looks like an announcer at the Oscars, proudly clutching the envelope with the results, officially tabulated by Mr. Hamilton, head of the math department.

She clears her throat into the mic, which gets everyone’s attention. It’s all-out anarchy as everyone crowds around the stage like groupies at a rock concert. Those at the front even bang their fists in a drumroll as Ms. Chouloub struggles to rip the envelope open with her acrylic nails.

From my perch on the sidelines, I search the swelling crowd for my predicted winners—Kassie and Ollie—but fail to spot them. Everything is a blur. To be fair, my mind is on overload. I still haven’t finished processing my conversation with Renner.

Ms. Chouloub finally opens the envelope, and her face breaks into a wide grin as she reads the results. “And your prom king is . . . J. T. Renner!” she bellows into the microphone. The gym explodes with rowdy applause as Renner parts the crowd with his megawatt smile, sauntering to the stage like a rockstar accepting a Grammy.

I’ll admit, I’m a little bit surprised. I mean, Renner was always a top pick. But I assumed it would be Ollie, given he’s MHS’s football star and Kassie’s boyfriend.