“Sometimes. Weed mellows me out.” He sends me a look. “You could stand to try some. Gets you out of your head. Expands your mind and lets you think about other things. More pleasant things.”
I roll my eyes. “That sounds like something a pot smoker would say.”
He chuckles. “I guess I’m a pot smoker then. You sound like my mom.”
That’s probably not a compliment. “Maybe we should talk about our project? The outline?”
“Aren’t we doing exactly that? I’ve got something to add to my differences lists.” He grabs my notebook again and starts to write. “Wren doesn’t drink or smoke weed. Crew does.”
“Shouldn’t you be using your own paper to make your notes?” I ask.
“Oh yeah.” He lifts his head, his amused gaze meeting mine. “I guess I should.”
He’s teasing me. Trying to distract me. On purpose?
Well, it’s working. This feels like just the distraction I need.
I tear the piece of paper out of my notebook and hand it to him. He takes it from me, his fingers brushing mine, electricity sparking between our fingertips. “You should keep this.”
“I’ve already got it up here.” He taps his pen against his temple.
“Really?”
“I remember everything about you, Wren.” His gaze turns serious. “Every single little thing.”
My mouth goes dry as I think of that moment in the back seat of the car. Or the classroom. My gaze drops to his mouth, and I’m filled with the urge to kiss him again. Right here, in the middle of class.
But of course, I don’t. I would never do that. I don’t want people talking. I definitely don’t want anyone knowing about our earlier interactions.
“Want to work on this after school?” he asks, his deep voice breaking through my thoughts.
“Where?” I ask breathlessly.
“The library.”
I should say no. There’s no reason we need to work together on this. I can go back to my room and work on my list for the rest of the afternoon, though it probably wouldn’t even take me that long. I can complete my parts of the outline, so we can put them together tomorrow in class.
Sitting up straighter, I part my lips, ready to turn him down.
“Okay,” is what I say instead.
TWENTY-THREE
CREW
She walks by my side as we head to the library, our pace fast since it just started to snow. More like a freezing rain, which means it’s still cold as fuck, and stings too. At least snow is soft, most of the time.
“Come on,” I tell her, putting my hand at the center of her back and pushing her to pick up the pace. We run the rest of the way, both of us stopping once we’re standing under the overhang in front of the library, Wren brushing the top of her head with her hand, water droplets flying.
“It’s freezing,” she says through chattering teeth, and I don’t even hesitate.
Taking her hand, I pull her into the library, the warmth from inside instantly thawing me out.
“Better?” I ask her.
“Yes.” She drops her hand and glances around the room. It’s one of the original buildings on campus, and it has that musty smell of old books lingering in the air. The ceiling soars high, the shelves tall and filled with so many books it would take someone years to read them all.
There’s hardly anyone in here, and I’m thinking the weather is a deterrent. I never come to the library. I can probably count on one hand the times I’ve been here since I started at Lancaster Prep. Well, maybe two.
“Let’s go to the back,” I suggest.
She frowns. “Why?”
“So we can have privacy.”
“Why do we need privacy?”
“We’re talking about some personal stuff, Birdy. You want everyone to find out about your deepest, darkest secrets?”
Her expression turns stricken. “No. But that means I don’t want them blabbed during our presentation either.”
“We’ll keep it surface-level. Don’t worry. Come on.” I flick my head in the direction I want to go and start walking. She falls into step beside me. “You come here a lot?”
“Not really. I used to more when I was younger. I’d hang out in here with my friends and Miss Taylor would get mad at us,” she says, referring to the librarian. “She’d always shush us.”
“She’s older than dirt. I think she’s been here for two hundred years.”
“Maybe she’s a zombie,” Wren suggests.