The girls had been writing back and forth in Melody’s spiral, and when they turned their backs, Boyce slid the notebook to our side of the table to read it.
‘Cut it out, man,’ I whispered. ‘What the f**k.’ I moved to push it back, but he held an elbow up, blocking me.
Eyes wide, he pointed to the feminine scrawl that I recognized as Melody’s. I shook my head, and his brows elevated. ‘Look, dude. Seriously.’
I scanned the page and read, Is it just me, or is Landon Maxfield OMFG HOT this year??? Holy. HELL.
But you have CLARK, Pearl had written beneath this pronouncement.
Melody replied, I can look, can’t I? Switch chairs with me. I want to sit across from him.
I glanced at the back of Melody’s head, her silky blonde hair hanging straight and heavy down her back to brush the tabletop. It covered her ears today, hiding the side of her face from view. She remained diagonally across the table from me. Pearl had shaken her head, frowning, at some point in this written conversation – probably here. There was no reply from her in the notebook.
Dangit, Pearl. What kind of wingwoman are you? Melody wrote.
The kind that will keep you from making a big mistake. Duh. Pearl replied.
I rotated the notebook and pushed it back where it had been, my thoughts spinning, while Boyce pretended to grab his dick and whack off, complete with facial expressions of ecstasy. I punched him in the arm and his stool unbalanced itself and slid out from under him, crashing to the ground and making us the centre of attention. Landing on his feet, he tried to punch me back, but I brought my stool forward and leaned out of his reach.
‘Mr Wynn has decided to demonstrate what happens when someone violates the class rule concerning keeping all four legs of our lab stools firmly and safely on the ground.’ Mr Quinn sighed loudly. The rest of the class chuckled as Boyce righted his stool and sat, scowling.
‘Assclown,’ Melody muttered.
‘Do you need medical assistance, Mr Wynn?’ Mr Quinn pressed, enjoying the moment of interest and popularity his lectures never generated.
‘No, sir, Mr Quinn. My ass – and other important parts – are all in working order. It’s just OMFG hot in here. Holy hell.’ The class roared with laughter and Mr Quinn attempted to restore order.
Melody narrowed her pale eyes at him, and one second later they went wide in realization. Her gaze snapped to me and her lips fell apart as her face flamed red. I stared at her glossy pink lips and then back into her eyes. Grabbing her notebook, she slammed the cover shut and turned round with it in her hands.
I punched Boyce again, he fell off his stool again, and Quinn sent us to the office with yellow slips that would result in detention.
‘Jesus, Wynn.’ I twitched the hair out of my eyes as we left the classroom.
‘What? You didn’t wanna know that your favourite little piece of ass thinks you’re –’
I turned and slammed him into a locker and he threw his hands up. ‘Fuck me. Dude, don’t go losin’ your shit over a girl like her –’
‘And Pearl Frank is any different?’ I shot back, turning to march towards the office – and Ingram, who’d be thrilled shitless to see the two of us, no doubt.
He sighed and followed, our boots echoing in the otherwise empty hallway. ‘I’m realistic, man. I just wanna do her. I know I can’t have more than that.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Oh, but doing her is completely possible.’
He grinned. ‘Hell, yeah. I’m Boyce Fucking Wynn. Anything is possible.’
I couldn’t help but laugh, pulling the office door open. He didn’t even hear what he’d just said. In one breath he insisted that all we were to girls like Melody and Pearl was a good f**k, and in the next, anything was possible.
I was holding out for the latter.
‘Ain’t you ’bout to be sixteen?’ Grandpa said to me, the night before my birthday.
‘Yeah, Grandpa.’ I waited for the punch line. With Grandpa, there was almost always a punch line to these sorts of queries.
‘I didn’t know if you were wantin’ a flouncy pink dress or somethin’ to go with that earring.’ He chuckled to himself and I smirked.
‘Pink’s not really my colour. But thanks.’
He was showing me his secret weapon to chewy box brownies – adding one less egg.
‘Your grandmother never could figure out how my brownies came out better’n hers,’ he said, and I laughed.
‘You kept your secret a secret from Grandma?’ My father’s mother had died when Dad was in high school, so I’d never known her.
‘Hell, yeah, I did! She did try to wheedle it outta me, God love her.’ His eyes glazed over, reminiscing. I stared into the bowl and beat the ingredients together, giving him his private moment. As I stirred, he leaned closer. ‘The ladies love chocolate. Don’t ever forget that, boy. If you can provide homemade chocolate, all the better. This secret will getcha out of the doghouse, guaranteed. Mark my words.’
‘Grandpa – this isn’t actually homemade.’
He harrumphed. ‘Close enough.’ I layered the creamy mixture into the pan he’d made me butter with my bare hands – which was kind of gross. ‘That butter’ll crisp it up. Get it into all the corners,’ he’d said.
Once they were baking, he asked, ‘What we were talkin’ about? Oh, yeah. Your ever-advancin’ age.’ He snickered and I rolled my eyes when he wasn’t looking. Still waiting for that punch line.