I hadn’t realized that I was leading him toward the newspaper classroom until we were there in front of it, and I paused, awkwardly playing with the silver ring on my right hand as I gestured to the door. “This is Journalism,” I told him, gesturing at the door, and I realized that I was waiting for him to show some sign of recognition. Blythe had said he might remember one day, and while she’d been convinced it would be a “pain in the ass,” I thought maybe—just maybe—it would be a good thing.
Ducking his head to look inside the little window set in the door, David raised his eyebrows.
“Cool. What’s your school paper like? I love that kind of thing.”
My heart felt so full it seemed like there couldn’t be any room left in my chest. “It’s good,” I told him, “although the last editor was kind of a jerk.”
He snorted at that, reaching up to push his glasses up his nose. It was the most familiar gesture in the world, and I found myself looking into his eyes. His blue, blue eyes fringed by long lashes. Just regular eyes in a regular face on a regular boy.
“So what do you do around here?” he asked, and I folded my arms, giving a little shrug. “Everything, really,” I told him. “Cheerleading, a few committees, SGA president . . .”
That made one corner of his mouth kick up. There had been a time when I would have kissed that spot, just where a little dimple formed. I couldn’t do that now, of course.
But it wouldn’t always be that way. I believed that with all my heart.
“SGA president, huh?” he asked. “So can I call you Pres?”
It took me a second to reply, but when I did, my smile was so big, it actually hurt my face.
“Yeah. Yeah, you can.”
12
