Alley-Oops I Think I'm Falling in Love (With the Wrong Guy)

[8] H.A.G.S.

My ears piqued at this. I was one of those people. I lived on the other side of the railroad tracks.

"What?" I asked, lowering my book.

Both boys exchanged looks, weirded out, like I had just appeared out of no where.

"What are the boundaries for Crestwood?" I clarified.

My body does this weird thing where it redirects moisture from my mouth to my palms when I get nervous. Yeah, well, I started rubbing my palms up and down my thighs in hopes to mitigate this.

"Uhh... the railroad tracks on 3rd...Why?" Taylor asked. Roscoe looked bored of the conversation already.

I shrugged and pulled my book back into my lap, but inside I was panicking.

I was going to Crestwood.

Not Indian Hills with everyone else. Not Indian Hills with my singular lady friend—my day one, my ride or die, my cousin Nala. I'd been counting on that to get me through middle school. I'd been waiting for it for years.

Roscoe finished his worksheet and flicked my paper towards Taylor.

Looking around, he slipped his pencil into the pocket of his ice blue Jordan shorts and muttered, "I'm gonna go convince Preston to move."

He melted off his seat like a worm and slunk across the room, careful to avoid Mr. Powell's occasional room scans. Two seconds later, he popped up next to Preston like a prairie dog.

I could feel my emotions bubbling over — my breathing was speeding up and the flood gates wanted to crumble. Any second now, Taylor would finish up and then I could put my head down, have some privacy, and collect myself.

It was fine. It'd be fine. Who needs their best friend anyway?

I lifted the book as close to my face as I could without it being weird, which meant that it was probably weird.

Taylor stopped writing, "You live over there?"

I didn't look up or lower the book. I started tapping my foot and tried to focus on the rhythm, which was something I'd always done when I felt anxiety coming on.

I shot him a sideways glance, Taylor was watching my foot jiggle, seeming as if he were in no particular hurry to follow after Roscoe. After a moment, he sensed I was looking at him and he met my eye.

Since when did he care? "Yeah." I answered.

He winced. "For real?"

I nodded painfully.

"That blows big blue monkey balls." He said, with all the sincerity a teenage boy could muster.

Weird flex, but yeah, okay...

Seeing as he typically had the attention span of a gold fish, I thought that'd be the end of it. But a few minutes later, he put down his pencil and said, "You and Preston should be friends over there, he's cool. We should all hang out this summer."

My foot stopped tapping.

The tiniest sliver of hope penetrated that wall of doom and gloom that had encircled my 12 year old brain. No one from school had ever asked me to hang out before, let alone Sprucefield's favorite heart throb.

I brushed a few stray strands of hair out of my face and tried to play it cool, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He chuckled, "You know where my house is?"

I wrinkled my nose. I couldn't resist pointing out how ridiculous that sounded, "How would I know where you live, Taylor?"

He smiled sheepishly and waggled a finger at me, "Touché."

Lest I come off too harsh, I added, "Besides, you're the groupie, not me."

He studied me for a second, then yanked me into a bear hug. It was so abrupt that he knocked my book out of my hands and it clattered to the floor. "I'm gonna miss this, Aria. Stay spicy, okay?"

Before I could answer, he hit me with an anaconda squeeze, which forced all the wind out of my lungs, and cracked my back.

Just as quick, he limp-fished to the floor and disappeared beneath the desks.

A second later Allie yelped, then Shui's water bottle mysteriously fell off the desk again, and exploded all over the floor.

Mr. Powell lost it.

Shui scrambled to retrieve the mop again. Meanwhile, Taylor popped up next to Preston and Roscoe, innocent as a newborn lamb.

Boys can't be all sweet, it's physically impossible for them. I'm sure that's one of Newton's Laws of Thermodynamics or something—if they give you a little sugar, they must immediately balance it out with some spice to maintain homeostasis. If they don't, they might explode.

I gathered up our worksheets to turn them in and I noticed that Taylor's was still half blank. I sighed.

I was going to miss that doofus.

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