Chapter 11

Iwas late to lunch on Friday, and I was never late to lunch. It had always been important to arrive early to ensure I didn't get stuck smushed between any of my mortal enemies at my table. But instead of staking out my usual spot, I spent the first quarter of the period holed up in Mrs. Baker's office, spinning around in her office chair as she chattered away about her grandkids.

When I did brave my way to the cafeteria, I realized my grave mistake. As soon as I pushed open the double doors, hundreds of eyes crashed into me. The lunch line was deserted, everyone else already seated at their designated tables and looking for something of interest to latch on to. Hunter had mastered the art of sauntering through the attention, but I scurried past the first table without so much as lifting my head.

My trajectory was all wrong. Instead of walking through the middle of the cafeteria to get to my table, I weaved through the tables on the outskirts of the room. The farther I got, the quieter it became, until I was standing at Hunter's table. He had a cheeseburger and french fries in front of him and a page of homework next to his tray that he was completing in tiny, squinty writing. When my shadow crossed his paper, his head jerked up, and he froze, staring at me. The skin beneath both his eyes was dark purple, and he had a strip of white bandaging over the bridge of his nose.

It felt as if someone had lit my face on fire. "Can I sit here?"

His eyes darted around the room, then back at me, as if it was all some kind of joke, and my heart seized when he didn't answer. I slumped into the chair anyway, ducking my head as I contemplated my next move. When I peered up at him, his eyebrows were arched in surprise, and he hadn't moved an inch, his pencil dangling from his fingers. "I guess ..."

I blew out a breath and shifted in my seat, because sitting with someone who didn't welcome your company was beyond mortifying. "How's your nose?"

His eyebrows went even higher. "Um, it hurts."

I wasn't sure what else to say, and he sighed, pushing a hand through his hair.

"I had to get it reset yesterday. I don't know if you've ever had to get your nose reset, but it hurts like a bitch. Makes the bruising worse too." He gestured to his face with his pencil.

I tried to swallow. "How do they reset it exactly?"

He smirked, the motion haunting with his dark purple eyes. "They yank it back into place."

I looked away from him, nauseated by the mere image. I made myself busy as I unpacked the contents of my lunch.

"It looks like you plan to stay awhile."

I made a noncommittal noise as I took a bite of my sandwich. He studied me, and my heart sped off, thumping in an unhealthy rhythm. I pushed back a strand of hair from my face, and his gaze trailed my movements, lingering on my jaw before his eyebrows furrowed, and he looked away.

"People are staring, you know," he said.

I did know. I could feel the eyes on me like insects scuttling across my skin. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the twist in my stomach.

"I wear long sleeves so people don't see all the cuts on my arms, but it seems you already know that. Also, in my defense, it is winter, and I am always cold." The words out loud were foreign on my tongue, and my stomach lurched in protest, begging me to take them back, but he didn't even flinch.

His gaze flicked to the other side of the room and then to my face, memorizing every inch of it. "Your lunch table beat the shit out of me last Saturday."

I nodded once.

"Also, in my defense, I may have fallen down the stairs at some point afterward. I ended up getting pretty drunk, so it's hard to know for sure." He grinned at the look on my face. "Okay, okay. I can confidently report I didn't fall down any stairs. I think I'd remember that."

We stared at each other, and I might have started to smile just because his was contagious, but I bit the corner of my lip instead. "What happened when I left?"

He tossed another look at my lunch table. "There's not much to tell. I went outside for a cigarette." He gestured at his face. "And the rest is history."

Maybe it was because I finally had him sitting in front of me, but I asked the next question before I could help myself. "Why'd you try to kill yourself?"

He tilted his head to one side and twirled his pencil between his thumb and forefinger. "Jesus, is that what they're saying about me?"

My eyes widened. "Yes, I thought ..." I stopped, unsure how to continue without sharing the words I heard whispered about him.

He folded his arms, then leaned back in his chair as he considered me with amused interest. I shifted in my seat, and he laughed. "I'm just messing with you, Alice. It's not really a secret. Although, I must say, I am interested in hearing the public's version."

I stared at him. His easy smile. The effortless shrug of his shoulders. Unlike his usual demeanor, he seemed as open as a book, but he wasn't. The only difference in his defense mechanism was a lazy smile instead of a scowl.

"They said you were out of school for six months. Because you were in a hospital ..."

He mulled my words over, tapping the bottom of his chin. "That would be correct."

My body buzzed with the need for more information. "So why'd you do it?"

He took a sip of his chocolate milk, studying me before he set it on the table. "Why do you cut your wrists?"

My legs bounced beneath the table. His gaze seared into me, and his words were probing, but despite all that, I felt the words surface. Because Hunter wasn't looking at me as though I was insane or sick; he was looking at me as though he wanted to understand, which might have been more unnerving than disgust.

I dragged my gaze from him, refocusing myself before I said something stupid, because once the words were blurted into the air between us, I'd never be able to grasp them back.

When I didn't answer, he smiled knowingly, accepting my silence that matched his. "That's what I thought."

"How did you know?" I blurted.

He looked away from me then, and the lightest shade of pink crawled up the sides of his neck. "You never wear short sleeves. Not even in gym."

I squinted at him. "My wardrobe? Really?"

He eyed me, hesitant and weary, as his blush deepened. He was silent for several moments, probably trying to figure out if I was backing him into a trap and, if so, when the net was going to engulf him completely. "Your fingers always curl around the edges of your sleeves like you're afraid they might ride up half a centimeter. And when anything brushes against your arms, you always wince."

I battled the urge to run. My fight-or-flight response kicked in, my breathing rattling and my heart rate too fast, but the only threat was a boy sitting across from me, peering into my brown eyes with his intense green ones. And despite his status as a social clod, Hunter changed the subject as if he could feel the writhing inside me. "So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company anyway?"

I half shrugged. "There weren't any more seats at my usual table."

He laughed again, the sound as easy as breathing. "Well, don't expect there to be any tomorrow either. You just bought yourself a one-way ticket to social exile."

I rolled my eyes. "You're not that influential."

His grin was wild, the bright whiteness of his teeth a stark contrast to his purpled face. "You seriously underestimate my level of unpopularity."

I risked a glance over my shoulder for the first time since I sat down. Scott was next to Margo, arm limp across the back of her chair and legs stretched out in front of him. He surveyed Hunter and me, and though his face was calm, it was calculating. It was the same expression my mom had used when I was a child and embarrassed her in front of an audience because I knew she might not react the same if other people were around. Just you wait. And the waiting was always worse than the scolding. I didn't allow my gaze to drift to Margo and Casey.

When I looked back at Hunter, he was watching me so intently I fished for something to grasp on to. "What homework is that?"

"Calculus."

The paper looked complicated, his small handwriting wedged into all the white spaces on the page. "That's advanced."

"It is," he said, almost laughing.

"Are you one of those people who take all AP classes?"

His lips twitched, and I could tell he was trying to keep a straight face. "I don't know what ‘one of those people' means, but for the most part, yes."

I rolled my eyes. I knew he knew what I was referring to. In seventh grade, they decided who the smart kids were, and once you were selected, that was the end of it. From there on out, it was all AP classes and nods of approval. Like most caste systems, upward mobility was possible if you tried hard enough, but I think I was the only person in all of eternity to have been downgraded from smart to average. "One of those people as in one of the smart kids."

"Ah, one of the smart kids ..."

"Well, are you?" I pressed, and he grinned.

"Yes, except for gym. I take that with all the regular dumbasses." I tossed a chip at him, and he laughed. "Except for you, of course."

I shot him a sour look. "Of course."

The clock ticked a few minutes before twelve thirty, and the cafeteria began to rustle as everyone started packing up. I leaned over to retrieve my own things, but Hunter sat there as I placed my stack of books on the table between us.

"That's my favorite book," he said, nodding at the pile.

I sifted through the short stack. I'd only been carrying my US history textbook, English notebook, and ... My gaze shot up to meet his, my eyes widening with disbelief. "This?"

I lifted my torn copy of The Catcher in the Rye and glanced between him and the book in horror.

He grinned. "Uh-huh. But I'm sensing that's super offensive to you for some reason."

"I'm ... you enjoyed this rambling torture?"

He burst out laughing. "Torture? I can't believe you hate it ... tell me why you hate it."

"I just don't find the diary of a self-absorbed teenager that riveting."

He laughed again, and the sound echoed off the wall behind us as though we were the only two people in the cafeteria. "I've read it seven times."

My eyebrows shot up. "It was so tedious I could barely get through it once."

He hooked one arm over the back of his chair, his smile as permanent as his green eyes. "What's your favorite book?"

I looked away, biting my lip in thought. When I returned my gaze to Hunter, my face felt hot, and I wasn't even sure why. "I like to read plays."

His eyes were so focused on me that he didn't blink. "Your favorite play then."

I didn't hesitate. "The Importance of Being Earnest."

His eyes raked over my face, concentrating on my features as if they were part of a jigsaw puzzle he was shifting into place.

I wiggled in my seat. "Have you read it?"

When his gaze met mine again, his eyes were smoldering. "No, but I thought for sure you were going to pick a tragedy."