SEVEN ARABELLA

SEVEN

Arabella

“INTERESTING OUTFIT CHOICE TODAY, ARABELLA.”

This comment comes from my friend Hadley at lunch. She scanned me up and down the moment we saw each other in the hallway but didn’t say a word until now.

I decide to take her words as a compliment. Better than being defensive. “Thank you.”

“Where did you get the oversized blazer?” Her question seems innocent but I spy the gleam in her icy blue eyes. She has suspicions, I’m sure.

“Well …” I glance around to see if anyone is paying us any attention, but no one is. We’re sitting at our own table today, all of us deciding not to sit with the boys. We only do that a couple times a week because we’re all under the assumption that if we keep pushing ourselves on them, they won’t want to spend time with us anymore.

God, why does life always feel like a game? Sometimes I’m tired of playing.

“The rumor going around is that Row gave you his blazer during first period because your skirt was too short and you were being written up for breaking dress code,” Simone interjects, leaning into our conversation, a knowing smile curling her lips.

“That’s exactly what happened,” I admit, not bothering trying to hide it.

Hadley’s brows shoot up in obvious surprise. “You’re telling us that Rowan gave you his blazer.”

I nod.

“To cover up your short skirt,” she continues.

I scoot away from the table so she can see said short skirt. “I was a little too daring this morning.”

She examines most of my thighs on display. “Not even wearing tights, huh?”

I shake my head.

“Aren’t you freezing?” Simone asks.

“No. Not really.” It helps that I’m wearing a piece of clothing that belongs to Rowan and that his scent is still wrapped all around me. I could live a long time dressed like this, wearing his clothes. I now want to steal whatever I can from him and keep it forever. A T-shirt, a sweatshirt. A girl’s prized possession is the hoodie that belongs to the boy she’s dating, and I’d wear Rowan’s like a badge of honor all around campus. I’d probably never wash it either.

That’s so gross, but I’m just being honest.

“Row giving you his blazer is so very … nice of him.” Hadley makes a little face after using the word nice to describe Rowan because no one says that. No one calls him nice.

“Isn’t it?” I agree, cheerfully digging into my salad. The vegetables are fresh and delicious, and I munch away, lost in my thoughts of kind Rowan and the way he touched me while I sat on his lap until Hadley has to ruin everything with her next question.

“What’s he up to anyway?”

I swallow hard, setting my fork on the edge of my salad bowl. “What do you mean?”

“What’s his motive? Why is he being nice to you? He’s never nice,” Hadley says. “To anyone.”

“He’s an asshole,” Simone adds.

I’m offended on his behalf but I can’t act that way in front of them. I mean, they do know I have a crush on him and that it’s been growing for years. I can’t deny it. They are my closest friends and they know how I feel.

“He’s not that bad—”

Simone cuts me off before I can finish my sentence.

“He’s awful. An absolute menace. Girls won’t date him because they’re terrified of him and boys are his friend because they’re too scared that he’ll ruin them if they’re not. He’s barely tolerated you for years. Why is he suddenly acting nice and wants to help you?”

“I don’t trust him,” Hadley adds. “You need to be careful.”

I absorb their words, turning them over and over in my brain while they continue eating as if their world hasn’t been rocked.

Not that mine was rocked, per se. How they described Rowan is correct. He’s extremely closed off, casually cruel to almost everyone around him and he doesn’t date. Ever.

“Maybe he has a … secret girlfriend?” Hadley winces when I jerk my gaze to hers. “She could go to a different school, or maybe she’s older? That could be why he’s so grouchy all the time. He’s pissed off at the world and wishes he was with his one true love. That would make anyone frustrated.”

“That is a valid point.” Simone points her fork in Hadley’s direction, her gaze sliding to mine. “Have you ever considered that?”

Impossible, is what I want to tell them. I would know if he had a girlfriend. There would be clues. Signs. And if he had a girlfriend, then why does he tolerate me hanging around him all the time? I see the way he looks at me sometimes.

Or maybe he feels sorry for me, which is—God, that’s awful to even contemplate.

“He didn’t used to be this way,” Hadley continues. “The first two years of high school, he wasn’t as grumpy. Definitely a lot more friendly and flirty. What changed him?”

“The fact that his secret girlfriend doesn’t go here,” Simone says before she starts giggling.

I send her a stern look and she immediately stops laughing.

“We’re speculating when we have zero facts to back up what we’re thinking. Besides, I find it hard to believe that I wouldn’t know if he had a secret girlfriend. There’s no reason for us to spread any rumors.” I sound prim, but I can’t help it.

“We’re not spreading rumors, Bella. We’re just talking about him amongst ourselves,” Hadley says, and I know she’s right. I’m just defensive about him. Protective. And I sort of hate it when anyone calls me Bella, but I never correct them, so I let it go. “I was kidding about the secret girlfriend part. If she existed, we’d know. But here’s what’s weird—lately it feels like the only person he can tolerate is … you. Oh, and Callahan, of course.”

“He doesn’t tolerate me,” I start, but Hadley shakes her head. My voice weakens. “He doesn’t.”

“He most definitely does. You two have this weird relationship going on and none of us can figure it out. We’ve been trying to understand what’s going on between you two for a while, but we don’t get it,” Hadley says, Simone nodding her agreement.

“You’ve been trying to figure us out?” I’m baffled by this. I didn’t even realize Rowan and I were a topic of conversation for anyone. My mind is a little blown, I cannot lie.

“Of course. And we’ve both come to the conclusion that he’s either sexually frustrated because he’s into guys or because he’s into you ,” Simone says.

I gape at my friends, my thoughts scattering to the wind. “He is not into me.”

They both watch me with matching skeptical expressions, neither of them saying a word.

“He’s not,” I stress. “I annoy him. I’m like a little bug buzzing around his head and he’s desperate to swat at it. Swat at me.”

“You really believe that?” Simone asks, her voice full of doubt.

“Yes. With my whole entire heart.”

Hadley changes the subject, asking if a certain couple from the junior class is still together or not and I keep rolling with the conversation, not missing a beat. Simone does the same, all discussion of Rowan completely forgotten, though he does linger in the back of my mind.

It’s impossible to think he could be interested in me. No one is. No one ever has been—not really. I sometimes even wonder if my friends actually like me, or if they merely tolerate me like Rowan. Teachers care because they have to and same with the staff at school. And my parents? I don’t matter to them.

This is my daily reminder that truly, I matter to no one.

T HE LAST CLASS of the day is my favorite. Psychology. Ms. Skov has been at Lancaster Prep forever, and I remember Rowan saying in class once that she taught his parents when they were seniors. Meaning the woman is positively ancient. I don’t hold that against her though. More like I view her as a wealth of knowledge on human behavior and why we do the things we do. Though I never like to examine myself too closely, I adore observing other people and trying to figure out what makes them tick.

We have less than ten minutes left on the clock before Skov makes a declaration, causing all of us to sit up straighter and pay attention.

“We have a group assignment,” she announces, her gaze scanning the room. “I’m going to partner each of you up with someone and you’ll all have to do both an analysis on yourselves and one on your partner.”

“So we’ll be in groups of two?” someone asks from the back of the classroom.

“Yes, indeed. And don’t bother asking—like I said, I’ll be in charge of picking your partners,” Skov says.

A variety of people groan their frustration while I visibly squirm in my seat. It doesn’t bother me to work on group projects. I don’t mind when a teacher assigns us our partners either. I just hate it when it’s someone I don’t particularly like or respect. That makes things extremely difficult.

“Here’s a worksheet for all of you to complete.” She starts to pass them out, going row by row. “And I’m going to announce your partners right now so tomorrow you can start working together.”

I clutch my hands together, mentally noting how cold they are. Nervous anticipation races through me, and God, I really hope I don’t get paired up with a terrible someone. I’d much prefer to be partnered with Rowan, but that’s just wishful thinking.

Once she’s passed out the sheets and we’re able to look over the questions, Mrs. Skov heads toward her desk, where she picks up another piece of paper and starts rattling off names.

My eyes cross as I stare at the form that she gave us while listening to her name off students in the classroom. I breathe a sigh of relief when she pairs a boy who gives me the creeps off with another girl. She keeps going, making the wait agonizing, and when she finally calls my name, I almost sag with relief.

“Arabella Hartley Thomas.” Ms. Skov pauses, her gaze finding mine. “And Rowan Lancaster.”

If I could jump for joy and do a little dance at this miraculous pairing, I so would, but I’m not interested in making a fool of myself. Instead, I sink deeper into Rowan’s uniform blazer, the collar rising up and around my face, his scent flooding my nostrils and making me breathe in deep.

Thank you, Ms. Skov, for giving me the partner I was hoping for.

“This project isn’t easy,” she says once she’s done reading off everyone’s names. “You’re going to have to take a cold hard look at your partner, as well as yourself. If you understand who you’re dealing with—both the people around you and yourself—you’ll have such an advantage when handling people when you’re out in the real world. Whether in the workforce, with family members, and even with friends.”

I know how to handle people. I am a confident almost eighteen-year-old who knows exactly what she’s doing.

At least, that’s the lie I keep telling myself.

The bell rings and everyone makes a mad dash for the door, a mass exodus flooding into the hallway. With the exception of a few stragglers still gathering their things before they leave, including myself. And Rowan.

He’s only slow because of his injury, I tell myself as I shove the last of my things in my backpack and zip it up. It has nothing to do with me.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and make my way toward him, stepping to the side as I walk past, offering him a weak smile when he glances in my direction.

“I thought I’d return your blazer to you,” I tell him, dropping my backpack onto the desk closest to me before I start to shrug out of it.

“Keep it,” he says, making me pause. “You still have to walk across campus in that skirt.”

I slowly pull the blazer back into place, unsure if he’s being extra mean or just normal. God, I really can’t tell. “Thank you.”

“We’re partnered up.” He’s stating the obvious.

“I know.” I shrug. “Is that a problem?”

“Is it for you?” he throws at me.

“I asked first.”

He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. Somehow, he still looks perfect. Perfectly gorgeous. “No.”

My smile is back and bigger than ever. “Good.”

“Don’t get any funny ideas though.”

“Like what?” The smile is gone, replaced by a frown.

“Don’t get all silly and … you know. Fall in love with me.”

Fall in love with him? Is he serious? “Don’t worry. That’s not going to happen.”

His frown deepens. “It’s not?”

“Not at all.” I shake my head. “I won’t fall in love with you because I don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“Capable of what?”

“Love.” I shrug. “I’ve never been shown it in my entire life, so how would I be able to reciprocate it?”

I’m all about a crush—and I’ve had a mad crush on Rowan for years. But love? That’s big and scary and I have no idea what it actually feels like.

He blinks at me, as if my confession shocked him. Maybe it did. “What about your family?”

“I don’t really have any.”

“Brothers and sisters?”

I shake my head.

“What about your parents?”

“They’re too wrapped up in their own lives to ever worry about me.” I might have mentioned that to him before, but did he forget?

His expression switches to straight disgust. “What are you talking about? You’re their kid.”

“I know, right? But that’s just how they are. Sometimes I wonder why they even had me.” I grab my backpack and sling it over my shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He just stares at me, his gaze roving over my face, and it looks like he wants to say something but changes his mind at the last second. “Yeah. See you.”

“I’ll bring your blazer back to you.” I start to exit the classroom, pausing in the open doorway to glance over my shoulder at him.

To find Rowan staring at me, his brows drawn together, adorable confusion written all over his handsome face.

Hmm. I think I threw him for a loop.