Jonah assesses me and I quickly focus on anything else, not wanting him to think I was interested in him or the interaction with his friends.
“I am sorry,” says Jonah.
“You’ve already said that.” Edgar Allen Poe’s eyes are seriously freaky, but if I look away, I’ll be tempted to peek at Jonah and that’ll be bad.
A second. Then two. I can feel the heat of his gaze and my cheeks redden with each passing moment.
“Stella.” I feel the rumble of his deep voice down to my toes.
Don’t respond. Just don’t respond. Cooper is watching and this could be some sort of setup. One that will be a freaking great way to start off my senior year. The goal is to coast through without being noticed. I can’t do that if I talk to the one guy who belongs to an attention-seeking group.
“Come on, Stella,” he says so only I can hear.
The kittens on my folder become interesting again and I blow out an unsteady stream of air. “Yeah?”
“I don’t want to, but I’ll end up back at the cemetery. I was thinking about it last night and I remembered seeing you there before so I know you go often, too.”
Feeling inadequate, I touch the rose barrette holding up the side of my violet hair. It’s still in place and so are the nerves from this one-sided conversation.
“I’ll be there again today,” Jonah admits. “And I was hoping you’d be there. I...I need to talk to someone and...you’re the only person I’ve been able to talk to.”
Joss said people couldn’t change. I shouldn’t agree to this, but there’s an ache in his voice that I can’t deny. “Okay [dene="-1">Jos. But will you do me a favor?”
“Anything,” he answers.
I glance over at his friends, who are now both lost in conversation with the girl. “Leave me alone for the rest of the day.”
“What?”
I risk looking at him. “Take it or leave it.”
“Why?”
Do I have to spell it out for him? “You’re best friends with Cooper Higgins.”
It’s like I told a toddler that snack time doesn’t exist. “So?”
“As I said, take it or leave it.”
Jonah mulls it over for longer than I’d like, but he eventually nods. “Okay.”
And that’s when I spot Cooper scowling at the two of us. I slide down into my seat. Stupid me. Jonah Jacobson wanting to chat is going to make the year of hovering below the radar impossible.
7
Jonah
I haven’t had a decent appetite since the day of the accident. I get hungry and eat, but food doesn’t taste right. It’s bland. So after a few bites, I’m ready to move on to something else—the next activity to fill the day until I can go to the cemetery in an attempt to gain some focus. I feel like a damn jumping flea on crack.
Stella sits on the opposite side of the cafeteria with her feet propped on an empty chair. Her canvas sneaker bounces to a silent beat. She holds one half of the hot ham and cheese offered in the lunch line in one hand and a ratty paperback in the other. So far, we’ve only had American Lit together, but she’s avoided eye contact with me in the halls.
Her clothes are simple—a pair of dark blue jeans and a white cotton shirt—but there’s nothing simple about her with that purple hair and rose barrette. Naw, it’s not the hair. It’s just Stella. There’s a sexiness in the way she moves and in her voice. Stuff I never noticed before. Even if all that weren’t true, I’d still stare. One conversation with her and I’m hooked.
Cooper drops into the seat across from me, sliding his tray onto the table. He blocks my view of Stella. “Welcome home, Jonah.”
I raise my eyebrows. “What?”
“You bailed on us the last couple weeks of summer. I was starting to think you found a new group to hang with.”
“Just needed time.”
Cooper nods. “I get it. You’re back, so it’s all good. What’s up with you and Trash Can Girl?”
A rumble like the front edge of a thunderstorm runs through me. “What did you say?”
Coop’s face twists as he assesses me. “The chick with the purple hair. The girl who used to root through the trash in elementary school. You were staring at her when I walked over.”
The other guys at the table stop their conversation and watch. My reaction? I push away the tray that contains my half-eaten food. No one makes a military case out of my non-response. Not answering or giving my opinion—that’s my personality. Just like it’s Cooper’s thing to crack jokes and snag girls. Just like it’s Todd’s thing to talk basketball.
Todd reaches over and grabs my french fries. “Mind?”
“No.”
Cooper glances over his shoulder at Stella and I have the urge to tell him not to look. It’s a weird feeling, a protective one, and I don’t understand the emotion.
“What type of questions did the reporter ask?” Todd probes with three fries hanging from his mouth.
I shrug. She asked questions about what it was like to be with James Cohen in his final minutes and what inspired me to do what no one else at the scene would. I couldn’t answer her. Even if I’d wanted to, words would not leave my mouth. I sat in the hot seat my mother had dragged in from the dining room while the reporter sat on the couch across from me. I clasped my hands tightly between my knees and became paralyzed.