Love and Other Theories (5 page)

N
athan and I leave the counselor’s office and walk side by side slowly in the direction of our respective classes.

“So you’re going to Barron next year too,” I say quietly. It sounds less like a question and more like an accusation.

“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t tell you.” Nathan’s eyes shift to the floor, to the ceiling, and finally to me. “Are you mad?”

His face is apologetic. He’s lied to me and been caught. It was a lie of omission, but a lie nonetheless. Yesterday,
when I told him, like I tell everyone—and like he’d heard me announce to the entire class during Drama—that I’d be attending Barron next year, he didn’t say anything.

I remember the way his hands so carefully caressed my bare back and the way the windows fogged, and think,
Yes, actually, I am mad. Why would he bother hiding something like that from me?
But even before the question can fully root itself in my mind, I’m already aware of the answer.

I don’t really matter to him.

“Whatever.” I give him a smile, but it’s not exactly friendly. It says,
I’m onto you, Nathan Diggs
. I don’t stick around to gauge his reaction. I quicken my pace down the hall.

“Because it’s not set in stone yet,” he tells me, catching up to me. He steps in front of me so I’ll stop walking. “I
hope
to attend Barron next fall.”

“But haven’t you already been accepted? That means you don’t need to hope anymore. You’ve got a guarantee.”

His hands look so white against the dark of his hair as he runs his fingers through it.

“The reason I’m enrolled in Lincoln High is because I need the credits. I complete this year and I’m in. Until then I’m taking Spanish and a bunch of bullshit classes like Senior Drama and AP Physics.”

I don’t allow myself to smile at this even though my lips are begging me to. I like the way Nathan jokes about AP Physics being bullshit. “Okay.” I try to shake away the confusion as to why I didn’t find this out yesterday. Why I didn’t ask, why it didn’t come up, why he didn’t feel the need to tell me.

The few facts I know about Nathan: His parents are both chemists and both got jobs at our local plant. His favorite milkshake flavor is strawberry. He really likes HBO shows. He drives a new BMW that his parents bought him for having a perfect report card last year. He would rather have the superpower of flying instead of the ability to be invisible. His kisses start out light and build slowly into passionate.

Nathan takes a step closer to me. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but—”

I put my hand up to stop him and shake my head. The theories dictate what to do.
I’m sorry
is synonymous with
good riddance
, and I don’t want to say good-bye. I’ve just met him.

“You don’t have to explain. It’s okay.”

Nathan’s big brown eyes light up. Relief washes over his face, followed by something else. Gratitude. It’s a look my friends and I always receive from boys when they realize they’ve met a girl who has evolved—a girl who’s not going to throw a bunch of drama in their face. A girl who’s not going to waste their time.

“I don’t usually skip class, but yesterday . . . you—you told me to go with you and I thought, what the hell?” He can’t stop touching his chin. He smiles, waiting for my response, blushing slightly.

I smile back at him and forget he ever made me mad. When I start walking down the hall again, he follows me.

S
helby finds me in the hallway after second period. She grabs me by the shoulders like she thinks I’m going to run away.

“There you are,” she says, pushing me toward the lockers. I don’t have to look around to know that everyone is watching her do this. Even if they’re still talking to their friends, even if they’re still walking to their next class or getting a book out of their locker, they’re still also watching her.

“Where have you been? Who is this Nathan? I hear he’s gorgeous. Like, insanely gorgeous.” She goes from swooning to swearing all in one breath. “And goddamn
it, you’re my best friend. My fucking best friend. I even forged you an excuse! I’m supposed to know about this already!”

“He was cute. We skipped class.” I shrug.

“Oh no, you don’t.” She crosses her arms. “Spill. Immediately. Go.”

But I don’t have time to spill. Nathan’s exactly three feet away, walking down the hall and looking a little lost. I smile and blush the second I see him. Shelby’s eyeing me, gathering all this as evidence, when she spots him too.

“Well, hello,” Shelby says playfully. I can’t help but laugh.

Nathan hears my laugh and looks over like he’s just found the point on the horizon that’s going to lead him home. “Hey,” he says. To me. It’s like he doesn’t even see Shelby. But then his eyes shift toward her. I have the urge to cover them.

Shelby is beautiful. More than just silky blond hair, big blue eyes, pouty lips, perky boobs, longer-than-life legs—though she has all that, too. “Beautiful” is probably an understatement. Last year scorching senior Ryan Sparrow, with a reputation for waxing poetic, announced at a party that Shelby was so beautiful, it broke his heart to look at her. Whatever that meant. Trip’s older brother, Zane Chapman, who is not at all poetic but equally as scorching, elaborated and said Shelby was so beautiful
that it was hard to make sense of how someone could look so perfect.

I’ve known Shelby since I was six. I’ve never been able to make sense of her beauty either.

“I’m Nathan Diggs.” Nathan sticks out his hand for Shelby. So formal. So adorable.

Shelby takes it loosely, just grabbing his fingers. Her blue eyes study him. “So I’ve heard.”

I feel an ache in my stomach as Nathan smiles at Shelby. He’s seeing Shelby and her beauty for the first time. I wonder if
he’s
able to make sense of it. I wonder if he’ll want to try.

“And you are?” Nathan seems so genuinely curious, I feel like I’m going to die.

“Shelby,” she says, not at all hiding that she’s eyeing him up and down. “Nice leather.”

“Thanks?” Nathan says like he’s suspicious of her comment.

“So do you ride a bike, or what?” Shelby asks.

I’m royally confused. A bike?

“I wish.” He touches his jacket and I make the connection. Leather biker jacket, thus a motorcycle. Nice of Shelby to assume that Nathan’s jacket had a functional purpose other than making him look freaking sexy.

“What’s stopping you from running out and buying the first CB that catches your attention?” Shelby asks.

“You know bikes?” Nathan looks suspicious again.

“My sister’s ex used to have a 1973 Honda CB350.” I remember Sienna’s fling with the boy with the bike. The one who let Shelby drive it in circles in the mall parking lot late at night when he was too tired to tell her no.

“And he let you drive it?”

“Of course—I mean, I demanded to, and it was worth it.” Shelby puts her hands over her heart—over her left boob, really. “Why didn’t you get one?”

Nathan shrugs. “Bribery from the parents. They bought me a car, would never have forgiven me if I’d traded it in for a bike.”

Shelby nods, looking strategically bored. “Any regrets?”

His eyes stay locked on hers for a moment and I feel my heart beat five times before he finally looks away. He shakes his head. “No . . . I don’t have any regrets.” His next lingering glance is reserved for me.

I purse my lips to keep from smiling. It’s no use.

“Well, I think that’s crazy,” Shelby says, ignoring that Nathan and I are having a moment. “You’re really missing out.”

“His car is nice, trust me,” I say, this time letting my smile all the way through so it’s obvious that I have fond, fond memories involving Nathan and that car.

Shelby ignores this, too. “The dealership on Amherst Boulevard carries tons of bikes. We should test-drive them sometime.” She puts her hands in the front pockets
of her jeans, which is a classic flirtatious move because it does two things: (a) it draws attention to her stomach and what’s below it, and (b) it presses her arms to her side in a way that pushes her boobs up. It’s a good technique, actually. I should really use it more.

“Maybe.” He turns to me and I try not to act like I’ve been waiting for this. “I’ll see you later?”

I barely have the chance to say “Sure, I guess” before he walks away, the bell echoing around us. When I look back at Shelby, she’s got the faintest pout resting on her lips.

“Nice ass,” Shelby comments as we stroll down the hallway. Nathan’s a few paces in front of us, but I don’t think he hears.

“I know.”

You’re probably thinking I should be furious at Shelby. She obviously wants Nathan. But who wouldn’t? If I’ve learned anything, it’s that in high school everyone is fair game. If you want to lose friends over it, get ready to be friendless.

“So what happened between you guys?” she asks. She wiggles her eyebrows up and down.

“Not that,” I tell her.
Not sex
, because that’s where her mind goes, always.

“But something?” She does the thing with her eyebrows again.

“Yes. Something. Some things.”

Shelby lingers in front of the doorway of her next class. She’s waiting for me to freak out about fooling around with someone so quickly after meeting them. I panicked before prom last year, locking her in the bathroom with me at the salon where we were getting our hair done to squeeze her hands and hyperventilate hours before the dance even started, when it occurred to me that having sex with Trip was a probability. Just last week I called her, flustered, because Tommy “the Riz” Rizzo tried to take off my underwear when we were messing around in his living room while the angel on top of his Christmas tree stared down at us.

When I don’t freak out right now, I get her nod of approval. “You little minx!” she calls, cackling as she disappears inside the classroom.

THE WAY ELLA Benson and Marnie Rickard stare at me as I walk into third period, I think they’ve finally heard the rumors about Nathan and me.

“Why did you get called into the office this morning?” Marnie asks, her voice high and girly, as always.

I sigh. I should have known.
This
is why they’re looking at me like that. This is what they think is the most exciting, unexpected thing going on in my life right now. My ongoing flirtation with Trip earned these wide-eyed stares, too. When they heard about our first kiss at Dion Matthews’s party last year, their mouths were slack for
an entire week. I expected that Nathan might garner the same reaction, but no. They’re worried only about my visit to see Mrs. Harris.

“Just college stuff,” I tell them.

They smile at me and their faces relax. Ella was on the swim team with me. Marnie and I were on debate team together. I have a lot in common with them, and I’m glad they’re my friends. But they’ll never understand me the way Shelby, Danica, and Melissa do. And to top it off, Ella has a boyfriend. It’s going to blow up in her face any day now. It’ll be just like what happened with her former boyfriend, Ivan Gunderson, who dumped her after he got into Stanford. She couldn’t wear eye makeup for two weeks last spring, because her chances of smearing it were 100 percent. I tried to comfort her but couldn’t give her any real advice. Ella is always the first one to finish her test in AP Calculus, and she always sets the curve, but she would be stumped by the theories. I had to correct her constantly last year when she would refer to Trip as my boyfriend. And she’s holding the title of girlfriend again this year, so clearly she learned nothing from the Ivan Gunderson fiasco.

“That girl has one of the worst cases of TGS,” Danica says sometimes about Ella. She knows Ella better than Shelby or Melissa do, because she was in AP English with us sophomore and junior year.

The Girlfriend Stigma (TGS): a scientific term
describing the disgrace girls face from guys when the girls appear to want to hold the title of
girlfriend
.

TGS. There isn’t anything more pathetic.

This is why I sit with Shelby, Melissa, and Danica at lunch whenever I don’t have to study or go to a student council meeting. They are my home base, my best friends in a way that Ella or Marnie will never be. Because how was I going to talk to Ella or Marnie about how Trip Chapman could unhook my bra with one hand? Or how it was impossible to kiss Tommy Rizzo for less than an hour? It didn’t matter that Shelby, Melissa, and Danica spent so much time together without me, or that I didn’t go to all the parties they went to, or that I didn’t always have classes with them. Shelby came into the French Roll every Saturday morning to fill me in on what I’d missed the night before. So I knew what everyone was whispering about in the halls, gossiping about at lunch. Almost as if I’d been there too. Shelby kept me in the loop. She kept me relevant. And she did it because we’re best friends.