Toy Soldiers (Helford #1)

(10) Breathe

Jonathon and I had four classes before lunch hour, and all of them happened to be the same classes, which he took as the coincidence of the century when I knew that some major strings would have had to have been pulled for such a prospective outcome. He showed me to all of my classes and dutifully sat beside me during each of them, shooting me a grin every time he caught me looking and smiling wider when I caught him looking. It felt like three and a half hours of the most enjoyable cat and mouse game that I had ever been engaged in, and by the time lunch was reached he and I were chatting and teasing and laughing together like we had been friends for the entirety of our lives instead of a handful of hours.

He walked me to the cafeteria and sat me down at a four-person table to the left and in the middle, seemingly random, but I had the feeling that this was his normal designated spot, so when he asked me to stay there and wait for him to get his lunch, I nodded and smiled at him because that was what girls with crushes did. I watched him walk away, a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Something was going wrong with this one. Something so wrong, that it couldn’t help but to feel a little bit right.

I set my backpack on the ground beside my feet and pulled my apple slices from the outer pocket, setting the baggie neatly on the table. I gazed around and watched the students as they entered, none of them turning to stare and gossip about me like they did in the movies, and I smiled to myself in amusement as that thought passed through my head. Too much Marci influence, I suppose. I glanced down at my hands, curling my fingers in on my scarred one.

The chair next to mine suddenly scraped out and I jumped a foot in the air, whirling to face a smirking face that I had never before seen.

“Hello there,” a voice greeted in an all-too familiar language, the words emphasized with a British accent. He raised his eyebrows. “English?”

“Fluent,” I affirmed with a small smile, and he nodded happily, grinning widely.

“Name’s Parker,” he greeted, holding out one hand for me to shake. “Parker Hallifax. And you are?”

“Caitie Foerst,” I introduced myself. His eyebrows shot up.

“Caitie?” he asked me, sounding surprised. “Really now? See, I almost was led to believe that our mutual friend Mister DuPont had made you up.”

I smirked in amusement. “What made you think that?”

“He kept swearing that you would be here,” he told me, “but you never showed up. I was worried for the mate’s mental health.”

“Ah, no,” I said, laughing. “I’m real.”

“Good to hear,” he commented, smirking. “American?”

“German,” I replied, not even wincing with the lie. “I learned most of my English in America, though. I spent more time there than England, in any case.”

“World traveler, eh?” he demanded, sounding impressed. “Interesting. I’m going to have to ask you about that later.”