Addicted (ongoing)

Two

There is a pounding at the driver's side window and we both jump in surprise. Mike Donahue presses his mouth against the glass and makes obscene noises and gestures. Ethan shoves the door open without warning, causing Mike to stumble backward and fall. But he hops up laughing, brushing snow off the seat of his pants.

"What were you two lovebirds doing in there?"

"None of your business," Ethan says.

Mike elbows Ethan in the ribs and grins. "Aw, yeah. It's about time, Bradford."

I hoist my bag over my shoulder and begin walking. "Don't act like such a juvenile, Mike. Besides, Ethan's got a girlfriend."

"She's not really my girlfriend," Ethan says.

"Oh? And who is this girl that's not really your girlfriend?" Mike asks.

"Her name is Shauna," I say. I don't know why I'm telling him Ethan's business.

"The freshman?"

"You know her?" Ethan and I say at the same time.

Mike's eyebrows bounce up and down. "Yeah, I know her. Everyone does."

Ethan gives him a sharp look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Mike throws his arm around Ethan's shoulder. "I don't know her know her, if you know what I mean. Word is she's pretty friendly."

Ethan shrugs off Mike's arm. "Dude, you're full of shit."

Mike holds up his right hand. "I swear! She comes off all sweet and innocent, but I've heard stories."

"You've heard stories," I say. "And that makes you the authority."

"Let's just say her parents would not be proud if she's done half the things that people say. Or half the guys. Booyah!" He laughs and holds his hand up for Ethan to slap, but Ethan leaves him hanging.

"Jesus," I say to Ethan, shaking my head as I pick up the pace. "How are you two even friends?"

"What do you mean you two?" Mike says. "It's been us three since preschool. We have history."

I grab Ethan's hand and drag him into the building, Mike yelling at our backs, "History!"

"Mike's a jerk," I say once we're inside. "Don't listen to what he says about Shauna."

"I'm not," Ethan says. "He gets off on annoying people."

When we enter homeroom, I see right away that someone is sitting in my seat. I've never seen him before, and he's not talking to anyone. I walk up behind him and tap him on the shoulder, interrupting the repetitive thwack thwack thwack of his pencil against the desktop. He turns around.

"You're new here," I say as he looks up at me.

"Um . . . Yeah." His voice is deep and not at all what I expect to hear coming out of that pretty-boy face of his.

"Well, that's my desk. We have assigned seats by alphabetical order. My last name's Bishop, so I'm at the head of the class."

"Now, now, Miss Bishop," Mr. Reynolds says, shuffling his way over. "Settle down. There's no reason to get upset."

"I'm not upset," I say. "This is my seat. I'd simply like to sit down."

"This is Mr. Andrews," Mr. Reynolds says with emphasis.

"Chase," the guy sitting at my desk—now his desk—says.

Mr. Reynolds cups his hands around his mouth. "Before you all get settled," he says, straining to raise his warbly voice over the chatter, "I'd like you to shift back one seat. Just one seat, please."

I could point out to Mr. Reynolds that it would be easier to insert one extra desk in our row, but the ensuing chaos and confusion of the class trying to reorder itself is admittedly amusing. It's clearly way too early in the morning for some people. Mr. Reynolds removes a handkerchief from his pocket and mops his brow, looking as though he might need to take a nap. Or maybe retirement.

"Now that we've taken care of that," he says, "everyone please welcome Chase Andrews to Hilltop High."

No one welcomes him, but he doesn't seem to mind.

I lean forward, "It's called Hilltop High because it's situated on one of the highest hills in the city."

Chase turns in his seat. "Thanks. I'll file that away for future reference." He turns around again and resumes his pencil thwacking.

The sound grates my nerves. I hope it's just a nervous habit and that he won't be in any of my classes. I lean forward again. "What's your first class?"

Chase turns and stares at me for a moment before digging into his jeans pocket. He pulls out a class schedule, folded about a million times over. Unfolding it, he studies it carefully.

"Uh . . . math," he says. "Mrs. McNab."

"We're in the same class," Ethan says over my shoulder. "I'll show you the way."

Chase grins. "Cool, man. Thanks."

"No problem. I'm Ethan, by the way."

Chase bobs his head and looks at me, eyebrows raised. "Ali," I say. "Bishop."

Just then Heather, one of the junior class representatives, waltzes through the door. Her arms are laden with a bunch of chocolate roses. "Attention!" She flashes her brilliant white teeth. "I have a special delivery for a few very lucky people."

Heather's family moved to the area from Texas three years ago. She has this adorable southern accent that makes it impossible not to love her. I swear she has a permanent twinkle in her eye, too.

"Michelle Davidson, where are you, sweetie?"

Michelle waves her arm in the air. All the girls ooh and ahh as Heather presents her with a rose. I look at the clock, wishing the bell would ring already.

"Kelly Clausen. Two for you, hon." She dimples. "I think someone's been extra nice . . . or maybe a little naughty." There are whoops of laughter and cheers from some of the guys.

"Let's wrap this up, Miss Morris," Mr. Reynolds says, his face going red.

Heather hands out five roses in short order and my anxiety diminishes a fraction every time my name isn't called.

"One last rose," Heather says, waving it like a magic wand. "The lucky girl is . . ."

And then, without a doubt, I know it's going to be me. I don't know how I know, but it's like I can see my name printed on that little white card just as clearly as if I am holding the piece of paper in my hand.

"Ali Bishop!"

Ethan claps me on the shoulder as I stand to accept the foil-wrapped rose. But then the bell rings and everyone begins to file out, saving me from prolonged embarrassment.

"What would Shauna think of this?" I say to Ethan as I gather my things.

He shrugs his shoulders. "It's tradition. Come on," he says to Chase. Then he calls over his shoulder to me, "See you later, Ali Gator."

*****

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