Brooklyn Moore's world has been turned upside down after her parents divorce. Forced to leave her fancy Manhattan home, private school, and friends in the city, now Brook and her mom are scraping to get by in middle-of-nowhere town, Birch Hill.
Her...
The rest of the day goes by uneventfully. I was late to music class having had trouble finding the washrooms beforehand.
Zoey and I had sat together outside to eat lunch because she'd said she wanted fresh air. I'm pretty sure it was to avoid Ryker but I didn't say anything. The day had been super draining and I didn't have it in me to meet all of her friends.
After the final bell of the day I head to my locker in a daze. One day at Birch Hill High felt like a small eternity. And of course I got a bottom locker...
Mom picked up two jobs in town because we need the money now that we can't rely on dad anymore. I wonder if it's partly because mom wants to keep busy. It's always how she deals with pain or rejection. In the days after dad moved out, mom went crazy cleaning the apartment top to bottom.
"Hi."
I jump and nearly fall backwards. When I look up Tristan is grinning down at me.
"Sorry..." He stifles a laugh, "Didn't mean to go all ninja on you."
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"Hey. No problem," I shove my books in the locker and stand, "I'm pretty out of it today."
He starts twisting the ring on his finger, "I wanted to say sorry for Ryke. He and Zoey don't get along—"
"Zoey told me the story."
"I see..."
I glance around at the emptying hallways and then back to Tristan. It's weird, any boy with his looks in the city would be a total player. The boy in front of me looks flustered and lost for words.
"So got a lot done on that history project today?"
"Yeah, not so much. Ryke was in a mood after the Zoey thing. I tried to get some more done but—oh right!"
Tristan slips off his navy Hollister backpack and unzips it to expose its Konmari-level organization. He slips a red pocket folder out from between two books and stands again. Almost as tall as Jordan. He passes me the folder.
"What's this?"
"I rewrote all of our notes so far for the project so you know where we are at," Tristan pauses a little sheepishly as I rifle through the twenty some pages covered back to front in slanted shorthand.
Mom told me that public schools were different so I should leave my laptop at home. The idea of taking this many notes by hand makes my already aching fingers throb. I haven't had to take manual notes in years.
"Wow. Um, you didn't have to do that but thanks!"
Tristan's laugh is a little wobbly and he takes a step back as he throws on his backpack.
"No big deal. I had time in class and figured you had a rough first day with the whole... incident earlier."
I know I shouldn't read too much into this. It is a nice gesture by a good Christian boy. He probably does everyone's homework, babysits his neighbours kids for free, and plans to become a doctor some day.
