Shaken

Chapter 2

Shaken

Copyright © 2012 by Susan Hatler

All rights reserved.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of Chem Lab, I bolted from the classroom. I was a girl on a mission. A mission to read her potential-boyfriend’s mind. Pushing my way through the crowds, I stood across from Joel’s locker, and waited. 

He never showed. 

I repeated my stalking stance during the break after English, but still no Joel. I couldn’t believe it. He always went to his locker between classes. Why did he have to change routine today of all days? 

It’s not like Joel knew I was gonna peek at his thoughts and was purposely staying away. No, there was no way he could know that unless . . . well, unless someone had read my brain and then told Joel my plans. My eyes widened and I studied the faces around me. Just then, someone bumped my arm. A mind reader!

“You make a better door than window,” the guy growled. 

“Sorry,” I said, way doubtful that tool’s goal was brain peeking. I made my way over to the wall. Oh, man. I was majorly tripping. It’s not like the entire world had a peek-a-boo brain or surely it would be a reality TV show. 

My head began to spin again, so I gave up on Joel for now and headed to Trig. Math would be a cinch compared to mind reading. But, just like in my morning classes, I couldn’t concentrate. I spent fifty-five minutes playing “He likes me/He likes me not” using the lines on my binder paper. 

After McKay let us out of Trig, still no sign of Joel. Which totally blew since I’d ended on “He likes me”. 

My shoulders slumped and my brain-snooping bravery was deflating. Major drag since I’d even thought up several excuses to explain why I was suddenly so touchy-feely with Joel. If he likes me: “Wasn’t it about time we held hands?” If he thinks of me as a friend: “Ooops, I thought you were someone else.” If he doesn’t like me: “Just wanted to see if weight-lifters lotionized. Guess they don’t.”

Those responses were golden. I couldn’t let them go to waste, could I? But, Joel was MIA. Hmmm. Julie’d texted him earlier. Maybe she knew where he was. With renewed purpose, I grabbed lunch, headed to our usual table in the cafeteria, and slid into a metal folding chair. “Hey, Julie. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from—”

“Kylie, thank good ness you’re here! I’m having serious drama. Last night, my mom gave me crap over buying my new jacket online with her credit card. She was like ‘Three hundred dollars a month is plenty for a clothes budget. There’s no reason to go over.’”

“Real quick, Jules, I just have to know if—”

“And I’m all, ‘Mother, that barely buys me a t-shirt and jeans. What do you expect me to do about outerwear? Freeze?’”

I held up a finger. “Hang on. Can you tell me if—” 

“Then she goes, ‘You get more than I spend on my own clothes and I manage a full wardrobe.’”

My mouth clamped closed. No point in asking Julie something when she was venting. Goes to show how desperate I was for even trying. I poked my macaroni and cheese with my fork as Julie went on. Maybe Joel had ditched school. 

Julie flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder. “And I’m all, ‘Yeah, my point exactly, mother. Look at the clothes you wear. I’d be laughed out of school if I dressed like that’. Then she had the nerve to suspend my budget until next month. Can you believe that?”