Strings Attached

Chapter One

"It's nice to see you again, Cody. Now I know my first hour won't be boring," he says, a slightly amused look on his face.

Before I can do something else stupid, I quickly nod and make a break for the empty desk at the back of the room. As I walk down the aisle a hand reaches out and grabs my wrist. I look up, stunned, to find Isabel looking up at me with concerned eyes. She mouths, Are you okay? I am surprised she still cares; I've practically avoided her the past few month, hiding from her pity and concern, because when things go wrong and I get hurt, I pull into myself instead of relying on others. I know it's stupid to push people that care away, but it's all I know how to do. Isabel knows this about me and, for whatever reason, has decided not to give up on me.

I give her a shaky smile. Austin, I mouth.

She nods in understanding and releases my wrist. I know she's going to ask me more about this later. Knowing Isabel, she's going to corner me in the hall or at lunch and begin an interrogation session. I wonder if she'll force our friend Ezra join her so they can gang up on me.

I resist the urge to groan as I slide into my seat, and I realize that I've been spending too much time with Austin. When you start mimicking your moody, fourteen-year-old brother's mannerisms, you know you have a problem. Oh well, it's not like things can get much worse at this point. As long as I'm not possessed with the desire to wear high heels and fall in love with one or all of the members of some boy band, I know I won't have totally lost my mind.

Smoothing back my loose strands of hair, I try to focus on what Mr. Graves is saying. It only takes me a few moments to realize that, no matter how hard I tried, I wasn't going to be able to give him my full, undivided attention. A few girls a couple of rows in front of me where whispering and occasionally sneaking glances at me like I was some animal on display at the zoo. This leaves me torn between trying to hide somehow or flip them off, neither option being very mature.

Another pair of eyes is burning into me as well. The boy next to me is watching me curiously. He has earbuds, clearly ignoring everything Mr. Graves is doing, and I randomly wonder what it would be like to be able to go through life with a soundtrack of your choice. His curly dark brown hair stops at his shoulder, parted so it hangs mostly to one side—and I'm deciding if it gives off more off an untamed, laid back rocker or "I'm trying to move on from my tween heartthrob days" vibe.

When he notices me staring back, he raises an eyebrow in some form of challenge. Who is this guy? I give him a flat look that reminds him he stared it. Rocker boy smirks in amusement at me, his blue-green eyes lighting up mischievously. Unimpressed, I roll my eyes before turning my attention to the window and stare out it for the rest of class.

Once the bell rings, dismissing us, Mr. Graves says, "Have a good rest of your day. Cody, would you come here for a moment?"

My mouth goes dry because I already know what he wants to talk to me about. As far as teachers go, Mr. Graves is one of the best ones I've met. He finds my weird sense of humor amusing instead of irritating, and he genuinely cares about what happens to me despite have one hundred or so of other students to worry about as well. Right now, I wish he cared a little less if that meant we could skip the little conversation that's about to happen.

He stands next to his desk as he waits for me. His button up shirt is neatly rolled up to his elbows and his hair is gelled in a professional manner. Mr. Graves can't be much older than Lucy, which explains why he has the ability to crack jokes that were actually funny.

"Cody, I'm so sorry for your loss. Your parents were great people," he tells me in a consoling manner.

I know people mean well, but why do they say they're sorry for something that isn't their fault. No one who apologized made that man get drunk off of his ass and then go driving. Furthermore, why do they tell me things they already know? I know that they were amazing, so telling me that just feels like rubbing salt in my wounds.

Mr. Graves is waiting me to say thank you or something, but instead I fixate on the holes the knees of my jeans. It feels wrong to thank someone for telling you that they're sad your parents died. I opt to stay silent due to a lack of words.

Clearing his throat, trying to ignore the heavy, awkward silence that has fallen between us, he adds, "I just wanted you to know that you can talk to me anytime—my door is always open, Cody."

"Thanks." My voice sounds clipped and tight even to me. I wonder what Mr. Graves makes of it. "I should head to my next class," I say, jerking my thumb in the direction of the door.

He nods. "Have a good day."

I'm pretty sure I responded in kind, but my mind is already racing, taking me far away from this room. My feet quickly follow suit by leading me into a hallway full of people. I try to focus on getting to physics class with the dreaded Ms. Caulfield instead of the conversation with Mr. Graves except I can't. His words spin around my head, reminding how many people gave their apologies and their positive opinions of my parents. If all my teachers do that, I'm not sure what I'll do. Maybe I can hide out in the second grade with Elliott.