Don't Go Stealing My Heart - Kelly Siskind Page 0,50
farted on Jack’s face. Their female entourage was a different kind of mean. They used dramatic coughs to barely disguise insults like loser and gross when passing Jack’s locker, a subtler brand of nasty.
All but Charlotte. Charlotte would glance back after Stella or Meredith cough-shamed him, an apologetic smile on her beautiful lips.
Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte. Dammit. He was staring again. His groin throbbed.
Another giggle from the girls. Another poke from Marco.
“Yeah, okay,” Jack told Marco. “Archery s-s-sounds cool.” Anything away from the D squad and Charlotte’s penis mind control.
He focused the rest of the class, got his body under control. He packed his books methodically, careful not to damage the Elvis record his granddad had given him. He planned to use the school’s music room to record the classic songs as they were meant to be heard. Scratchy. Raw. Load them on his iPod so he could sing along while riding his bike. He sang daily now, morning and night, and hummed in between. His stutter was getting better, and he couldn’t get enough. When he sang, his tongue was loose and fluid, not skittish and uncooperative.
Backpack on, he pushed his glasses up his nose. Marco fell into stride with him. Marco may have been a pitcher who’d have scouts salivating before high school was done, but he drifted in Jack’s orbit, inhabiting the outer rim of Planet Cool. Marco’s single eyebrow and mullet drew a hefty amount of cough-shaming, too. But where Jack would hunch and try to disappear around the D Squad, Marco would lift his chin and tell them to fuck a duck.
They moved with the student flood toward their next class. The hallways looked like a candy store had exploded, colorful streamers and balloons fighting for space with empty candy boxes—next week’s Candyland dance theme in full force. The artsy kids were working on Double Bubble papier-maché sculptures and fake Hershey bars. Girls were making jewelry and hair clips with excess candy wrappers. Guys joked about wearing candy ties. When Jack overheard boys asking girls to be their dates, envy burned through him worse than a sip of his dad’s Scotch.
Jack ignored the decorations and trudged toward math class.
Marco hopped as he walked, always a bounce to his step. “My mom got me a new fishing rod. You keen to boat this weekend?”
“Yeah.”
“And we’re due for another Star Wars-athon. Thinking the night of the dance. Do something fun while these asshats step on each other’s feet.”
“Okay.” But he wouldn’t mind if Charlotte stepped on his feet. He also kept his answers short. No stuttering with those words. Marco got it, never ragged on him to show more enthusiasm or use a whole sentence. He wanted to. Man, did he want to tell him about the model X-wing fighter he’d built and how they should act out the scenes while watching Star Wars. Totally geek out together, but whatever. It was something to look forward to, besides wondering how much fun everyone else was having at the dance.
Charlotte was ahead of them, her blonde waves springing with her steps. A weird sigh-groan escaped him. Marco snickered. When she tipped her head back and laughed, Jack’s body zinged liked he’d inhaled all the candy from the empty boxes.
Marco prattled on about his archery setup.
Jack dropped his hands. Erection barricade.
Charlotte moved to the side and waved her friends along. She swung her backpack forward and opened it to get at something. Jack diverted his eyes. He tried to think of Mrs. Eschenbaum’s hairy mole and tuna-tainted breath.
“Fucking asshole,” Charlotte blurted.
Jack’s attention whipped her way. Her bag and books had toppled, while one of the football guys bounded in the other direction, probably after knocking into her. She mumbled under her breath and bent to gather her things. Jack should have left. He should have kept his head down, his feet moving, his mind on hairy moles and halitosis. But his granddad always told him to treat girls nice, to help when they were in trouble.
He told Marco he’d meet him in class, then hurried to Charlotte’s side and grabbed her bag. He held it out for her to fill, but couldn’t meet her Cinderella eyes.
“Thanks,” she said.
He nodded.
“No, really.” She placed her hand on his wrist, and holy fucking magnetic field. The situation in his jeans became a problem. A very big problem. He stayed crouched. She kept her hand on his arm. “Seriously, Maxwell. It was nice of you to help.”