It's My Life - Stacie Ramey Page 0,8
in sight. I pull my phone out and check for messages. Sure enough.
Running late. Marketing Academy stuff.
Ben is big with the Marketing Academy. Marketing kids are like student government kids on a lot of energy drinks. Marketing kids don’t plan dances. They plan marketing strategy and compete in state and national competitions. They aren’t just preparing to win; they are preparing to rule the world. To find jobs in finance or any of the management careers. But in high school, the end goal is simple: the nationals in California. Ben says it’s THE BIGS—his ticket to big business, world domination, and season’s passes to Disney. Ben’s a weird combo of things—some Machiavellian, some pretty mainstream.
I’m so busy musing about my bestie that I almost miss spotting him: Julian Van Beck. My Julian. It’s been years since I’ve seen him, seven to be exact, but I’d know him anywhere. Wavy red hair that used to be cute, but is now downright sexy in a Prince Harry way. He’s gotten tall, and even with his hoodie and baseball jacket, I can make out broad shoulders and what I have to assume is a pretty ripped body.
Part of me doesn’t want to run into him. Most of me doesn’t. I mean, here he is looking all grown up, and here I am, looking weak and worn out.
He leans against the wall in front of the guidance office, hands hanging loosely at his side. One foot is pressed against the wall, completely flat, and he gazes toward the ceiling. The look he always wore when he was avoiding something. Or someone. He’s got earbuds in and a piece of paper hanging out of his mouth, half chewed. He used to do that, chew paper, when he was nervous. I’ve got this sudden need to see if he’s okay, but I don’t get a chance. One of the girls in my class, super-flirty Tori Zimmer, saunters up to him. Tori is kind of an expert saunterer. I wait to see how he responds, my breath stuck inside me. Who could resist her siren call? But Julian barely manages a polite smile. Tori walks off, and I want to celebrate in my head. Even if he’s not mine, he’s not hers, either.
And then it hits me. Maybe he won’t recognize me. He probably doesn’t even remember me. Ben’s got this story of this guy he was friends with all through elementary school, in Washington, DC, where he grew up before he moved here. They were always together. Always. And then when he went back last summer, the dude acted like they’d never met. And when Ben forced the issue (because that’s the way he is), he acted like Ben was nuts. He ran his hand through his hair, look around at his new crew of friends, and said, “You’ve lost it, man. I don’t know you.” Like the guy was embarrassed to be around Ben. Like he couldn’t get away from him fast enough. Which pissed me off so much, I’d told myself I’d gladly give up my chance to be one of the thirty-six saints in order to open a can of whoop ass all over that idiot.
But now I’m wondering, is this going to be one of those situations?
I reverse my chair and aim toward my locker, hoping that Julian doesn’t see me.
“I’ve already got your things,” Mrs. Wilson says.
This is exactly why I can’t stand her. Just when I’m trying to stay on the down low, she’s throwing a big spotlight on me. Besides, she’s simply here for standby assist, not to treat me like a kid.
“Jenna, wait,” she says, persisting, and I wish I could run her over with my wheelchair. I would actually do it, make it look like an accident, if it wouldn’t draw even more attention to me. How could she possibly know what I need from my locker? Has she been in my locker? She holds up the books for my first three classes. “See? We’re all set.”
I glare at her.
“The administration let me into your locker so I could get your books. We want you all set to catch up, right?”
Is she kidding? I can’t turn away from her fast enough. Meanwhile my fingers feel sort of uncoordinated, which makes my lock that much harder to work. Mrs. Wilson takes my fumbling as a signal to hover over me. I hold up my hand. “I’ve got this.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Julian.