Spirit (Elemental) - By Brigid Kemmerer Page 0,12

Honors French and pretended the new girl didn’t exist.

A folded triangle of paper landed in the center of his notebook.

Normally he’d unfold it discreetly, but Beamis was so clueless that the note could have hit him in the head and he wouldn’t notice.

Loopy script in purple pen. The paper smelled like her.

What’s your #?

Wow.

Hunter clicked his pen and wrote below her words.

I have a theory about girls who ask for your number before asking for your name.

Then he folded it up and flicked it back.

It took every ounce of self-control to not watch her unfold it.

The paper landed back on his desk in record time.

I have a theory about boys who prefer writing to texting.

He put his pen against the paper.

I have a theory about girls with theories.

Then he waited, not looking, fighting the small smile that wanted to play on his lips.

The paper didn’t reappear.

After a minute, he sighed and went back to his French essay.

When the folded triangle smacked him in the temple, he jumped a mile. His chair scraped the floor, and Beamis paused in his lecture, turning from the board. “Is there a problem?”

“No.” Hunter coughed, covering the note with his hand. “Sorry.”

When the coast was clear, he unfolded the triangle.

It was a new piece of paper.

My name is Kate.

Kate. Hunter almost said the name out loud.

What was wrong with him?

It fit her perfectly, though. Short and blunt and somehow indescribably hot.

Another piece of paper landed on his notebook, a small strip rolled up tiny.

This time, there was only a phone number.

Hunter felt like someone had punched him in the stomach and he couldn’t remember how to breathe.

Then he pulled out his cell phone and typed under the desk.

Come here often?

Her response appeared almost immediately.

First timer.

Beamis was facing the classroom now, so Hunter kept his gaze up until it was safe. When he looked back, Kate had written again.

I bet I could strip naked and this guy wouldn’t even notice.

Hunter’s pulse jumped. But this was easier, looking at the phone instead of into her eyes.

I would notice.

There was a long pause, during which he wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. Then a new text appeared.

I have a theory about boys who picture you naked before sharing their name.

He smiled.

My name is Hunter. Where you from?

This time, her response appeared immediately.

Just transferred from St. Mary’s in Annapolis.

Now he was imagining her in a little plaid skirt and knee-high socks.

Another text appeared.

Stop imagining me in the outfit.

He grinned.

How did you know?

You’re a boy.

I’m still waiting to hear your theory on piercings.

Right. IMO, you have to be crazy hot to pull off either piercings or tattoos. Otherwise you’re just enhancing the ugly.

Hunter stared at the phone, wondering if she was hitting on him—or insulting him. Before he could figure it out, another message appeared.

What does the tattoo on your arm say?

He slid his fingers across the keys.

It says “ask me about this tattoo.”

Liar.

Mission accomplished, I’d say.

He heard a small sound from her direction and peeked over. She was still staring at her phone, but she had a smile on her face, like she was trying to stifle a giggle.

Mission accomplished, he’d say.

CHAPTER 5

A million and one worries should have been clouding Hunter’s brain.

Instead, he spent all of fourth period texting with Kate.

And most of fifth period, too.

After World History, he’d been ready to finish their conversation live—but she slipped out the door without even looking at him. He’d stood in the hallway and watched her cut through the crowds of students, somewhat dumbfounded. Had he misread all those text messages? Maybe she hadn’t been flirting at all. Had she just been killing time?

Then his phone had buzzed in his hand.

Again with the staring?

He’d never met a girl who could send his heart tripping with a few words on a screen.

Now he was headed for the cafeteria with a shadow of a smile on his lips—and a shadow of doubt coiled in his chest. He’d sent her a text:

Want to stare at each other over a table at lunch?

But she hadn’t responded.

Maybe it was better if she didn’t want to sit with him. He could confront Becca or the Merricks and get them to carry some of the weight of Calla’s threats.

He checked his phone while he waited to grab a tray for the line.

Blank.

Hunter sighed and slid it into his pocket, taking an apple, a plate of grilled chicken and greens, and a bowl of vegetable soup. He didn’t have to wait for any of it—there was never

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