Emmy & Oliver - Robin Benway Page 0,12

mirror and fluffing her hair. (The rain wasn’t doing anyone any favors, hair-wise.) Oliver hadn’t looked away yet. He was inscrutable, just like those age-progression pictures of him on the missing children databases. I couldn’t read his face at all and it was . . . weird.

So I crossed my eyes and stuck my tongue out at him.

The minute I did that, I realized that I was an idiot. A first-class idiot that clearly had no idea how to interact with people—or how to roll her window back up and avoid getting rain all over the car’s interior, for that matter. Who just crosses their eyes at someone? Four-year-olds, that’s who. Four-year-olds and people who need corrective lens wear.

But Oliver’s face suddenly split open into a confused smile, like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but liked it, anyway. His eyebrow arched as he started to roll the window back up and I quickly did the same, my cheeks on fire.

The second I ran into Caro in the hallway, I grabbed her arm. “Ow and hi,” she said, taking her arm back.

“You won’t believe what I just did,” I said to her.

“I probably will, but try me.”

“So I saw Oliver in the driveway this morning—”

“Why was he in the driveway?”

“He’s starting school today. Anyway—”

“He is?” Caro gasped, now grabbing my arm. (She was right, it hurt.) “Oh my God, is that even a smart idea? Everyone knows who he is!”

“I know, right?” I said. “I tried to tell my mom the same thing, but she didn’t get it.”

“Moms never do,” Caro said in sympathy. “Okay, so you saw him in the driveway, heading straight toward this torture chamber, and . . .”

“And both of our windows were rolled down.”

“Yeah?”

“And he wouldn’t stop looking at me.”

Caro widened her eyes a little. “He wouldn’t stop looking at you? Or you wouldn’t stop looking at him?”

“Caro, that’s not important. We were both looking at each other, and it was really weird, so I crossed my eyes and stuck out my tongue at him.”

Caro just shrugged. “It sounds cute. You’re adorable when you cross your eyes. What’d he do?”

“He smiled,” I admitted. “And then we rolled up the windows because it was raining.”

“Well, you were wrong, I totally believe this story,” she said as we arrived at her locker. “Why does it always smell like old sandwiches around here?” she muttered as she spun the lock. “Someone’s hoarding food and it’s disgusting. Anyway, I’m pretty sure that your reputation with the most famous person in our school is still intact. He smiled and that’s a good sign.” Caro gave me a meaningful glance. “You should cross your eyes more often. You’ll have a date to prom like that!”

I socked her in the shoulder even as I started to laugh. “You’re the worst best friend ever.”

“I take pride in that,” she said, and was about to say more when Oliver walked out of the school office and started to head toward his locker.

It wasn’t too difficult to find. It was the one that had milk cartons stuck all over it.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“What?” Caro said, then looked up from her phone to follow my gaze to Oliver’s locker. A few other people were already looking at it, taking pictures that would probably end up on the internet in the next thirty seconds, even before Oliver had a chance to see it for himself.

“Milk?” she whispered. “Why milk?”

“Milk cartons,” I whispered back. “You know, missing kids. Oh God, this is awful.”

“How did they even know that was his locker?” Caro asked, running her hand through her hair the way she always did when she was pissed off about something.

“One of the suck-ups who work in the office must’ve tipped someone off,” I said.

“What is that, fishing wire?” Caro said, squinting to see what held the cartons to the locker.

“Assholes,” I muttered. I was about to storm over there and start yanking them down when Oliver walked past Caro and me. His gaze was the same as it had been in the car, sort of expressionless and cautious at the same time, and it didn’t change when he saw his locker.

“Oh no,” I whispered to Caro, who was clutching at my arm again. It still hurt, but I didn’t say anything. “This is so bad.”

“It’s milk, Emmy,” Caro whispered back. “Not arsenic. Unless he has a lactose thing, he’ll live.” She paused. “Hey, remember when Kaitlyn Cooper was in the library and someone opened a