connections; here it seemed people flocked to me, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of the rumors or Maximillian.
Maximillian boasted that he was in every club imaginable. He wanted to run for class president, too. He was well liked, well known, and well acquainted with most of the female population. It didn’t take me long to find out that Max liked to date. A lot. The jealous stares tossed my way by prep-school geniuses were a dime a dozen. A hot future scientist was in high demand, apparently.
“You’re from Texas, right?” a mousy voice asked. I turned to my right to stare at a girl with long blonde hair and dark, bushy eyebrows. She had a timid way about her, with downcast eyes and a button nose. I remembered that her name was Taylor, and I wanted to say she was in my class with Decker—I mean Mr. Harris—but I wasn’t for sure. I liked her the most because she was quiet.
“Yep,” I said with a pop. “Lived there my whole life.”
I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned the other way to stare at Maximillian. He was clutching me close in an awkward side hug that forced my chest to concave. Maximillian’s thigh pressed against mine, making my skin heat up from the friction. I felt nothing though. My heart felt like it was on a lag, too busy wading through Decker Harris to appreciate the feel of this pretty-boy’s undivided attention.
“I, for one, am happy Blakely moved from Texas,” Maximillian announced with a boyish grin.
“I bet you are,” a dark-skinned boy snickered while wiggling his eyebrows.
“Why did you move here?” Taylor asked. She was a nosey one, that was certain. Taylor seemed chronically inquisitive and a bit abrasive. I stared at her as she picked up the salad on her plate, intently picking up zero-calorie shreds of lettuce and dipping it into her vinaigrette. There was no cheese on her salad, nor any croutons. Just a bunch of healthy shit carefully proportioned to decorate her plate. Taylor seemed like a perfectionist, and I wasn’t sure what to make of that.
I stumbled through my answer for a moment, remembering Rose’s advice. “My mother died.” My admission was like cement being poured across the table. “I found out I had a brother and moved out here to stay with him. It’s been different, but I like it,” I explained with ease, surprised how freeing it was to own my story and spit it out for the curious onlookers.
Taylor’s eyes widened, but there wasn’t actually any shock in her expression. Something told me that she’d already heard the rumors about my existence but wanted clarity from the source. “I’m sorry about your mother,” she said in a lower voice before reaching out to place her tiny hand over mine.
The corner of my mouth picked up as Maximillian squeezed me tighter. Something about this entire interaction made it feel like it was more about them than it was about me. I once knew a man that would say giving comfort was more enjoyable than receiving it, and as I stared around the table at the sympathetic faces, I realized that he was onto something. I kind of wanted to steal a little comfort back.
“Don’t be. Mama was kind of a bitch,” I said with a shrug while reveling in the shocked expressions that crossed my table-mates’ faces. Maximillian let out a short laugh.
“I’m starting to realize you don’t say what I expect you to,” he said gruffly before removing his hand from my shoulder and picking up half of his sandwich to shove it into his mouth. I watched in awe, mostly because he didn’t appear to actually chew his food, just pushed it down his throat.
“I’m starting to think it’s fun to be unpredictable,” I replied. My little bit of socialization was already starting to drain me, so I distracted myself by pulling out my homework from last night to read over it once more. Around me, people still talked as I worked through a couple of problems I was unsure about.
“That reaction is wrong,” Taylor’s voice rang out. Once again, I turned to her, taking in the fierce expression on her face and the way she was gnawing on her lip. “It’s kind of a trick question. May I?” she asked, gesturing for my homework.
Some people were prideful about knowing it all, but that wasn’t me. I welcomed critique. I welcomed being wrong. It just meant