BECKETT’S ABSENCE in the seat in front of me felt palpable.
I glanced at the clock over Mr. Aris’s desk. He still had a couple of minutes.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone enter the room. The farther in he came, the better I could see him—his shaggy hair, the casual way he slung his backpack over one shoulder, his confident swagger. Lord help me. As he brushed past me, I could smell his cologne, but then, after sliding into his seat, he turned to me, gave me a heart-melting grin, and said,
“Good morning, Cupcake.”
If my heart didn’t slow down, I’d have a heart attack before lunch and prove my mom right.
“Good morning,” I breathed.
Mr. Aris called the class to attention, but didn’t he know I couldn’t focus with Beckett Langley talking to me? Calling me a special nickname? With all the butterflies in my stomach, it was a wonder I didn’t take flight right then.
I only made it through math class by copying down everything Mr. Aris said, because otherwise my mind would have run wild with daydreams. After the bell rang, I survived health class under Merritt’s steely glare, and I even endured AP English, but barely.
Finally, I was standing in the lunch line, ready to meet up with the girls and discuss strategy for the football game this Friday. With exactly one month left until the homecoming game, we had some major decisions to make about the night’s activities.
I filled my tray with all the things I couldn’t eat at home under Mom’s diet plan and swiped my lunch card at the end of the line. After grabbing a few napkins, I started away from the lunchroom, only to be stopped by my mother.
She looked at my tray, her lips turning down. Busted.
“I thought we talked about saving a third of your plate for vegetables,” she said, still staring disappointedly at my food.
“Potatoes are a vegetable, right?”
A couple of students passing by laughed, and one said, “Amen.” Mom didn’t seem as amused. “You’ve already paid for this.”
It was a statement that didn’t call for a reply.
She sighed. “I thought you would want to lose the weight like Dr.
Edmonson said.”
The more we talked, the more I felt like everyone in the lunchroom was staring at us. That was exactly what I needed. For Beckett to be reminded of my spare tire and remember that girls like me and guys like him existed on different planes, mine with extra wide seats. “Mom, can we talk about this later?”
“PCOS is serious, and—” “Mom, please?” I begged.
The last thing I wanted was for Beckett to hear about my PCOS and diet plan. Nothing killed high school romance like infertility and fat.
Her expression warred with emotions, but eventually she gave me a curt nod. “But come home after school. We need to talk about this.”
I nodded, putting “verbal lashing” and “familial humiliation” on my mental to-do list. Aiden never had to sit through any of these lectures. Probably because the guy could eat triple quarter pounders three times a day and just get more buff. Not like me—no, one look at the things and Mom would be sending me back to the bathroom with more virginal pregnancy tests.
Not wanting my mom to change her mind and hunt me down for round two, I hurried to the AV room to meet the other girls.
Jordan was the only one missing from the room. I dropped my tray on the table and glared at it. Why did my mom think she had to control everything I ate? Didn’t she know I’d be on my own in less than a year,
with a campus meal plan she couldn’t monitor like a hawk and an entire life outside the oppressive weight of her thumb?
“What’s wrong with you?” Ginger asked.
I groaned and held up a French fry. “Apparently this isn’t health-teacher approved.”
“But potatoes are vegetables,” she said with a grin.
With a small laugh, I shook my head. “That’s what I said. Didn’t work.” I took a bite and swallowed. It tasted good, just like it always did, but I couldn’t appreciate it as much. What if Beckett or Merritt had overheard my mom? That would be the end of what little clout I’d acquired in the last few
weeks—the end of any chance I had with Beckett.
I sighed. “I love my mom, but sometimes I wish she would butt out.” Zara lifted a corner of her lips. “Be thankful you have one.”
“What happened to your mom?” Ginger asked.
“She got sick when I was eleven. Breast cancer.”
Callie frowned and tried to pat her hand, but Zara put it in her lap. “She was my best friend.”
Well, now I felt like a jerk. “I’m sorry, I—” “Where’s Jordan?” Zara asked, changing the subject. The rest of us shrugged, just as the door opened.
Jordan had her phone pressed between her cheek and her shoulder as she dropped her tray on the table. “Fine. Fine. Do whatever you want.” She held up the screen and hit end way harder than necessary.
“What was that about?” I asked, grateful for a distraction.
Jordan rolled her eyes. “My boyfriend’s an idiot.” But she left it at that. “Let’s focus on you. How was this morning?”
I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance but probably hitting spastic instead. “Just another hi before class. Which I love. But he’s not exactly proclaiming his undying love for me… Should I be worried about that?”
Zara shook her head. “He’s still figuring out his feelings. Beckett is the kind of guy who won’t lay all of his cards out to everyone until he knows for sure how he feels.”
That made me feel better, if only slightly. “Did Carson say anything?” I asked Callie.
“Just that he’d try to talk to Beckett after the game without making things too obvious.”
I nodded. “So the game Friday?”
“Let’s go,” Zara said. “After seeing all the guys in their uniforms last time…I think I’m a football fan.”
The rest of us giggled. “It’s a plan,” I said.
