over.
“But I’m all sweaty … and I just lost the game.” I rub my nose and then suddenly flash Portia a big fake smile in case anyone’s watching and sees me looking insecure. “And by the way, if you grab my arm and start dragging me over there like a spaz,” I speak quietly behind my tightly locked teeth, “I will kill you and that’s a promise.”
“Like I would really do that?” Portia shakes back her hair.
“Calling’s better for me, anyway. If I go now, Ty won’t know that I’ve seen him. The late bus is going to be leaving any minute.”
Then I dash away from Portia, out of the gym, into the cold air. The empty bus is waiting at the curb, and I thump down into my favorite seat, the one with the bump that the tire fits under. I press my face against the window; my skin feels stiff with salt and my ponytail elastic hugs a tangled mat of brown.
Thu-thu-thunk. My eyes fly open to see Ty knocking against the glass with the heel of his hand. He jerks his thumb to the bus door and I nod, trying not to let myself seem too energized by his presence.
“Hey, you.” He smiles as he walks down the aisle. His cheeks have blossomed pink from the cold and his school tie dangles out of his camel’s hair overcoat. I brush my hair in front of my chest in case of a hive attack. “Good game.”
“Not really. Where were you? I didn’t see you.” I lift my eyebrows and pretend to stifle a yawn. Ty slides into the seat in front of me, kneeling on it backward to face me and resting his arms across the seat back.
“I was watching you from the door. We didn’t get there till fourth quarter. I came to see Hannah. Hannah Wilder, you know. She’s my cousin.”
“On your mom’s side?”
“Huh?” Ty reaches up and unlatches his window and squeaks it down, allowing a shot of cold air to blow inside.
“Cousin on your mom’s—like, is your mom sisters with her mom or something?” At first Ty just stares at me and I can’t tell if he doesn’t get it or he’s just bored by my awful BNT-cubed conversation skills.
“Hannah’s dad is my uncle Craig,” he says quickly, and then, thankfully, he slides on the Smile, probably to let me know that I haven’t totally blown it with him yet. “So what’s going on with you, Danny? Besides hoops?” Ty pulls a pack of gum out of his pocket; it’s the weird no-name brand of another Bradshaw vending machine purchase. He offers me a stick, which I accept.
“Not much.” I swallow. “Same old same old.” I hope I don’t look like I’m shivering. And then I realize how idiotic I am to feel so jumpy. Ty Amblin is probably sitting here waiting for me to ask him to the dance. He knows I’m going to, and he wants to go. I don’t have to be nervous at all. My asking rushes out all at once, words clear and simple as bubbles. He nods, and flashes the Smile at me again.
“When is it?” he asks. As if he doesn’t know.
“Next Saturday. And I’m pretty sure Jess and Portia are going.”
“Well, yeah, sure. Sounds cool.” He brushes his fingers through his soft yellow hair and nods. “Cool,” he says again.
“And Jess’s older brother might be able to give us all a lift, if you guys want to meet up with us at Portia’s before the dance.” The plan behind this casual sentence actually involved hours of phone conversation with Portia, since Mr. Paulson’s so strict about putting his personal stamp of approval on our dates. Ty nods, satisfied, and lifts himself up from the seat, his two thumbs whipping at the seat back in a little drumroll. After all this anticipation, it’s turned out to be a snap. Well, maybe a couple snaps.
“Great. Look forward to it. See you later then,” he says. “I gotta go. My friends are waiting.” He waves his hand vaguely in the direction of the gym.
“See ya.” And I’m glad to see him go, glad to get back to the business of breathing normally again. A few other girls are pushing onto the late bus just as Ty gets off,
“But I’m all sweaty … and I just lost the game.” I rub my nose and then suddenly flash Portia a big fake smile in case anyone’s watching and sees me looking insecure. “And by the way, if you grab my arm and start dragging me over there like a spaz,” I speak quietly behind my tightly locked teeth, “I will kill you and that’s a promise.”
“Like I would really do that?” Portia shakes back her hair.
“Calling’s better for me, anyway. If I go now, Ty won’t know that I’ve seen him. The late bus is going to be leaving any minute.”
Then I dash away from Portia, out of the gym, into the cold air. The empty bus is waiting at the curb, and I thump down into my favorite seat, the one with the bump that the tire fits under. I press my face against the window; my skin feels stiff with salt and my ponytail elastic hugs a tangled mat of brown.
Thu-thu-thunk. My eyes fly open to see Ty knocking against the glass with the heel of his hand. He jerks his thumb to the bus door and I nod, trying not to let myself seem too energized by his presence.
“Hey, you.” He smiles as he walks down the aisle. His cheeks have blossomed pink from the cold and his school tie dangles out of his camel’s hair overcoat. I brush my hair in front of my chest in case of a hive attack. “Good game.”
“Not really. Where were you? I didn’t see you.” I lift my eyebrows and pretend to stifle a yawn. Ty slides into the seat in front of me, kneeling on it backward to face me and resting his arms across the seat back.
“I was watching you from the door. We didn’t get there till fourth quarter. I came to see Hannah. Hannah Wilder, you know. She’s my cousin.”
“On your mom’s side?”
“Huh?” Ty reaches up and unlatches his window and squeaks it down, allowing a shot of cold air to blow inside.
“Cousin on your mom’s—like, is your mom sisters with her mom or something?” At first Ty just stares at me and I can’t tell if he doesn’t get it or he’s just bored by my awful BNT-cubed conversation skills.
“Hannah’s dad is my uncle Craig,” he says quickly, and then, thankfully, he slides on the Smile, probably to let me know that I haven’t totally blown it with him yet. “So what’s going on with you, Danny? Besides hoops?” Ty pulls a pack of gum out of his pocket; it’s the weird no-name brand of another Bradshaw vending machine purchase. He offers me a stick, which I accept.
“Not much.” I swallow. “Same old same old.” I hope I don’t look like I’m shivering. And then I realize how idiotic I am to feel so jumpy. Ty Amblin is probably sitting here waiting for me to ask him to the dance. He knows I’m going to, and he wants to go. I don’t have to be nervous at all. My asking rushes out all at once, words clear and simple as bubbles. He nods, and flashes the Smile at me again.
“When is it?” he asks. As if he doesn’t know.
“Next Saturday. And I’m pretty sure Jess and Portia are going.”
“Well, yeah, sure. Sounds cool.” He brushes his fingers through his soft yellow hair and nods. “Cool,” he says again.
“And Jess’s older brother might be able to give us all a lift, if you guys want to meet up with us at Portia’s before the dance.” The plan behind this casual sentence actually involved hours of phone conversation with Portia, since Mr. Paulson’s so strict about putting his personal stamp of approval on our dates. Ty nods, satisfied, and lifts himself up from the seat, his two thumbs whipping at the seat back in a little drumroll. After all this anticipation, it’s turned out to be a snap. Well, maybe a couple snaps.
“Great. Look forward to it. See you later then,” he says. “I gotta go. My friends are waiting.” He waves his hand vaguely in the direction of the gym.
“See ya.” And I’m glad to see him go, glad to get back to the business of breathing normally again. A few other girls are pushing onto the late bus just as Ty gets off,
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