Brandy Colbert - Pointe

Ruthie’s parents send her to a really good, expensive private school. They support her dream. They’re kind and patient and they put up with her mean streak. I guess that’s what you do when you love someone—take all of the bad even when it outweighs the good.

Sort of like being with Chris. I loved the gentle version of him, but to be with him, I also had to put up with the Chris who wasn’t gentle—who made me feel ashamed as I slipped on my underwear when we were finished.

“Well, your parents can’t ground you forever, right?” I say as I toss my tights into my bag.

She pulls a sweater down hard over her curls. “It’s going to take them a while to forgive me for this one. The girl I got into it with is sort of a family friend. Her parents gave my school a letter of recommendation . . . I’m pretty sure they’re the only reason I got in.”

“Shit, Ruthie.” I stand up from the bench to slide on my yoga pants as I think about what it’s like to be her.

“Yeah, well.” Ruthie looks away from me before I can make eye contact. Bends over to knot the laces on her black Converse. “It’s kind of a big deal and everyone blames me because I’m the one with the record or whatever.”

She doesn’t sound angry. She doesn’t look it, either.

Even with her head down—even when I can’t see her face—she just looks tired. And maybe a little bit sad.

I FEEL BAD ABOUT KISSING SOMEONE ELSE’S BOYFRIEND.

But not bad enough to stop.

I thought what happened with Hosea might be a one-time thing. We’ve been texting, but we haven’t seen each other outside of ballet or random hallway sightings at school. And it would be the right thing to do—to stop seeing him before I fall too far. Yet a big part of me hopes that kissing him, that being with him, wasn’t a one-time thing. We would be good together—I know it—so I wish guilt didn’t rush through my veins every time I think about being That Girl. Because I don’t know if it’s a title I’d ever be comfortable owning.

Then, the Monday after Halloween, he texts me.

It comes through a few seconds after the lunch bell, so I read it as everyone is rushing out of English, toward the cafeteria. I stand at my desk and pull up his message with shaking fingers.

Meet me in the old science lab? I want to see you.

The old lab. Of course. No one ever uses it. I cover my smile with my hand, but I can’t do anything about the goose bumps that prickle along my arms as I text him back:

See you there.

It was too fast. Maybe I should have waited a little bit, left him wondering. But I couldn’t have stopped myself, even if I’d wanted to.

I shoot Sara-Kate a quick text that says I have to study during lunch, then duck into the nearest bathroom for a quick mirror check. I put on a fresh coat of lip gloss. Stop. Really look at myself. And it’s strange. The same old me looking back as always—dark eyes, thick hair, skin a warm brown with reddish undertones. But for the first time in a long time, I look . . . happy.

I peek out into the hall to make sure it’s empty, then book it to the science lab. It’s more of a supply room, really. No one has class here anymore after some super-brainy kid’s parents donated a ton of money to build a new lab a few years ago.

I take a deep breath when I’m standing outside the door. Smooth my hands over my fitted white button-down with the tiny yellow flowers, look down at my dark jeans to make sure they’re still tucked snugly into my boots.

The knob turns easily. I step in, close the door behind me, lean my back against it as I search the room for him. Or maybe I’m here first? But I follow the rustling sound to the far left corner and there he is.

We look at each other for a long second. He smiles and I smile and we walk toward each other until we meet in the middle.

“Hi,” I say when we’re so close the toes of our boots are touching.

“Hi.” He removes his hands from the front pocket of his hoodie. Traces my collarbone and lingers there only slightly before his hand slides up my neck and along the line of my jaw. His thumb strokes my earlobe and I lean into his palm, move closer, shut my eyes as I give myself to the moment.

Our first kiss is soft. Sweet. Short.

“I’m glad you came,” he murmurs, our lips inches apart.

“Me too,” I breathe back, wondering how such a small kiss can leave me so flustered. “But how’d you think of the lab? Shouldn’t this room be locked up?” I look at the microscopes and Bunsen burners and boxes of rock samples perched on the tables around us. The light that manages to shine through the hazy windows reveals that everything is covered in a thick layer of dust.

His body heat melds into mine. Does he know my heart is pounding double time? Can he feel how I feel about him?

“Should be. Never is.” He shrugs. “Gas is turned off on the tables and they took out all the chemicals. Klein told me about it a while ago.”

“Does he still come here?” I look toward the door, wondering if this is too good to be true. I never would have thought to meet up here, but I’ve only recently become a person with so many things to hide.

“We’re fine.” He takes my hand in his. Squeezes. “I promise.”

We move farther into the room and off to the side. My back against the edge of a lab table, his arms braced on either side of mine as he presses against me. My hands are cold. I look at him as I slip them between his hoodie and T-shirt so they’re sitting at his waist. His mouth turns up in a slow grin as he leans in to kiss my neck.

“Hosea.” I say his name quietly, but he stops. Looks at me as I wait for the right words to come. “Do . . . do you bring her here?”

His eyebrows lift in surprise. “Ellie? No.” He pauses. “Never.”

Of course not. He doesn’t have to bring her here, because she’s his girlfriend. They can be together anytime they want; they don’t have to sneak around.

“Hey.” He tilts his head to the side a little, his gray eyes soft. “What’s wrong?”

I look down at my hands still resting on his waist. “Nothing, I . . .”

I’m being stupid.

I should just enjoy this.

I shouldn’t be upset that you’re with her.

“This can be our place . . . if you want,” he says, his gaze locked firmly on me. “Just you and me, okay?”

I nod. And I know it means I’m saying that what we’re doing could happen again, that I’m not strong enough to resist him. But these feelings aren’t going to disappear. I like these feelings. I was afraid I’d never have them again, after Chris. And besides, right now, all I want is to say yes to Hosea.

“Okay?” he says again. He’s still looking at me and we share a private smile that sends ribbons of warmth dancing through me.

“Okay.” Maybe it’s not so bad being That Girl.

I tip my head back and close my eyes and his mouth comes down on mine, soft and warm and familiar.

At least That Girl gets what she wants.

My lips are swollen when I leave the science lab.

We kept all our clothes on, but our hands were busy. My shirt is rumpled. Bunched in weird places. I tug it down at the bottom and decide to stop off in the bathroom for another mirror check. I left first and Hosea will follow in a little bit, just to be safe.

There are still a few minutes before lunch ends, so I figure the bathroom will be empty—but I figure wrong. Lark Pearson is standing at the far end of the room in front of the sinks, reapplying her eyeliner. She leans forward in a way that makes her ass stick out, emphasizing the fit of her painted-on jeans.