Where You Are. J.H. Trumble

about him behind his back, that his little subterfuge is not nearly as covert as he thinks it is. He’s one of two technology liaisons on our campus, the go-to guy for everything software related, from converting YouTube video files to getting our contacts groups to show up in Outlook. Everybody knows him. It’s his job to respond to technology crises or last-minute queries about how to incorporate some little gizmo into a lesson.

      But even I’ve heard rumors that Liz Masters seems to have more crises and queries than most. Not that I care. What they do is their business.

      “So is this how you get your jollies?” I ask. “Speculating about what those two are doing in the backseat during their thirty-minute, duty-free lunch every day?”

      “It’s twenty-seven minutes now, and hey, a girl’s gotta get it somewhere,” she says coyly.

      I laugh lightly and pretend I don’t notice the subtle suggestion.

      She throws a quick glance at Kiki. “So,” she says, “are you going to the Christmas party Saturday?”

      “Nope.”

      “Come on. Why not?”

      “Why would I want to spend my Saturday night with a bunch of people I hardly know? Besides, last year it was mostly couples. Awkward, you know. And borrring.”

      “You could go with me.”

      Don’t think so. “I have Kiki anyway this weekend. I’m taking her to see Santa on Saturday, and then we’re going to eat graham crackers and watch The Lion King again, right, baby girl?”

      Kiki holds out her spoon, and I take a bite and wink at her.

      “And then when she falls asleep, I’m going to write my plans for the next nine weeks.”

      “Wow, your social life kind of takes my breath away.”

      I wish it took mine away.

      Chapter 2

      Robert

      I turn my cell phone back on as I cross the parking lot. It vibrates immediately. Five new texts. All from Nic. I thumb through them as I walk.

      I’m standing by your car. Hurry up.

      Answer your phone.

      OMG. Where are you? I don’t have all day!!!

      WAITING!

      I’m done. Leeeeaving.

      I note the time stamps and estimate he waited a whole ten minutes. I reply, although I don’t know why I bother:

      Had to make up test. Have group tonight.

      He responds immediately. You could have told me that sooner.

      I might have if I could have gotten past his posse of cheerleaders. Besides, we had no plans to meet after school. We never have any plans to meet after school. We rarely have any plans to meet anywhere. Sometimes I think Nic is my boyfriend in name only, when it’s convenient, when he needs some arm candy. Not that I consider myself arm candy, but I think he does the way he clings to me and parades me around on the rare occasion when we do go somewhere together.

      Sorry. Text you later.

      He doesn’t respond. I have about an hour before I have to be at Ms. Momin’s for my music therapy group—we’re playing “Jingle Bells” today—but I don’t have the emotional energy to deal with Nic right now anyway. And I damn sure don’t want to go home.

      So I climb in the car, put my phone on silent, then tilt my seat back and close my eyes.

      I allow myself to drift back to the classroom, to those gray eyes with the dark rings around the corneas, and that snug sweater over a striped, collared shirt, and the chest hair at the base of his throat that always shows no matter what he’s wearing.

      I wonder if Mr. McNelis could smell it on me—the want to. Freshman year, in health (the sex ed unit, not the oh-my-god-that-feels-good unit as Coach Gideon liked to remind us, ha, ha), we learned that humans, like animals, give off a scent when they want to mate. I’m not saying I want to mate with Mr. McNelis, but I’m not saying I don’t want to either.

      I’m pretty sure I don’t want to mate with Nic. Not that I haven’t tried once or twice. Nine months of dating and I haven’t touched him. In fact, the last time I tried, he followed his No with a That’s nasty. I’d be lying if I said that hadn’t hurt my feelings. I haven’t tried again. I do sometimes wonder why I tried at all. Yes, he’s cute. And, yes, he can be very sweet when he wants to be. But I don’t know him any better today than I did nine months ago, and he doesn’t know me. And I don’t think either of us really cares one way or the other.

      On the other hand, I wouldn’t mind touching Drew McNelis. In fact, I’m indulging myself and imagining what that would be like when a sharp rap on the top of my car startles me. I turn the key and roll down the window. Luke Chesser sticks his head in.

      “Hey, bro, no sleeping in the parking lot. People are going to start thinking you like it here.”

      “Maybe I do.”

      “Yeah, well . . .” He shivers. “It’s cold out here. Unlock the door.”

      I do and he climbs in the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him. I roll the window back up.

      “I’m really sorry about your dad, man. Anything I can do?”

      “You want to make out?”

      He grins, then laughs.

      He knows I’m kidding. Luke and I have a history, but mostly a platonic one.

      “You want the wrath of Curtis to fall on your head?” he jokes. “He’s the jealous type, you know.”

      “I do know.”

      I study my good friend. Luke is the head drum major and my former pseudo-boyfriend. Long story. Curtis is a junior at Sam Houston State University. They’re crazy about each other, and I’m crazy with envy. He settles back in the seat, grabs the cuffs of his hoodie, and folds his arms tightly across his chest to warm up, then puts his feet up on the dash and rolls his head to me.

      “So what’s going on with you and Nic?” he asks.

      “Have I ever thanked you for fixing me up with Whore-Hay?”

      “No, I don’t believe you have.”

      “Then I won’t.”

      He laughs. “That good, huh? Well, I never told you this, but remember when I set you two up? It wasn’t exactly the way I told you.”

      “Exactly what way was it?”

      “I told him you liked him and he should ask you out. He said—wait.” He sits up and takes on a prissy air, then says, “ ‘I don’t ask boys out; boys ask me out.’ ”

      His Nic impression is so spot-on, I can’t help but laugh.

      “Listen,” he says, “you should come up to Sam with me one weekend. Curtis has friends. Who knows, you might like one of them.”

      “What’s it like dating an older guy?” I can’t resist asking.

      This slow grin inches its way across his face, and he flicks his eyebrows at me.

      “That’s just cruel,” I say.

      He props his feet back on the dash and breathes a dreamy sigh. “So, um, what’s it like with Nic?”

      “I wouldn’t know.”

      “Really? Ha, ha. You know, one day you’re going to consider that a blessing.”

      I already do. Reluctantly, I check the time on my phone. “I got to get going. I have my music therapy group in fifteen minutes.”

      “You still don’t have all your