Page 69 of Fight Or Flight

“Did you eat lunch?” she asks, ripping the bun off her burger.

Another mental note—I hate small talk. It’s why I reach into my back pocket for a quarter. Of course, I don’t have one.

Satan’s really getting his kicks today.

“Yeah, I had the same thing,” I mumble.

She eyes the burger for a moment before bending her head and giving it a whiff. I laugh when I really want to reach across the table and kiss her, tell her I’ve missed her and demand she stop avoiding me. I want to go back to normal—whatever that is.

“It’s really not bad,” I assure her.

Her eyes find mine, and she lifts the burger to her mouth. You know you’re a sad sack of shit when you’re envious of a processed piece of meat. Before I embarrass myself, I pretend to look around the lunchroom. I purposely avoid Danny’s table, though.

There’s only so much a guy can take.

I drag my eyes back to her just as she licks her lips and I suppress a groan. I pissed the wrong motherfucker off somewhere. Sighing, I comb my fingers through my hair and contemplate what to say next. I don’t want to upset her by asking how she’s doing. I know she cries herself to sleep every night. I know this because I had to start paying Anthony again to keep tabs on her. Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to kick the door to her bedroom in? Seven.

“So, how is your first day going?” I ask, sounding more like Theodore than Alvin this time.

She eyes me strangely and I force a smile. Chipmunks sing and dance—they gotta smile too.

“It’s okay, I guess. Oh, Robert is in one of my classes.”

Of course he is. When God was handing out luck, he gave it all to the second born Montgomery.

“I have three junior classes that I have to make up, and he’s in one of them.”

“Can I see your schedule?”

She fishes it out of her backpack and hands it to me before taking a bite of her apple. My eyes scan the paper hoping to find at least one class we have together but…nada.

She opens the bag of Oreos and holds them out to me. I don’t know if it’s a peace offering or what, but I take a cookie and open the carton of milk. It’s too full, so I take a hefty gulp before dropping the cookie into the milk. She tears the plastic covering off the spork and once she’s got it free she hands it to me. I push the cookie deeper into the milk with the spork, giving it a good ‘ol dunk. Then I slide the carton back, watch her scoop it out, and pop it into her mouth.

A sense of pride washes over me and a grin spreads across my lips.

I taught her that.

Me, Eric, the long-lost chipmunk.

“Your mom told me your road test is today after school,” she says with her mouth full of deliciousness. She pauses midchew and covers her mouth with her hand. “What? Do I have cookie on my face or something?”

Busted.

“I just like watching you,” I answer honestly. No sense in lying when I was openly gawking at her. I hand her back her schedule. “Yeah, on the road test thing. Third time is a charm,” I say.

I continue to stare at her, waiting for more small talk, and soon that pretty shade of pink touches her cheeks as she draws her lower lip between her teeth.

She diverts her eyes back to the tray and whispers, “Want a ride?”

Fuck yes.

To hell with the road test, runaway with me.

Alright, calm down, buddy.

It’s talk like that that got us into this mess.

I school my features and try to remain indifferent.

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