Page 51 of Resurrection
I sighed and walked away, hoping he’d let me move into the garage. It’d be easier to invite the guys over…and maybe Naomi.
She was the one thing I couldn't stop thinking about. No matter where I was. Home. School.
It was exhausting, but in the best way possible.
My notebook had more funny doodles of Naomi Medina than school notes. And when she glanced back at me during class, smiling, I felt like she knew exactly what she was doing to me. Her eyes were huge, dark brown with lashes that couldn’t possibly be real, and I felt as if she saw right through me.
In those moments, I became a clumsy tangle of nerves. My brain short-circuited, and—I swear to God—one day, I nearly toppled from my chair while dramatically pretending to be picking up a pencil from the floor.
She didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t ask me why I was glaring at her instead of our teacher and the board.
But one day at the end of September, right after the bell rang, she passed by my desk and whispered with a mysterious smile, "Stop staring, Strings."
That dumb nickname Adri had given me.
I jumped up so fast that my chair clattered to the floor. Naomi was already in the hallway, and I darted after her like a guy on a mission, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.
"Naomi, wait up!" I called, catching up just as she was about to disappear into a sea of teenagers.
"Hey, Ty." She didn’t stop, but she slowed her pace, grinning at me. And it did weird things to my insides.
"Need help with those?" I pointed at the stack of books in her arms, trying to sound casual.
"Since when do you like carrying books?"
"Since never," I replied, taking them from her. "But for you, I'll make an exception."
She laughed. "Thanks. I guess I owe you one."
"Just one? I was thinking more like a hundred."
Naomi bumped her shoulder against mine as we walked. "Keep dreaming, rockstar."
We reached her locker, and I was so busy trying to impress her with corny jokes that I almost didn't see Lachlan Pratt with his posse until he was right in front of us.
Pratt propped himself against the lockers, his bulging arms folded over his chest. He gave Naomi an appraising look.
"Hey, Naomi," he said, dragging out her name like he was doing her a favor. "I forgot to mention, but looks like your ass grew over the summer."
I stepped between them so fast that Lachlan's eyes widened for a split second. "Back off, Pratt," I said, keeping my voice steady even though my heart was going haywire. I knew Naomi Medina didn’t need to be saved. She’d saved me and a bunch of other kids from Lachlan’s bullying all last year. But my parents always taught me to be a gentleman. "Why don't you take your face somewhere else?"
Lachlan's smirk disappeared and was replaced by a glare that could have melted steel. "Careful, Brady," he said, his voice low and threatening, that typical teenage testosterone raging. He looked at Naomi, then back at me. "Don’t let me catch you alone."
He turned to leave but not before slamming a skinny guy who just happened to be passing by into the wall of lockers. The guy stumbled and fell. His books went flying.
I recognized him as Decker Harrington. He was the quiet type, the kind you didn’t notice in class. Lachlan's posse laughed as they walked away.
"Watch where you’re going, dimwit," Lachlan shouted before turning the corner.
"Decker, you okay?" I asked, helping him gather his things.
Naomi knelt beside us, her voice gentle as she said, "He shouldn't have done that. Are you hurt?"
Decker looked at us like a startled animal, then grabbed his stuff and bolted down the hall without a word.
Naomi and I watched him go, both of us knowing the kind of jerk Lachlan was.
"Does he ever quit?" Naomi asked, her eyes meeting mine right before I stood up.
