Page 31 of Woke Up Like This
Thankfully, the hallway is empty as we creep toward the gym like the Grinch who stole Christmas. Halfway down the corridor, Renner stops to look at a wall of large framed graduation composites. I follow his line of vision. The Class of 2024.
My grad photo is just cruel. I don’t know who selected it, but they obviously had a grudge against me. I’m stiff and awkward. One eye is wonky, nearly half-closed in a blink. Renner’s photo makes me seethe. His should be used as the stock photo for the photography company’sadvertisements. He’s got that effortless sideways grin that never fails to charm.
I peruse the rest of my classmates’ eager smiles, wondering what’s become of them in this strange future. Have they stayed in Maplewood? Are they living fabulous lives in the city? Are any of them wealthy tech billionaires in Silicon Valley?
“Hey, there’s that plug Garrett you used to date,” Renner says, pointing to Garrett’s photo.
Garrett Hogan and I dated for a hot second last year. Nori planted the seed that we were soulmates because we’re both list-obsessed type As. As it turns out, dating another version of me, someone who second-guesses everything and overplans every meticulous detail (including how we were going to lose our virginities) was painful. Spending forty-five minutes in the contraceptive aisle at the pharmacy where Mom works, weighing the pros and cons of ribbed vs. smooth vs. sensation condoms, really put a damper on what was supposed to be the most romantic moment of my life. 0/10 do not recommend.
When I don’t react, he prods. “Why haven’t you dated anyone since him?”
“I’m too busy to date,” I say. He gives me his skeptical side-eye. “Senior year is a lot! AP classes. Student council. Model UN. SATs. College visits. I can’t even keep my barrel cactus, Frank, alive—and he only needs watering once a month. There’s no time left to cater to a needy boyfriend.”
“Sounds like you’re making excuses,” he says. He’s not wrong. It all sounds so trivial now ... as a thirty-year-old.
“Come on, let’s go find our bricks,” I cut in. The last thing I need is a lecture on my dating life from my alleged husband-to-be.
I’ve painted mine red with little daisies around the edges. My name is in what looks like Times New Roman font, and I’ve written initials along the bottom. I seeKLfor Kassie,NWfor Nori,OIfor Ollie, and last,JTRwith a little heart.
Renner’s brick is next to mine, painted forest green. His name is in simple block letters. He has way more initials than me, which makes sense because he’s friends with the entire student body. But my initials are there too, at the end, with a matching heart.
“That’s ... interesting,” he notes, pointing to my initials.
“Yup. Very.” How could we possibly go from being enemies to immortalizing each other’s initials on our grad bricks a mere two weeks later? It doesn’t add up. “Let’s get to the gym and make this all go away.” I spin on my heel and a red-haired woman in a sky-blue sundress comes barreling around the corner. “Hey! I’ve been looking for you guys.” I don’t recognize her, but she certainly recognizes us. Her eyes are wide, bright, and full of good intention. At least, I think so.
So much for dashing in unnoticed.
“Oh, well, you’ve found us,” I say with a nervous laugh. I try leaning against the wall, but I look like I’m doing awkward wall push-ups.
“I noticed the assignment list in the teacher’s lounge,” she says.
“Assignment list?” Renner asks, not-so-casually slinging his arm over my shoulder and pulling me into his side a little too forcefully. He may smell delightful, like a Bounce dryer sheet, but I’m hella uncomfortable. When I stiffen, he gets the hint and loosens his grip.
“The one for prom. Charlotte made the list?” she says, as though we should justknow.
A list. This sounds like something adult me would do. “Prom assignment list. Yes,” I repeat with fake enthusiasm.
“You assigned me for the early shift tomorrow night, but I’d need to find a sitter for Rudy until Chuck gets home. Rudy’s got a bit of a cold and it’s a whole thing. Can you switch me to the late shift?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure. Kids come first,” I chirp.
Her shoulders lower with relief. Seems we’ve just done her a huge solid. “Thanks for understanding. He’s been difficult lately with food. I think we need to switch his brand of kibble.”
Renner raises his brows. “Kibble?”
“The vet recommended a new brand. Said most hedgehogs thrive on this one but—”
“Rudy is a hedgehog,” I clarify, tamping down my laughter.
“Of course he is. You babysat him a couple weeks ago. Are you two okay? Pre-wedding jitters melting your brains?” she asks, eyeing us with playful suspicion.
I don’t have a chance to answer, because Renner starts asking all sorts of questions about Rudy, how old he is, his feeding schedule, and whether he can do tricks like a dog. Hedgehog Lady delights in the opportunity to discuss Rudy’s aversion to baths. I flash him a look, silently daring him to ask yet another question.
“Um, we better get going. We’re gonna be late for—um, we’re gonna be late,” he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and guiding me away.
The moment we turn the corner, I shrug myself out of Renner’s grip. “Please don’t touch me.”
“Sorry. But everyone thinks we’re engaged. Wouldn’t it be weird if we never touched?”
