Page 19 of The Storm

“Stargazing.”

I glance up toward the sky and the thick layer of clouds that sail over it. “There are barely any visible.”

“It’s called quality over quantity.”

I cross my arms over my chest and look up at the sky too, restless. I didn’t expect him to be here, so I’m not prepared. It’s supposed to be just me.

But I don’t leave either. I can’t, because then it’ll just end up looking like I’m running away.

I move to lean against the bench seat. The wood creaks under my weight.

We sit in silence. The party feels like it’s happening in another world.

I don’t know why I don’t leave. I don’t know whyhedoesn’t leave. But neither of us moves.

“I didn’t think you were the stargazing type,” I say.

“To be fair, you don’t really know what type I am.” He’s just pointing out the truth, not even that sharply.

He’s not wrong.

I bristle at the statement anyway, because whose fault is that? It’s not like I didn’t try at one point, but he shut down every attempt I made to get to know him. I tried harder thanI probably should have. Embarrassingly hard, now that I think back on it. I practically stalked him. Followed him around like a puppy, begging for a sign of interest that never came.

It’s kind of pathetic that I still keep trying. I tell myself I’m not. That’d be a lie, though. Truth be told, I’m not even sure why I’m so stubbornly exposing myself to the sarcastic remarks, cold insults, and everything else he doles out. Do I actually want to see what’s beneath the surface? Or is it more that his obvious, unreasonable dislike of me feels so unfair and uncalled for, and I’m so unused to people not liking me that I need to try and crawl into his good graces?

The bench creaks as I shift my weight. He throws me a look.

“Sorry,” I mutter before I can stop myself. My face heats, and my saving grace is it’s too dark for him to see that. I clear my throat. “It’s dark.”

“At night? No way,” Nick says, snide as usual. For a flash of a moment I imagine what he’d do if I pushed him off that table. “Aren’t you supposed to be trying to get into some cheerleader’s pants right now?” He throws me a sideways glance.

“I wasn’t—I’m not—” I stumble over my words and eventually just clamp my mouth shut.

He studies me, eyes filled with amusement that’s there at my expense. “Ah,” he says with this kind of irritating smugness. “Having trouble figuring out what to do? Not quite sure what goes where? See, when two people are very, very horny?—”

“Please stop talking.”

His smile is downright evil when he goes back to staring at the sky. My face feels too hot. The heat refuses to go away, and I suppose that was the goal. To make me feel uncomfortable.

“If you’re not here to ask me about the birds and the bees,” he says. “Then why are you here?”

I open my mouth.

Close it.

Because I don’t have a good answer.

Because I left Becca practically mid-conversation.

Because I didn’t want to stand near the fire and pretend I wasn’t bored out of my mind.

Because… I didn’t want to watchhimnot look at me.

Because when he’s near, I notice.

“Just needed some air,” I finally say.

“I’m sure it was in short supply at the party. Where everybody is outside.”