The Truth About Letting Go Read Online Free Page B

silver Beemer, flip our hair as we step out, and walk to class. But today I’m tense. Everything in my life has changed, and I don’t feel like that old Ashley anymore.
    I get out of the car, but instead of flipping my hair, I hug my books to my chest. A few heads turn as Mandy and I pass, but I can’t tell if it’s the usual checking us out or curiosity about my new look. Or if they’re waiting to see whether I’ll have a crying meltdown in the middle of the quad. The tight feeling is in my chest again, and I have to focus on moving forward and not turning around and running all the way home, where I can crawl back into the safety of my bed.
    “See you at lunch,” I say and duck into my building.
    “OK,” Mandy calls oblivious to my discomfort. The only thing bothering her is why anyone would question her rules. Why her rejection even needs justification.
    At my locker, I stare at my books for what feels like a long time. I can’t remember if I used to gather my stuff for both classes now or if I came back here after first period. I’ve only been out two weeks, but it feels like a lifetime has passed.
    The metal door next to me slams, and I jump. I grab my English book before closing my locker and turning to the left where I’m suddenly face to face with a very tall, skinny guy who’s in the process of standing up. He’s wearing huge, horn-rimmed glasses pushed up on his forehead, and I pause, realizing once again, I recognize this person and I don’t know his name.
    He freezes and stares back at me. His blue eyes widen as his books slowly slide from his hands.
    “Your books…” I jump and reach out to catch them.
    “Oh!” He jerks and the glasses drop down over his eyes, doubling them in size.
    “Whoa. That’s some prescription.”
    He stands back up and shoves them onto his forehead again under his dark hair. I have to tilt my head, he’s so tall.
    “They’re not really mine,” he says, struggling to push all his books together.
    “Whose are they?”
    “My grandfather’s. I just borrowed them.”
    “Why?” Why emphasize your strangeness ?
    “It’s from a movie. It reminds me of what I might—” He stops abruptly. “Why are you talking to me?”
    I take a step back.
    “I mean," he rushes on, "we’ve had the same lockers all year, and this is the first time you’ve even looked at me. Ever.”
    “I…” I shake my head. “I had a lot on my mind before?”
    His frown almost morphs into a smile, but then he looks embarrassed. I notice his ears turn pink.
    “Whatever.” I start to walk away. “I was just trying to be nice.”
    “Wait!” He jogs to catch up. “I wanted to say, well, I’m sorry about your dad.”
    I stop and study him. His blue eyes stand out clear with his shaggy dark hair all around his face and those dumb glasses on his forehead. His expression is concerned and sweet, and somehow, I appreciate it. It’s like the feeling I had talking to Charlotte, but in a different way.
    “What’s your name?”
    “Jordan. Uh, Adams.”
    “Thanks, Jordan. I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch.”
    His mouth drops open, but I turn and head to chemistry.
     
    * * *
     
    Class is a blur, and although I try to pay attention, I’m more interested in counting how many of my classmates are avoiding looking at me. It’s far more interesting than what our teacher is saying. Soon enough it’s lunchtime, and I go to the cafeteria to find Mandy. Her nonstop chatter will be a relief after the morning I’ve had. I find her at the entrance still looking pouty. It isn’t like her to stew about rejecting a geek for so long.
    “I think you should just blow it off,” I say. “You have certain standards and everybody should know them by now.”
    “What?” Her brow creases, and instantly she remembers. “Oh, that. No, I’ve forgotten all about that.”
    “Good.” I fall in beside her to go through the line. “So why the face? Pop quiz in history?”
    “He’s not here, dammit.”