When Baker texts me asking if I want to meet him in the school library after school on Tuesday, I’m immediately annoyed. He’s acting like if he doesn’t take the lead here, then the projects won’t get done. Which is usually my job in the group/team project. He’s treating me like I’m just another kid who is going to drop the ball. But I’m not. I’m Summer freaking Lumen. Top of the class. Well… second in the class. But still, I can do these projects by myself. Totally solo. With my eyes closed.

Okay, maybe not with my eyes closed. But the point is, I definitely don’t need him to get an A on these projects. And if he thinks I’m going to let him take the lead, then he’s out of his mind. I spend the entire day on Tuesday coming up with a list of themes for The Catcher in the Rye, as well as writing down a

list of potential topics for our American History project. I’ve even started doing some research on the few I’ve highlighted as favorites. By the time Tuesday afternoon comes around, I’ve already practically finished the Works Cited page for four different topics. Take that, Baker Scott.

I step into the library half hoping Baker won’t be here. But my irritation only grows when I see him sitting at one of the tables, his face down as he scribbles notes into one of his notebooks. His dark hair is falling into his stormy eyes, covering up what I know is a yellowish bruise. He’s so caught up in his notes that he doesn’t notice me enter the library, and he jumps a mile in the air when I set my bag down on the chair in front of him.

“Jesus, Summer,” he says as he leans back in the chair, his eyes wide with shock. “Warn a guy next time.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Sorry. I thought you saw me.” I know he didn’t see me, and I’m strangely happy that I scared him. He should be scared. He’s working with me here. “Anyway, you ready?”

He nods his head as he closes his notebook and slides it into his bag. “Yeah. So I’ve come up with a few potential topics for The Catcher in the Rye—”

“You mean themes,” I say in a petty attempt to correct him. He quirks an eyebrow at me, and I sigh. “We’re supposed to be a theme for the book and focus our project on that. It’s not just a topic.”

I’m being ridiculous, and I know it. I kind of expect him to roll his eyes at me or show his annoyance with my stupid correction. But instead, I see his pink lips twitch ever so slightly, like he’s fighting a smile. Like he finds me funny. My cheeks redden with embarrassment, and I’m readying myself for him to make fun of me.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he just nods his head. “Right. Theme. Well, anyway, I’ve come up with a list here, and I’ve highlighted a few of my favorites. You’re welcome to—”

“I’ve done that too,” I interrupt him again, and he falls silent as I reach into my bag and pull out my own list. “I really think we should focus on the theme of alienation. I’ve already found some really great examples in the text, as well as some peer reviewed sources. It could be a great topic for our—”

“Theme,” he corrects me, and my mouth falls open in surprise. He’s fighting a smile again,

and I have to resist the urge to glare at him.

“Right,” I reply, shaking my head in an attempt to shake the correction of my mind. “Anyway, here’s my list.” I slide my notebook across the table, and he picks it up to look at my list. His eyes skim my words, and I watch him, drinking him in for the first time since the day we were partnered together. His eyelashes are fluttering as he reads my writing, and I realize that they’re unnaturally long. His bottom lashes are so thick that it looks like he’s wearing eyeliner, and his lips are mouthing the words softly as he reads them.

He sets my list down on the table, and now he’s not even bothering to hide his smile. “This is impressive,” he says in a way that makes me feel kind of awkward. I can’t tell if he’s complimenting me or making fun of me. “You really shine doing this kind of thing, huh?”

I roll my eyes. “Is this the part where you make fun me?” I ask, my irritation growing.

But he just shakes his head. “Not at all. I really am impressed by this. Actually, we kind of highlighted some of the same themes. Alientation was the one that struck me the most as well, so I’m totally down with doing a project on that theme.”

“You picked that one as well?” I ask, and he nods his head. I fold my arms across my chest and lean back in my seat. “Okay, then maybe it’s not a good choice. We don’t want to choose a theme that everyone else is going to be focusing on.”

His eyes widen again. “We don’t?”

I shake my head. “No, Baker, we don’t,” I say exasperatedly. “We want to stand out. And if you and I both picked the same theme, then there’s a chance everyone else is going to pick it as well.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” he replies. “I bet half the class doesn’t even do the project. And besides, so what if someone else chooses the same topic? As long as we have the best sources and examples from the text, then we should be fine.”

And this guy is the top of the class. I roll my eyes and shake my head. “That’s now how it works.”

He sighs. “Okay fine. Tell you what? Why don’t we table this for now while we both try to come up with a better idea.”

“Isn’t that what this whole library meeting was supposed to be about?” I ask, frustrated. “Aren’t we supposed to come up with a topic—”

“Theme,” he corrects me again, and I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from snapping at him. He’s smirking, like he’s finding this whole situation to be hilarious. But it’s really just pissing me off. “I like alienation, but you obviously don’t. So tell you what? Why don’t you hand me your notes, and I’ll hand you mine. We’ll read each other’s thoughts, and when we get together on Sunday, we’ll decide then. Sound like plan?”

I scoff at him. “Sure. Sounds great.” I don’t really like the idea of handing him my notes, but I want to leave this library. He’s much more infuriating than I thought he’d be. He hands me his notebook as he slides mine into his bag. I take his notes and slide them into my own bag. There’s no way I’m going to read these. No chance I’m going to let him choose the theme for this project. As usual, I’ll just have to

do all the work myself.

His eyes are wide again. Jesus, it’s like he only has two settings. Surprised and amused. “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you Sunday at the Coeur d’Alene Library then?” he asks, and I just nod my head. “Right. Okay. Text me if you need anything, Summer.”

I just shake my head, grab my bag, and head out of the school library. I’m way too busy for this shit.

And there’s no chance I’ll be texting him. By Sunday I’ll have most of the project done. Again, I don’t need him to do this. And I definitely don’t need him to take the credit. I’ll get my spot back at the top of the class. And when I do, Baker Scott will be just a funny memory. I tell myself this all the way home as I try to push the incident from the library out of my mind.

***

“So you plan on getting your spot by being a bitch?” Beth asks as she digs through her closet on Friday night, searching for a dress for me to wear to the party on Saturday. This is the first chance I’ve had to tell her about the short meeting I had with Baker on Tuesday, which has been living rent free in my mind since I practically stormed out of the library. “I’m not sure that will work, Summer.”

I groan as I fall back onto her bed and bury my face in her pillow. “I know. I don’t know why I acted like that. It’s just… I’ve never even seen this kid, and suddenly he’s beating me at my own game. And I just fucking hate him. Know what I mean?”

She shakes her head. “Not really. I mean, I get being competitive. Believe me, I do. But you take it to a whole new level, girl. You’re supposed to be working together on these projects, right?” I nod my head. “Okay, well… then work together. The teacher isn’t going to give a shit who did what, as long as the project gets done. And it sounds like he’s trying.”

She’s right, and I hate it. “Okay, okay. I’ll try to be less hostile on Sunday.” I need to change the subject. If I think about Baker Scott anymore then I’ll go nuts. “You know I hate when you make me your Barbie doll, Beth.”

“Girl, if you’re going to win Ollie back, then you’re going to need something from this closet. I mean, have you seen what you’re wearing?”

I remove the pillow from my face and sit up to face her. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” She turns around and gives me a pitying look, gesturing to my plaid shirt over a gray shirt and my jeans.

“Summer, don’t make me regret being your best friend,” she says, and I roll my eyes. She pulls a white dress that goes up above the knees and has a cold shoulder out of her closet and tosses it to me. “Try this on. I wore it to homecoming freshman year, and almost got kicked out for it being too short.”

“Beth,” I groan. “I don’t want to dress like I’m looking for a hookup.”

She sighs. “Shut up and try it on. Come on. It’s cute, and on you it probably won’t be so short.” Considering the fact that Beth is four inches taller than me, she’s probably right. I roll my eyes and strip out of my jeans and shirts, sliding the dress on. Then I look at myself in her full-length mirror, taking in my barefoot appearance. The dress is cute, and definitely nowhere near as short as she made it out to be. I slide my hands across the skirt to flatten out the wrinkles. Jesus, does she even own an iron?

“Not bad,” I say in response to her expectant look. “But I have no shoes that will match this. And I’m pretty sure you and I do not have the same size feet. Aren’t you like a size nine?”

She nods her head. “Yeah, but my mama has tiny feet. And I think she has a pair of flats that would look cute with this dress. I can ask her if you want.”

I laugh. “Like I have a choice in the matter,” I say, and Beth grins. She goes running out of the room to talk to her mom, leaving me to stand and stare at myself in her mirror. The dress really does look cute. I’m sure Ollie is going to love it. But then an unwanted thought enters my mind. I wonder what Baker would think if he saw me in this dress. It’s so unexpected that it surprises me. I try to shake the thought of my mind. I don’t care what that spot stealer has to say about anything.

Beth comes in a few minutes later with her mom’s flats, and when I try them on, we both agree that they complete the look. I take the dress and shoes off, putting my own clothes back on before I pack up the dress and flats, thank Beth, and head home. And the whole way home, all I can think about is how suddenly nervous I’m feeling about tomorrow night. Ollie and I… well, we were so great once upon a time. I know it’s only been a few months, but I feel like I’ve grown up a little more. Maybe he has too?

I get home and do some studying, hoping to get my mind off the party tomorrow night. But I can’t stop thinking about it, wondering if I’m going to leave the party as Ollie’s girlfriend again. The thought both warms me and fills me with dread. Do I even really want to be with him like that again? I’m just about to give up on studying and go to bed when my phone lights up. I pull the text message up, expecting to see something from Beth. But it’s from Baker.

“I hope you can read my notes,” he writes. “My handwriting is nowhere near as nice as yours. Let me know if you need me to translate them for you.” He cannot be serious. Fury boils up inside me as I slam my phone down on my desk and shake my head. The audacity of this guy. Man, I really have something to prove with these projects. Beth was definitely wrong. This is a competition. And I have every intention of winning. Sunday morning, I’ll have my boyfriend back, and I’ll have a solid plan to get my spot back as well. I say my valedictorian speech I’ve had prepared for the last year out loud like a mantra. They give me comfort, and I fall asleep to the sound of my own words, the inspirational message lulling me into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Four

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