Read Eighteen (18) for Free Online Page B

the back door and he backs an older-model Acura out while I wait in the driveway, since the garage is too small to get in the passenger side.
    I open the door and slide in next to him. The car is not new, but he takes good care of it and the leather is soft to the touch.
    “I’d put some music on,” he says, flipping the car around so he can get out of the driveway without backing into the street. “But then you’d have no reason to talk to me.”
    I shake my head. He’s nice. Built like a quarterback, I remind myself. And he has a handsome face. “It’s a two-minute ride to school. Not much to say.”
    “You can start with something like… what happened last night?”
    I frown.
    “Or not. You’ll tell me eventually though.”
    “How do you know that?” I watch him drive, his eyes straight ahead. He didn’t shave this morning, so he’s got more stubble than he did yesterday.
    “Because you’re stuck with me now, Daydreams. I like you.”
    I laugh and look out the window. “Thanks, by the way.”
    “What for?” he asks, pulling up to the stop sign at Lincoln Avenue.
    “Rescuing me.”
    “Ha.” He laughs. “I don’t think you needed a rescue, Shannon.” When he says my name my stomach flutters. “You just needed a hand up, that’s all.”
    “Well, thanks for the offer. I don’t get many.”
    “Huh. Could’ve fooled me. Bowman gave you one yesterday. But maybe it was just crushed between all the kicks in the face, so you missed it?”
    He looks over at me and then back to the road. A few seconds later we’re pulling into a parking space, tons of kids and cars all around us. We sit there in silence for a few moments, just the ticking of the engine after he turns it off. “I’ll take you home, too. And I sit on the wall at lunch.” He gets out of the car and I follow. We stare at each other over the hood for a few moments. “Don’t ditch me, Daydreams. I like you.”
    And then he walks off.
    “Hey, Sunday?” I call. He turns around, a huge shit-eating grin on his face as he walks backwards. “Did you see these guys in concert?” I ask, pulling on the shoulder of the My Chemical Romance t-shirt I’m wearing.
    “What? You think I shop at Hot Topic or something? Where else would I get it?” He laughs and turns back around, a few other boys joining him as they walk onto campus.
    No. He’s not a day late all. He’s most definitely right on time.
     

     
    Day two of second semester goes pretty much like day one, except for the first-period smackdown by Bowman. Fowler doesn’t even bother showing for PE, so Mary and Josie and I walk our laps, slow as sloths, until the bell rings. I sit through economics thinking about how Sunday and I can be in the same grade and yet I have no classes with him.
    At lunch I’m nervous. I’m not sure why—he told me to find him. Practically ordered me not to ditch him. But still, my stomach flutters like crazy when I approach the wall.
    It’s not a wall. Well, it sorta is. It’s a circle, like some kind of giant brick fire pit, but it’s got benches and there’s no fire pit in the middle. And it’s not all filled with white kids, it just looks that way because everyone is dressed up grunge. Flannels, army jackets, combat boots, Chucks, Docs, ripped jeans, ripped shirts, tattoos, piercings, metal bands, pink hair, blue hair, black hair, black clothes, and lots of chains as jewelry.
    We are Hot Topic.
    I almost laugh at that.
    But we are not all white. Every ethnicity here is represented because people—no matter where they are from, what color their skin, or any of those other bullshit identifiers—people congregate with their tribes.
    These are my people. I knew the very first day last month that if I found friends in this school, this is where I’d find them.
    Sunday greets me when I approach. Introduces me, includes me. Even puts his arm around me once. Fleetingly. I suspect it was some kind of secret signal to another guy that I’m not