Page 86 of Always Love You More

“But,” she continues, “I’m sure we’ll learn a lot together this year.” She claps her hands. “Okay, let’s start class with a get-to-know-you activity.”

I internally groan as she explains, “We’ll all go around and share our names and one fun thing we did this summer.”

She moves through the room, and everyone introduces themselves. When she gets to Sam, she mutters her name and says she hung out with her friends this summer.

“Nice,” Ms. Morris says. “What did you all do?”

Sam quickly glances at me. “I don’t know,” she answers. “Played cards and stuff.”

Ms. Morris nods kindly and moves on to the next person.

I smirk, leaning into Sam. “And stuff?”

She rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

“I had fun this summer doingstuffwith you, too.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Sure,” I whisper.

“How about you?” Ms. Morris asks.

I look up, realizing it’s my turn. “I’m Jameson,” I start. “And I—”

“Your last name?” she interrupts.

“Baxston.”

She motions for me to continue.

“I hung out with my friends this summer.”

“Wonderful,” she answers. “And what did you all do?”

I shrug. “Played cards and stuff.”

She looks between me and Sam. I wait for her to tell me to give an original answer or to sigh in disappointment as she writes meoff, but she does neither. Instead, she says, “Seems like a great summer.”

I look over at Sam. “It was.”

The introductions take most of the class, so by the time we’re done, Ms. Morris moves quickly through the syllabus. The bell rings right before she can finish, and she tells us that she trusts us to read the rest ourselves.

I wait for Sam as she grabs her bag and follow close behind as she walks to the front of the room.

We move past the two assholes from earlier, and I don’t miss the way they watch us as we stride past them, but they’re both smart enough to keep their mouths shut.

I come to Sam’s side as we step into the crowded hallway, weaving around people as we head for the cafeteria.

She follows me into the food line, and I grab a tray, handing it to her. “I brought a sandwich,” she murmurs, eyeing the food in front of us.

“Milk?” the lunch lady asks.

I nod, and she hands one over.

“Can I get a chocolate, too?”

She passes it to me, and we push through the line. I pay for my lunch and give the chocolate milk to Sam.