Page 4 of Left on Read

“You did not,” I reflexively spit out. “Well, you did. But only because theymadeyou.”

It was the one time I can ever remember Hayes Collins getting in trouble. They called his doctor parents and everything.

I wouldn’t let it go. I still haven’t. In the days after that fiasco, I folded every single one of those campaign flyers he put on my car into paper airplanes and sent them flying in his direction from strategic vantage points whenever I saw him. I was only trying to get on his nerves, but he started throwing them back, and they banned us both from using the school printers for campaign stuff.

And after all that, he still won.

He won the campaign,andhe finished the year with a better GPA. He’ll be valedictorian instead of me, if I’m not careful.

“Yeah. Anyway”—he starts walking past me, toward the stairs and the school—”I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I can feel my face flaming, and my skin is suddenly too tight.

Oh, no. I willnotlook at his stupidly handsome face unless absolutely necessary. Not today, and not tomorrow.

OfficialEndeavourHigh:It’s a great day to be an Endeavour student!

Some would say that 8:00 a.m. college classes are evil.

I am not one of those people.

I left the house at 7:15 a.m., even though I’m less than ten minutes away from school, with my faux-leather black backpack stuffed to the brim. (My dad picked it up and told me to unpack most of it because I’d break my back carrying it around. I didn’t touch a thing. I needallof those notebooks, pens, pencils, highlighters, sticky notes, and, and, and …)

So that’s how I got to school twenty minutes early. Campus hadn’t come to life yet. The parking lots were half empty, and the buildings barely unlocked, waiting for the first-day chaos of no one knowing where to go. I walk right on into the English building and find the right classroom.

The lights aren’t on yet. I love being the one to turn the lights on. That’s such a teacher’s-pet thing, but that’s ultimately what I am—a seventeen-year-old teacher’s pet. I flip the switch and take a second to appreciate the empty, now-illuminated classroom.

Except, um … it’s not empty?

There’s a boy, with his head down, sitting at one of the tables in the back corner.

“Ugh, why’d you have to turn the lights on?” he grumbles, picking his head up enough to talk—and enough for me to recognize the face. The sharp intelligence in the eyes. The high angles of the cheekbones. The competitive nature of the gaze.

Hayes.

My eyes roll of their own volition, and Istompinto the room, my sneakers not making the same satisfying impact my loafers would’ve. These match my low-waisted black shorts and baby tee better, though.

“What’s thematterwith you? Why are you sleeping in a random classroom? Sleep in your car, like everyone else!” I snap as I sit in the front row. My favorite vantage point. I set my Norton anthology on the table in front of me, centering it in my field of view, just so I’m not looking at Hayes. It doesn’t work. I turn around in my chair to glare at him, just because Imustyell at him for this. “And what are you even doing inmy—“

I stop. I realize what it means that he’s sitting here. In this room. With a Norton anthology in front of him. Just like mine.

Oh, no. Absolutely not.

He smiles, wicked and demonic and full of arrogance.That’sthe Hayes Collins I know and hate. For a second, I just sit there and bounce one foot against the ground, thinking.

“You can’t ruin this for me, Collins,” I whisper. It’s barelyaudible, but he hears me anyway, because we’re sitting alone in a very silent room.

And all at once, I need to cry. I press the heels of my hands against my eyes as hard as I can, until I see nothing but black spots. Okay, this is fine. This happens. I stand up, not looking at him, or anyone else in the hallway as I rush out of the room. I left all my stuff behind, everything except my phone. My left shoe is coming untied. I’ll fix that too.

I’ve never had to cry in the bathroom on the first day of school before, not even on myactualfirst day of freshman year, when I walked into the wrong classroom and everyone stared at me. But that’s fine.

This is fine. This happens.

Mercifully, there’s a stall open in the bathroom at the end of the hall. As soon as I lock the stall door, I lean against the wall and let the tears fall. Instantly, everything feels better. I’m a crier for a reason. Once the tsunami of emotion passes, I can clearly see inside my own mind.

So, okay, my entry into my lit major is not turning out how I wanted it to. Instead of my best friend, I got my biggest competition.

I’ll just avoid him. I don’t care.