Broken by A. E. Rought

attention.
    “That girl’s had your puppy out of the window twice now.”
    “Ally can kiss my butt.” And like he heard me four rows of tables away, Alex looks at me. “He can, too. I’m tired of them both.”
    “What! You’re joking, right?” Bree’s eyes widen to near saucer size. Even Jason lets out a surprised little snort.
    Yeah. I don’t believe I said it, either.
    Feedback chews through the intercom speaker before lunch is over. Heads pop up and turn toward the speaker. The announcement chime rings through the large room. Then the main receptionist’s voice comes through, “Attention, please. This is a reminder that Mr. LaRue’s fifth hour Dune Ecology is to meet in the student parking lot immediately after lunch.”
    “Field trip!” Josh Mason whoops from the Sports Crowd tables.
    “Neanderthal,” Jason groans and rolls his eyes.
    The bottom drops out of my gut, and I’m suddenly sorry I ate the mac-n-cheese. Field trip, an entire afternoon spent one-on-one alone, crawling over the dunes with Alex Franks as my partner. If I’m lucky, or unlucky, Josh Mason might follow us, making more of his nasty comments. My mind sticks on time alone with Alex. What will I say, how will he act?
    “What?” asks Bree. “Why are you so pale?”
    “Well, looks like I’ll be stuck with Alex Franks for the next few hours.”
    “Oo.” Jason’s eyes widen. “I’ll pray for you. Y’know I heard he had to leave his fancy prep school due to violence.”
    “Nuh-uh,” argues dark-haired, dark-eyed Chelsea Reamer. “I heard it was because he spent a year in juvie for accidental manslaughter.”
    They seem to know the rumors. Do they know he has mismatched hazel eyes, and scars on his wrist? Or that he opens my locker just like Daniel? Do they know I can’t stop thinking about him even when I want to?
    #
    A group stands huddled outside the school building, in the parking lot reserved for students. Growing winds push and pull at hair and jackets. And true to the weight of storms I’ve felt all day, gray, brooding clouds linger in a bank in the sky, dark as a threat.
    Alex remains outside the group, not ignored, but more by choice it seems. Josh Mason’s directly across from him, leaning on the hood of his Z-28 and giving him stink eye. I weave between people until I’m close to Mr. LaRue, who’s counting heads. He drops a quick gaze to my immobilizer and arches an eyebrow. I lift a shoulder in a weak shrug, and he responds with a shake of his head. I love silent conversations.
    “I’ll be taking one mini van,” he announces. “Mr. Baker will take the other. You can ride with us, or ride separate. Don’t get any wise ideas. I will be taking head count at Meinert Park, too.”
    Josh runs a hand through his carrot curls, then whistles through his teeth and calls, “Yo, Emma!”
    I bristle. A disgusted noise issues from the tall hooded guy a couple of feet to my left. I clench my jaw, biting down swear words. Josh looks at me, expectant, patting his hood and coaxing me like I’m some dumb freshman begging for scraps of attention. Wind whips my hair in my face when I shake my head, then give Josh the middle finger.
    “You wish,” he mouths.
    If my right hand wasn’t in a cast, I’d give him another.
    Spinning, I march stubbornly to the school’s minivan, half-filled with Dune Eco students and drop into the seat behind the driver’s. Josh climbs into his Camaro, slams the door and guns the engine. A few giggly titters rise from the girls. The guys ignore him, like I’m doing. His project partner Shane Lowenstein, however, climbs in and sits behind me muttering, “I hate that guy.”
    Me, too. I slouch in my seat, rest my head against the window and try to doze while Mr. LaRue drives the seven miles of farmland to the lakeshore. The reek of cow crap filters into the van’s air systems. I bury my nose in my elbow, and close my eyes. Trees litter the dark side of the dunes, scaling up and away from the