Starstruck by Cyn Balog

and … I need to be neutered. “Um …”
    “Here’s what I’m thinking,” he says. “It’s been a crazy day. I can see it in your eyes. You’re thinking, ‘Do I know this guy anymore?’ You and me. We haven’t had any time to connect.”
    I gulp. “Connect?”
    “Yeah. Alone time.” He reaches over and tries to tuck a tuft of my hair, which has somehow left the trapezoid, behind my ear.
    My body starts to shiver and twitch as I comprehend what he is saying. Alone time. Alone. As in me and him. Connecting with his throbbing …
    I jump. “I’m going to miss my bus!” I shout so loudly he jumps, too. My teeth are chattering.
    He grins, then holds his hand up in front of my eyes. Something shiny drops from his palm, and he lets it dangle, back and forth, like a hypnotist’s chain. A key. A car key. But that’s stupid. In Jersey we don’t get our licenses until seventeen, not for another whole year.
    “You’re …”
    With the other hand, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his wallet, and flips it open, like a police officer. There’s his California driver’s license, in one of the sleeves. “Legal,” he says.
    It strikes me now that he’s not just one of the coolest kids in our class. He is right there at the top. The only one with a license. Hell, he’s too good for naked cheerleaders.
    “Uh …”
    “I would have driven you this morning if you hadn’t blown me off last night,” he says, mock hurt in his voice. “So come on. Let’s get out of here.”
    For a second I want to whoop with joy. My busing days are over. Then a cold breeze somehow finds its way under my hairline, making me shiver all down my back. They’re not over. He’s just … not thinking straight. Give him a few days and he’ll realize what everyone else at school already knows. And what have I been telling Evie? “Don’t get too close. Guys can bite. And by the time they do, you’re the one wearing the dog collar.”
    “Are you sure? I mean, I can just take the bus. Really, it’s not a big—”
    His cell phone beeps, and he reaches for it. He looks up from the phone and holds a hand out. “No you won’t. I insist.”
    I probably could protest more, but I never did like the bus, and I take one millisecond’s look at those piercing blue eyes. Pleading with me. Me. That’s all it takes. “Um. Okay.”
    He helps me lug my books down the hall and out the door, and though the hallway is emptying out, I catch shocked glances from everyone who passes us. Wish doesn’t seem to notice. He’s checking his phone. He texts something, talking about cross-country tryouts and horrible Mr. Burns, his chem teacher, and before I know it, we’re outside and the sun is shining down on me and all my flaws and I know he’s going to turn to me and realize that he’s made a horrible mistake. Instead, though, he tilts his face to the sun, as if trying to soak in as many rays as he can. His cell phone beeps again. He grimaces at it and then turns it off. Then, just as I predicted, three steps from the school, he faces me, mouth widening, confusion in his face.
    “Earth to Gwen?”
    “Um, yeah?”
    “You are a million miles away. Did you hear anything I said?”
    “No, sorry.”
    “I asked if your mom still makes the best white cream donuts in the world, and if I could maybe swipe one or a few dozen, if they have any left. I missed them like crazy.”
    Of course. He’s using me to get to my mother’s donuts. Now it all makes sense. “We’ll have leftovers. She usually makes a whole tray and we don’t get many customers in the off-season.”
    He rubs his hands together as we enter the parking lot. “Cool.” We stop next to a silver Ford pickup, and he opens the passenger door for me. He explains that it’s a Welcome Back to Jersey gift from his dad. “Surprised the hell out of me,” he says. “You know how my dad and I are. But he’s the reason I’m here. Said he couldn’t stand having a long-distance relationship