A Taxonomy of Love by Rachael Allen

Author:Rachael Allen [Allen, Rachael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Abrams
Published: 2017-01-15T05:00:00+00:00

The girl of my middle-school dreams is in my arms again, but this isn’t exactly how it played out in my fantasies. For starters, my vice principal definitely did not make an appearance. And secondly, in my daydreams, Hope wasn’t injured and she was in my arms out of free will instead of necessity. It’s funny how almost getting what you always wanted can feel a lot like the eighth circle of hell.

Vice Principal Kahn doesn’t seem to notice or care about the hardship he’s putting me through as he has me ferry Hope around the cafeteria. A few notes about our illustrious vice principal:

1) Yes, his name is just like the bad guy from Star Trek, only spelled different.

2) No, this fact is not lost on the students of Peach Valley High, who are all pretty sure our vice principal is a genetically enhanced supervillain brought out of suspended animation for the purpose of making us miserable.

3) He looks nothing like Benedict Cumberbatch. Or Ricardo Montalbán (the REAL Khan, according to Mimi, who has told me way more than I ever wanted to know about his chest muscles).

Anyway, he doesn’t believe our cover stories for being here (perhaps because they are totally in conflict with each other?). The streak of purple paint written across Hope’s cheek like a confession tells him we can’t be trusted. Plus, my face has a way of looking guilty.

At first he tries the usual Vice Principal Kahn tricks. He’s one of those administrators who pretends to be all, “Hey, we’re buds. Tell me anything. I know what it’s like to be a teen. Here, bro, have a stress ball. I’m a cool guy, and we’re just chilling.” But really, he’s super strict. Which would be fine, but own it, dude. Stop pretending to be my bro while you’re nailing my ass to the wall. And while we’re on the subject, please don’t ever say bro again. Like ever.

When the Bros4Life act fails, the real Kahn surfaces and pelts us with questions.

Did we vandalize the rest of the school or just the cafeteria? Who else was involved?

Where did they go?

We don’t know. We don’t know. We don’t know.

The lies are heavy in my mouth, and Hope is heavy in my arms. What’s going to happen to us? Suspension? I’m thinking suspension. Which will suck, but hey, we still have another few weeks of wrestling practice before our meets start, so at least whatever they do to me will be out of the way before then. I hope.

I tic-shrug (again), which is a whole lot weirder when you’re holding someone.

“Sorry,” I say, for, like, the fifth time.

“Spencer, it’s fine.” She shakes her head.

I’m glad it doesn’t freak her out. I’m double glad she only flinched the first time. And I’m quadruple-gazillion glad I’ve got a case of the shrugs instead of the sniffs, because if I was walking around tic-sniffing her hair like some kind of stalker with a hair fetish, I might need someone to put me out of my misery.

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