You Don't Know My Name by Kristen Orlando

Author:Kristen Orlando
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

SIXTEEN

A gust of wind whips my hair across my face and rustles my book and papers on the table. I pull the dark strands back into place and tug my open black fleece jacket closer to my body. It’s a few degrees too cold to be sitting outside, but I can’t bring myself to go sit in the library or an empty classroom. With each class, the walls move closer and closer in on me.

The final warning bell rings and the quad quickly empties. A young guy in a vintage Ohio State hoodie sits at a picnic table on the opposite side. I’ve never seen him before, but today he’s permanently in my peripheral vision. He’s clearly my Black Angel watcher. I examine him with his dark features and muscular build. He definitely looks just young enough to be a student, but I know better. He’s most likely a trainee at the academy. He feels me staring and looks up from the notebook he’s writing in. I give him a knowing glance before he returns to his fake homework. The double doors next to him swing open and Luke walks through, the high winds ripping open his jacket. He tugs at his coat, looks across the quad, and spots me.

Damn. I’ve been hiding from him all day. He’s supposed to be in the AP bio class I’m purposely skipping just so I don’t have to see him. Luke stands frozen and stares at me for a second, unsure of what to do. Go away. Go away. But he doesn’t listen. He shoves his hands into his pocket and begins walking toward me, tightening the anxious knot in my stomach that’s gotten so big, I feel like I’ve swallowed forty pounds of lead.

I spent all of Sunday locked away in my room, unable to apologize or face my parents. This morning, I heard Mom getting ready in the bathroom. I stopped in the hall and listened to the low hum of the morning news and the buzz of Dad’s razor, sounds I’ve become so accustomed to hearing, it’s like they were built into the house between the brick and the drywall. I could have knocked on their door and kissed her good-bye or said I was sorry. But that angry burn in my veins was still there. So I turned my back, walked down the stairs and out the front door without saying a word.

My eyes stare back down at my books. I pretend to engross myself in King Henry VIII and all his lays. But Luke keeps coming. I take a deep breath. I don’t want to do this.

“Why are you cutting?” Luke says, his voice accusing and angry.

I shrug and answer, “Just didn’t feel like going, I guess.”

“Avoiding me?” Luke asks, his eyes on the ground, his feet kicking at imaginary rocks.

A gust of wind shakes the red leaves on the trees next to us. I look up. Most of them hold on to their branches, but a few break free and float to the ground, adding to the carpet of colors.

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