Not Your Diner Girl Anymore

ran a hand through his hair when he was frustrated. I knew the exact way his left eyebrow quirked when he was about to smile genuine

roached me by my locker. My stomach twis

term. For a wild, stupid second, a tiny spark of hope flickered. Mayb

anaged, my

th Brittany. I wanted to apologize. For her. She can be a lot, bu

Not for his own silent judgment, not for the disdain

wers properly – mixed with Brittany' s sneer about our "gre

nfamiliar and s

low. "Or just a bully? And you

r of annoyance crossed his face. "

nice? The thought, my ow

don' t look bad. You didn' t say a word when she insulted me, my family, our diner. The diner

tened. "That

filth.' You think I'm 'clumsy' and probably don't shower

licker of something – shock? Guilt? – cros

alking about," he said, but

g back, needing space. "Your apology, or wha

ng by my locker. My heart was pounding, a mi

ks, and started studying. Page after page, problem after problem. If