“You’re obviously not hanging out with the right guys,” Dylan said.
She shook her head, insisting she had it right. She said: “We shouldn’t even have to tell guys how to do it. They should know. Girls spend all their time reading magazines and stuff about how to please their man – and guys just look at the pictures and jack off.”
“That’s not true – plenty of guys read up on how to do it.”
“I’ve never met any.”
“You have now.”
Noelle sniffed, and then turned away from him, back to her circle of friends, ignoring him again. Somehow, he could tell he’d irritated her, that he’d infuriated her, that she hated not having the last word. Dylan felt a little pang of regret that he hadn’t done better at keeping her onside. It had made him feel all warm and creamy inside when he was talking with her.
But now her friends were talking about going to get food, and Noelle seemed just as eager to get something to eat.
Dylan felt his stomach rumble – the thought of the packet of chips and can of diet Coke in his backpack, along with a measly Hershey bar, did not particularly appeal to him. The girls looked as though they were preparing to leave the line entirely to go hit the McDonalds around the corner. Surely they wouldn’t risk losing their spot in the line?
Somebody piped up – he didn’t hear who – about the very issue he was currently pondering, and there was a discussion about one of them needing to stay behind to protect their precious place in the queue.
Dylan felt his chest warm up a degree or two as Noelle volunteered for the job, so long as they brought her back a Chicken McNugget meal. For however long those girls spent getting their fast food, Dylan would be sitting alone with Noelle. Why had it been her that volunteered to stay behind?
Nerves flickered in his belly, but he tried to settle them by telling himself he’d got it wrong – there was no way Noelle had volunteered to wait in line for everyone else.
Yet the other girls all stood and gathered their things and at their leisure departed, leaving the feisty brunette there sitting no more than five feet away from him, all cute and curvy.
He tried not to look, tried to focus on his Kindle. She’d think he was some kind of pervert if he stared now that her friends weren’t around to shield his gaze from her. Oh, but she was so sweet on the eye, with those big blue eyes, flowing figure and long legs revealed by her summery skirt.
“So who are you, anyway?”
He almost missed it – almost dismissed it as his imagination. She was looking at him. She’d said something to him. She’d asked him who he was.
“I’ve never seen you around school,” she added, and Dylan felt his heart do a little somersault.
“Dylan Winfield. I go to St Joseph’s,” he said. “You guys are from Marchmont, right?”
She nodded. “But you live around here?”
“My Mom does. She split from my Dad maybe six, seven years ago?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, and sounded genuine.
He shrugged. “Best thing that could have happened to them – now they’re actually kind of friends again.”