“I don’t give either much thought.” I shrug.
“I think that’s one of the reason I’m drawn”—he points to my empty sketch pad—“to you. You’re raw.”
“Raw, as in, I’ve been dragged from my normal life, down a gravel road, to a place like this, behind a Volkswagen Bus kind of raw?”
He pouts out his bottom lip, and not in a mocking way; in a way that is also … raw, in a sense.
He sits there, our eyes locked, as we stare at one another when the bell rings and everyone rushes through the door. He doesn’t look away, his eyes still gazing into mine.
“Class is going to start.”
“Start?” He smiles in a very soft way, a way in which I’ve never really been looked at by a member of the opposite sex.
I nod.
“Savannah, school started the night before Thanksgiving; wouldn’t you agree?”
“Hey, Savvy,” Ziggy says, plopping down next to me.
“ ’Sup, Zigs.”
He reaches across the table and says, “Ziggy Walton.”
Patrick unclasps his hands from behind his head and reaches across the table. “Patrick Steel.”
“I know who you are. Hell, everyone here does. Your dad owns—”
“My parents,” Patrick corrects him with a smile. “They built the business together.”
Ziggy looks at me then back at Patrick. “Don’t let her fool you. She may look all cute and shit, but she’s a savage.”
Patrick smirks. “Cute and savage, perfect combination.”
I close my pad and start to stand.
“Savvy, girl, stay here.” Ziggy laughs.
“I can’t be a part of this budding bromance bullshit.”
“Roach isn’t coming to class; I think you’ll be just fine.”
I nod.
Patrick asks, “So, Ziggy and Roach? I’m guessing you have a fondness for—”
“We’re gonna be the first to leave Seashore and start a pot farm, and make damn sure every fucking thing we put out, as far as PR goes, has that tidbit of information, just to fucking give Whitaker a heart attack.” Ziggy looks at me. “Fuck the man, right, Savvy?”
I settle back in my seat and raise a fist, while uncommittedly repeating his phrase, “Fuck the man.”
* * *
Walking out of class, Patrick stays by my side, like, so close my shoulder rubs his arm.
As I’m about to school him on personal space, he starts firing off questions.
“So, Ziggy and Roach are your friends?”
“I mean, I don’t hate them, but we don’t share intimate details about our lives.” I shrug, trying to walk faster, and not just because his closeness is bothersome, but if he keeps this shit up, he won’t fit in.
“Jesus, Savannah.” He laughs, keeping in step with me. “You in a hurry to get to Statistics?”
“We can hang out in class. Hell, you can bring the last remaining members of your family to get coffee when I work there, but you walk with me down the hall, you’re going to have issues.”
When he grabs my elbow and stops me from continuing, I look up at him. “What?”
“I’m a big boy; I can handle any issues any of these people want to throw at me.”
“You need to feel out the school before—”
“I got shit figured out. I may not be a genius like you, but I’m not stupid either.”
“You think you have this figured out?” I laugh as I pull my elbow from his firm but gentle grip.
“Your buddy from the other night, and his three boys, run the show with all the rich kids.”
“Like you. Rich kids like you.”
“Don’t judge me before you know me.”
“Are you telling me you’re not rich?” I all but laugh.
“The truth? No, I’m not. My parents have money. I have, like, two grand in my account from working over the summer.”
“I suppose that’s fair, but—”
“No buts, Savannah. That’s not how you and I roll. I don’t judge anyone until they’ve fucked me, my family, or my friends. You’re my friend, so don’t do that to me.”
When we walk into Statistics, later than my usual, I see Justice and a girl I’m assuming is his sister, in my seat, in the back row.
I slide into the first seat by the door, and Patrick walks to the back and sits with them.
Chapter 10
“The more I have spoken about feminism the more I have realized that fighting for women's rights has too often become synonymous with man-hating. If there is one thing I know for certain, it is that this has to stop.”
~Emma Watson
Patrick
“She has what?” I ask Ziggy for clarification of Savvy’s whereabouts after three days of her not showing up to class and the fact that she hasn’t opened one message from me asking where she’s at.
I’ve sent a few. A few too many.
“Yeah, I mean”—he scratches his head—“I know she’s not fucking around with anyone here, but I’m really not sure what she did over break.”
Savvy and fucking around don’t even belong in the same damn sentence, but fuck if I can say that shit, then I’d be the idiot crushing on a lesbian.
I mean, seriously, what in the actual fuck is that even? If any of my crew was being that damn stupid, I’d slap the shit out of them. But more importantly, she has fucking mono.
“Guess Chloe could have been the one spreading shit around, but I don’t think they’ve been swapping toothbrushes; they just aren’t that close after that shit over break.”
Holy shit, I think and almost want to laugh, but it’s not all that fucking funny considering she’s sick.
“So, yeah, Chloe’s home for at least two weeks, so she won’t be back until after the holiday break. I’m guessing Savvy’s cool with that. Well, except the whole work thing. Marcy’s probably going to have to replace her. She—”
“Replace her?” I gasp.
He lifts a shoulder. “I mean, she needs the help.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, I think to myself as I try to come up with a solution to this problem. And then it hits me …
“Why don’t you take over her shifts?”
“Me?” He looks at me like I just asked him to jump off a fucking bridge.
“Yeah, I mean, I’m sure the extra money
