Biggest Flirts (Superlatives #1)(23)
Author: Jennifer Echols

At me, I thought. I glanced around the drum line to pinpoint someone I could ask, but everybody else had abandoned their drums to sit down with trumpets or clarinets who had towels to spread out. Will and I were the only ones left standing. Nobody was offering an explanation.

“Whatever it is,” Will said, “it must be very good, or very bad.” He mouthed a question to Angelica way across the field. It was probably my imagination, but I thought she turned away on purpose.

Maybe I would have better luck. I peered in the direction of Kaye and the group of cheerleaders huddled up front. Sure enough, she was waving her arms, trying to catch my attention, mouthing something. I read her lips. “Biggest fart,” I said. “I let out the biggest fart? I am sure I did not. Only freshman trumpets have contests like that.”

“I’ve got it,” Will said. “Biggest Flirt.”

“Oh!” I understood now. DeMarcus must be announcing the winners of the Senior Superlatives titles we’d voted on first thing that morning. In fact, he was calling out Most Athletic right now. And while I wasn’t listening, I’d been elected Biggest Flirt. “I’m not sure I like this. It has a slut-shaming flavor, like they really wanted to give me Biggest Ho.”

“No, Tia.” The worry line formed between Will’s brows as he explained, “We’re both Biggest Flirts.”

“You?” I laughed. “Why would anybody elect you Biggest Flirt?”

“Because of you!” Those bright blue eyes glared at me over his sunglasses.

I’d withstood the Florida heat for an hour with no problem, but suddenly I felt sweat break out on my forehead. Will had been chosen Biggest Flirt because of me? The school thought we were flirting with each other?

Well, if I was honest with myself—a twisting pain settled in the pit of my stomach, which was what I got for being honest with myself—I had been flirting with Will all week. I just hadn’t known anybody had noticed. Except for Chelsea and Brody and DeMarcus. . . . The list got longer as I remembered all the people who’d asked me about Will in the past few days. For some reason I’d had the impression we were invisible here at the back of the field with the whole band turned the other way. Now I knew we’d been in a fishbowl for anyone to see.

Worst of all, Will had been elected Biggest Flirt too. I’d felt like I was only teasing him, but the school thought he’d been flirting back. That gave me a head rush. Will secretly liked me.

Or, he had. I could tell by the way he was looking up at the sky that he was angry. Angelica had turned her back on him because she didn’t like her boyfriend being named Biggest Flirt with another girl. And that meant my delicious friendship with Will was about to come to a screeching halt.

7

STRANGELY, WILL SEEMED LESS CONCERNED about what Angelica would think, and more concerned about what his parents would think. With DeMarcus announcing Senior Superlatives titles in the background, Will told me, “You don’t understand what a big deal this is. My parents are going to look through my yearbook next May and see I won Biggest Flirt. If they make friends and start talking to other parents, the rumor may get back to them even sooner.”

“So?”

“So, I’m trying to convince them I’m responsible enough to drive up to Atlanta for drum corps in a couple of months, and to go to college in Minnesota like I always planned. They say the extra expense for out-of-state tuition has to be worth their while. In other words, I can’t screw up or seem like I’m not serious about school. If I’d stayed in Minnesota, I would have been Most Academic.”

“There’s no way you would have gotten that here,” I said. “A lot of people are in the running for valedictorian, but Xavier Pilkington sewed up the title of Royal Nerdbait in third grade when he made a working dishwasher out of Legos.”

“Right. I understand that. I don’t belong here, and everything’s already taken. So why couldn’t I get no title, rather than Biggest Flirt? If the school puts that stuff on the Internet, my friends at home are going to see it.”

“Your friends who cheated on you within two minutes of you leaving?”

He drew back from me and stood up straighter, looking down at me over his shades with astonishment and hurt in his blue eyes.

“Cheap shot,” I admitted, “but you have taken on an accusatory tone. You’re standing here blaming me when we both got elected Biggest Flirt. We achieved that honor together. It’s like a guy blaming a girl for getting pregnant.”

Instantly I was sorry. I’d blurted out my resentment from a fight Izzy had had with her ex a couple of years ago. Will already had a low enough opinion of me. I hadn’t meant to make it worse.

His mouth flattened into a grim line. I thought he was going to yell at me.

Instead, he opened his arms and slid them around me, stepping forward until he was giving me a full-body hug. My ear pressed against his damp T-shirt. He was getting me sweaty. I didn’t mind. I could hear his heartbeat thumping as the low notes of his voice vibrated in his chest. “I’m not blaming you,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

I allowed myself to stay in his arms, enjoying the way his body made mine feel, for three deep breaths before I started to back away.

“Mr.,” Ms. Nakamoto said through the microphone, which she’d taken away from DeMarcus again, “Matthews.”

Will put his hands up, a drumstick in each, in the pose he assumed at least once per practice.

Jimmy called from his towel, “Double header!”

Ms. Nakamoto gave the microphone back to DeMarcus, who resumed his slow recitation of the senior titles.

“Are you okay?” I asked Will. His eyes were closed behind his shades.

“It’s so hot,” he said. “I might vomit.”

I glanced toward the sidelines. The lunchroom workers had already taken away the cooler of water they’d set out for us at the beginning of practice. “You don’t have any water left?”

He tapped the plastic bottle in his back pocket, which made a hollow sound, and shook his head. A drop of sweat slid from his cheek, over his chin, and down his neck.

“Here,” I said, trying not to sound alarmed. I handed him my own half-full bottle from my pocket.

“Thanks.” I watched his throat working as he drank all of it in one long draw and tossed the bottle toward his drum on the grass. Then he pulled up the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. Glancing over at me, he said, “I’m okay.”