You and Me and Him Read Free Page B

irritation that he thinks he’s already figured me out.
    “Maybe if you took longer than thirty seconds to get to know people, they might surprise you.” I open my notebook, flipping through the pages. The pen sitting on the notebook flies up, arcing over Tom and hitting the floor.
    “Good.” Tom picks up the pen and hands it to me with a flourish. “I love surprises.”

    Tom falls into step beside me as we swing into the hallway after class. “Look, I’m sorry if I—”
    “Don’t sweat it,” I say, smiling and speeding up a bit. I can’t be late to PE on my first day.
    “You in a hurry?” Tom says, matching my pace. “I thought you hated PE?”
    “I do. But I hate detention more, and Ms. Perry despises me. If I suit up late, she sends me straight down—do not pass ‘go,’ do not collect two hundred dollars.”
    “Ah, the bitchy PE teacher. A high school archetype,” Tom says.
    “The skinny, bitchy PE teacher who exercises excessively to make herself forget that what she really wants is a brownie. With nuts.”
    “So, why does she hate you?”
    I know why Ms. Perry hates me. She hates me because I’m one of those girls who eat the brownie. I glance at him, squeezing my science notebook tight against my body. Nash claimed Tom, so there’s no need for me to impress him. That doesn’t mean I’m going to freely discuss my flaws and nutritional choices with a cute guy I just met.
    “Who knows? Maybe she’s scared of my intellectual prowess. Maybe she can’t handle my epic dance moves. Who cares? She’s crazy.” I stop at the entrance to the girls’ locker room. “You’re down there. Next door on the right. The one that says ‘Boys,’” I add.
    “Good to know.” Tom backs down the hall a few paces. “See you inside.”
    He pauses at the next door, pointing; his eyebrows raise in question. I give him a thumbs-up and descend into the PE locker room, which may not be actual high school hell, but it’s certainly one of its waiting rooms.

    The locker room is already full of half-dressed hard-bodies when I get there. I make my way to a semi-hidden corner behind some lockers and heft my backpack onto the bench. Next comes my best version of what my old swim team coach used to call a deck change. I put the gym clothes on, then wriggle my street clothes out from under them, thereby exposing the least possible surface area of skin and undergarments.
    This may seem like a lot of effort to avoid a few seconds of vulnerability, but it’s a necessary survival mechanism. We’ve been dressing down for PE for four years, but it only took two weeks to figure out that the girls’ locker room is fraught with dangers. And don’t even get me started on the subtle art of using technology to reveal other girls’ dirty little secrets. Cell phones are officially banned but constantly in use. Expose your body in that room, and you better be sure that the only thing that gets out there is that you are perfect in every way.
    Once changed, I file out with the other girls, tugging my shorts and shirt over my widest parts. Tom stands with some sophomore and junior boys, and he waves when I walk in the gym. I wave back but line up near the door.
    Ms. Perry grimaces when she sees me, checking my name off the list on her clipboard. She raises her whistle to her mouth with a skeletal arm. One shrill blast and the chitchat dies down. We line up, count off, and go to our respective corners. I look around for Tom. He’s headed right for me, grinning. He gives me a thumbs-up and plants himself next to me. Some of the other kids are looking at him and whispering, but that comes to an abrupt halt at the sound of Ms. Perry’s whistle.
    “These will be your activity groups for the semester,” Ms. Perry shouts. The four teachers begin to move to the four corners.
    I close my eyes and say a silent prayer to the PE gods:
Not Perry. Not Perry. Not Perry . . .
When I open my eyes, Ms. Perry is standing in front of our group,