Meet Me After Class

Chapter 3: Back to Megan and her Boobs

"Hi, Audrey, is Adam in his room?"

"Adam, your girlfriend is here!" Eyes glued to the screen on her phone, Audrey yelled as she opened the door wider to let me in. "Mom's at the store and won't be home in a couple of hours."

I gave her a look that told her I had no idea why she had to tell me — then I pursed my lips when she suddenly let out a grin, without looking up at me.

"What? I didn't mean...look, you can hang out with us..."

So, Audrey Brown, Adam's younger sister, had this weird notion that her big brother and I were a thing. All thanks to this one time she barged in on us in a totally awkward situation. And no, it wasn't some gross make-out session, not at all.

What had really happened was her older brother's entire fault. And it was a pretty petty thing that just sort of got out of hand. A little tiny bit.

So, Adam and I, engaged in our usual battle of wits – him defending his comic book kingdom, me sticking up for my romance novel heroes. Things got spicy, and in a stroke of not-so-genius brilliance, I decided to up the ante and really get under his skin. Well, that turned into a whole thing.

He retaliates by dropping my full name like a bomb, hitting me right in the gut. Naturally, I'm not one to back down, so I take a flying leap at him, ending up smack on top. And just when the drama couldn't get any richer, in walks Audrey. Like, was she waiting by the door the whole time or what? And there you have it – a not-so-kid-friendly scene for her eyes. Classic.

I gave it my best shot, trying to straighten things out with her. But no luck. She just brushed off all my attempts and stuck to calling me her brother's girlfriend.

"I'm good," she shot back, strolling over to the living room like it was no big deal, still glued to her phone.

"Audrey, seriously. I'm not his girlfriend. I've been saying it for like, forever," I told her, as if this time, by some miracle, it might actually sink in.

I rolled my eyes in frustration and trudged up the stairs. A couple of knocks on Adam's door, and I barged right in. "Why'd you bail on school today?" I tossed a pillow I found on the floor at him.

Adam perched on his bed, skillfully dodging the incoming cushion. "Jay needed a hand with something." He grabbed his guitar from the bedside and strummed a few chords.

He had genuinely leveled up over the summer.

"He always needs something from you," I responded, matter-of-factly.

Just like the lair of any average teenage boys, my best friend's room didn't exactly shine in the cleanliness department. More like the lack thereof. Crumpled papers and pencil shavings were scattered like confetti on his desk and the carpeted floor. And just like your typical seventeen-year-old, the walls were plastered with posters – System of A Down, Alice in Chains, Soundgarden – and smack dab in the mix, a grunge deity, Kurt Cobain, holding court right above his computer next to Darth Vader.

"So . . . turns out that Mr. Serial Killer is the new sub for Ms. Miles' class."

He gave a nonchalant nod, casually tuning his guitar. "Yeah, I've caught wind of the whispers and chit-chats." His tone, cool as ever, screamed 'not interested.' And that was fine. Not all the guys at school were buzzing with excitement about Mr. Scott's entrance; some were as indifferent as Adam. I mean, talking about other guys just wasn't their thing, right?

I plopped down on his bed, legs stretched out. My brand-new skinny jeans, a misguided purchase courtesy of Mom, were practically clinging to my skin. Note to self: never trust Mom to pick out pants.