He was at his locker, engrossed in whatever he was holding in his hand. As I got closer, I saw that it was a phone. But he wasn’t making a call. “Get a new app or something?” I said. He jumped, startled, and then slid his phone shut and jammed it into his pocket before I could see what he’d been doing. “I was just checking something,” he said. He busied himself at his own locker, but he kept glancing furtively at me while I unpacked my backpack and sorted out what I needed for my first couple classes. “Is something wrong?” I said finally. His face flushed. “What do you mean?” “You’re staring at me.” His cheeks turned even redder. “I’m sorry,” he said. He looked down at the floor. Whatever. I got my things out of my locker. I was locking up again when he said, “I have to ask you something.” Please, please, please, do not ask me out, I thought. I turned and waited. “I should have kept my mouth shut, but I didn’t. I’m sorry, Robyn.” Sorry? What was he talking about?
