Do I Tell Cindy

Inside the school, Gabe walked me to my locker. When we arrived, he stopped and touched my arm. Shivers danced along my sensitive skin.

"I've got to get to class. See you at lunch." He squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back.

A gnawing nervousness swelled as I watched him walk away.

I was nervous about being without him.

My first class was chemistry, and I was totally unprepared for the quiz on Matter.

I also had an assignment due in Algebra II and verbs that needed conjugating for Spanish.

While I emptied my books into my locker, I made a mental promise to talk to my teachers about extra credit or a way to make up the work.

"Bonjour, Snow. Where have you been?" Cindy asked, using the French word for hello despite the ring of agitated irritation I detected in her words.

"Hey, Cin. Your French is coming along nicely," I returned, wondering if she'd discern anything different about me.

Closing my locker, I turned to face her annoyance, which I knew I deserved.

She'd said she'd call