Time After Time

3

|Chapter 3|

≡ Mackenzie Ryder≡

“Hey there.”

I contemplate ignoring the person—who sounds like a guy—but he’s so loud that I’ll pass off as deaf if I ignore him. Groaning inwardly, I turn around and stare right at the polo-clad chest of some guy. A bit startled by how tall he is—at five foot six I was considered on the taller side of the female student body at my old school— I look up, clutching my books tighter against my chest. Warm, vibrant brown eyes, matching hair that’s curled just so, and a broad megawatt smile. A navy scarf is wrapped snugly around his neck.

I frown, staring only at his scarf, trying not to focus on his face. And instead of saying hi, I just point at his blue accessory. “I swear that’s against dress code.” Stupid, it’s your goddamned first day here, like you would know how things go here better.

“I didn’t know you were so concerned with the rules,” the boy laughs, but his tone isn’t mean or condescending or anything. It’s just somewhat amused, a touch shy.

My eyebrows furrow, and I give him another once-over. “Wait, do I know you?”

This takes the boy aback. “Don’t you remember me from yesterday afternoon?”

I study his scarf more closely now. I do remember seeing some guy who looked about his height and sounded a bit like him and was wearing a scarf yesterday. I grimace, my mind skimming through yesterday’s events. Then I remember, and I feel like slapping the hell out of myself for even talking to this guy, the one who was at my doorstep who I had screamed at and hit. Humiliation fills me, but before he can see the angry red darkening my cheeks, I turn on my heel suddenly and briskly walk away.

“Wait!” I hear his loud footsteps, and in a single stride he’s within reach and he grabs my forearm firmly, turning me around. “So you do remember yesterday, don’t you?” he raises his eyebrows, and I duck my head sheepishly.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“And you’re not gonna say sorry?”

I jerk my arm out of his grip, but I still don’t look at him. “Do you want me to apologize?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m not sorry then.”

I hear his laugh, warm and not angry at all. Surprised, I look up at him. I had slapped the shit out of this guy yesterday and instead of gathering all his beefy, mean friends to make fun of me and make sure I’ll be just another ridiculed loser at the school—trust me, he has that popular guy look—he comes up to me all alone asking nicely for an apology. What surprises me more is the kindness and sincerity in his eyes. He’s not joking around with me, he doesn’t even seem angry at all.

“Oh, really?”

“Well … sorry. About yesterday. I thought you were an ex-boyfriend of mine.”

“‘Theo’?” he raises an eyebrow.

“Théo,” I correct, “Not as in Theodore, but Théo. But yeah.”

“I look so much like this ex of yours that you actually thought it was me and decided to slap me before I could explain myself?”

“Yeah.”

“So I’m like his identical twin or something. Our faces, our height, our body, our hair, everything is the same?” he sounds doubtful of that.

I swallow. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t want him to think I’m weird. Looking around, seeing students leisurely walking to their lockers in their own little cliques, completely ignoring us, I realize that he might be the only shot at a friend I have. We’ll figure out some way for me to recognize him, I mean, hell, the scarves are already pretty good identification.