Chapter 15: High Five
"Here you go. Knock it out of the park on the test, okay?"
The second Hannah Reeves got off the bus at the stop, she pressed a plastic bag holding three warm sausage biscuits into Julian Hayes' hands. With her hands planted on her hips, she gave her orders. "Consider this the payment upfront. And when I call you tonight, you better pick up."
"Weren't you saying you weren't going to give me any more?"
"If you're not eating them, hand them right back."
"Fine, fine, I'm eating. Thanks a lot." Julian fished one out and took a bite. The savory sausage filling inside the soft biscuit was still juicy and delicious. "These taste pretty good. Feels a little different from last time, though."
"I made them myself today."
Hannah stared at him, irritation flashing across her face. She watched the golden oil shine at the corner of his mouth as his satisfied expression paused mid-chew.
Julian shifted awkwardly. "Oh… well, they're still really tasty. You're actually pretty good at this."
"Compliments aren't getting you extras tomorrow."
Dissatisfaction was clear on Hannah's face, but her big eyes followed him swallowing each bite with that goofy look, and somehow the anger drained away. In its place came something almost… warm?
"I've got cleaning duty today, so I'm heading in first. Good luck with the exams."
"Got it, got it. You too." Julian answered around the food in his mouth.
Hannah blinked at him. Once he was nearly finished, she lifted her slender hand, a smile lighting up her fair features. "Come on, high five?"
"Huh?" Julian froze for a second, feeling strangely self-conscious.
His closest recent contact with any girl had been Margaret straightening his collar and dozing against him, plus some hazy, distant memories tied to that childhood neighbor.
He knew Hannah could be bubbly and a little airheaded sometimes, not really bothered by casual touch with him. But this specific kind of contact was new between them, and he'd never seen her do it with anyone else.
Maybe he was reading too much into it. To her, a high five was probably just normal friend stuff. He shouldn't overthink it like some awkward kid with a crush.
"Okay." After a brief hesitation, Julian raised his hand and met hers, slapping it with a bit of force before yanking back like he'd been shocked.
Her hand was warmer than his, incredibly soft and smooth, almost without texture. It felt like slapping a block of cream—surprisingly nice.
"Julian…" Hannah's face darkened again.
"What?"
"You could've wiped the grease off your hand first!"
Her delicate brows drew together in mild exasperation. She pulled a couple of tissues from her pocket and handed them over, then used a pair herself to clean her hand.
"Such a dummy. You've got some on the corner of your mouth too. Don't forget to wipe it."
Hannah pouted, spun on her heel, and walked away with an air of annoyance.
Her back was slender, the Riverside High sweatshirt clinging to her elegant curves. Her ponytail swung with each step, lively and energetic even against the bleak backdrop of late autumn.
She kept her head slightly lowered, a shy crimson flush spreading across her cheeks.
Julian stood there embarrassed. He wiped his hands thoroughly, crumpled the tissue into a ball, and tossed it into a nearby trash can before continuing down the street, nibbling slowly as he went.
The road outside the school gates felt as worn and aged as Riverside High itself. Mom-and-pop stationery shops run by older folks sat right next to small eateries owned by middle-aged men. Rows of maple trees lined the sidewalk, their golden-yellow leaves scattered everywhere across the pavement.
Old power lines sagged overhead in a tangled mess, speckled with tiny patches of white frost. Traffic moved steadily along the street. Every so often a private car would pull up, dropping off a student. The unfamiliar luxury brands looked expensive and out of place.
Most kids at this plain, unassuming high school came from ordinary families. The wealthy ones stood out sharply. Their starting point was everyone else's finish line—they could coast through life without a worry.
Julian didn't dwell on any of that. It didn't stir much feeling in him. He wasn't sure if that kind of life was enviable or not, but he knew one thing for sure: without it, he definitely wouldn't be enjoying the class president's homemade sausage biscuits.
A sudden tap on his shoulder made him turn. His mouth was still full of biscuit.
"Taste any good?"
Margaret Monroe carried a white shoulder bag, her Riverside High sweatshirt layered over a silver-gray tee. She smiled at him, eyes bright and lively. She looked beautiful like this.
"Yeah, they're pretty good."
"Look at you finally eating a real breakfast."
"Actually, Hannah gave them to me. Otherwise I'd probably still be grabbing those packaged rolls." Julian answered straightforwardly.
The smile on Margaret's face dimmed, smoothing into something neutral. A shadow settled deep in her eyes, clouding their usual warmth. That eager spark disappeared instantly. In a slightly flat voice, she said, "Oh. No wonder you said she's nice."
"It's not just that. The class president is… just really friendly, you know."
"Have you got all those vocab words down? The first test today is French." Margaret smoothly changed the subject, clearly done hearing about it.
Julian searched his memory. "I've been cramming them hard these past few days. Hoping it stuck."
"Want me to test you on a few?"
"Sure, I think I remember most of them."
"Refuser?"
"Verb: to refuse. Noun: garbage."
"Exaspéré?"
"Should mean annoyed or irritated."
"Appartenir?" Margaret watched him with a cool gaze. Julian rubbed his chin thoughtfully, completely missing the unusual look in her eyes.
"Uh… let me see… to belong?"
"Yeah, to belong…" Margaret murmured softly. Her next words dropped to a near-silent whisper, meant only for her own ears. "Tu n'appartiens qu'à moi."
"Not bad at all. If you do well, how about we celebrate at your place this weekend?"
Julian, always ready for the worst-case scenario, didn't commit right away. "It's not guaranteed I'll ace it. If I tank the test, it'll be miserable."
"I believe in you. You've got this."
Margaret stepped ahead a few paces, then turned to stand directly in front of him. She raised her pale, elegant hand. "High five?"
"You're doing this now too?!"
"Only your wonderful class president gets to? I don't count?" Margaret tilted her head, a few strands of dark hair brushing her cheek. The questioning look in her striking eyes made him feel self-conscious.
"It's not like that… Alright, fine…"
Julian lifted his hand and met hers in a quick high five, separating immediately after.
Margaret's fingers were slightly longer than Hannah's, her palm cooler but every bit as soft.
Hannah's energetic personality made that gesture feel natural, but coming from Margaret it seemed a little out of character. She was usually more reserved, carrying that quiet literary-girl aura. This wasn't like her.
Could she be… jealous? Julian shook his head, silently calling himself conceited for even thinking it.
Things with Margaret had grown closer lately. The line between friendship and something more seemed to be blurring little by little. They shared more contact, and it ran deeper.
It felt like she was the one pushing for it. Maybe she saw him as someone worth getting to know better and was slowly closing the gap.
The idea that she might feel anything stronger never occurred to him. He didn't think of Margaret that way himself, and he definitely didn't assume she felt that deeply about him.
Not that he disliked her. She was attractive, kind-natured, talented in every area, and always looked out for him. Julian couldn't claim zero feelings. It was just…
"Take the test seriously. If you really mess up, when we do tutoring this weekend, I won't be going easy on you. Understood?"
"Yeah, yeah. I won't let you down. See you later."
They split up as they approached the door to Room Three. Julian continued straight to Room Four, checked the posted exam room assignments and seating chart on the wall, and quickly noted everything down.
Lately, several teachers—including their homeroom one—had told him he had a real shot at making it into the honors classes. His two friends were excited about it too. Most of all, he needed to push himself for his own future.