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When he can't take anymore, Galen plucks his phone from his pocket and dials, then hangs up. When the call is returned, he says, "Hey, sweet lips." The females at the table hush each other to get a better listen. A few of them whip their heads toward Emma to see if she's on the other end of the conversation. Satisfied she's not, they lean closer.
Rachel snorts. "If only you liked sweets."
"I can't wait to see you tonight. Wear that pink shirt I like."
Rachel laughs. "Sounds like you're in what we humans like to call a pickle. My poor, drop-dead-gorgeous sweet pea. Emma still not talking to you, leaving you alone with all those hormonal girls?"
"Eight-thirty? That's so far away. Can't I meet you sooner?"
One of the females actually gets up and takes her tray and her attitude to another table. Galen tries not to get too excited.
"Do you need to be checked out of school, son? Are you feeling ill?"
Galen tosses a glance at Emma, who's picking a pepperoni off her pizza and eyeing it as if it were dolphin dung. "I can't skip school to meet you again, boo. But I'll be thinking about you. No one but you."
A few more females get up and stalk their trays to the trash. The cheerleader in front of him rolls her eyes and starts a conversation with the chubby brunette beside her-the same chubby brunette she pushed into a locker to get to him two hours ago.
"Be still my heart," Rachel drawls. "But seriously, I can't read your signals. I don't know what you're asking me to do."
"Right now, nothing. But I might change my mind about skipping. I really miss you."
Rachel clears her throat. "All right, sweet pea. You just let your mama know, and she'll come get her wittle boy from school, okay?"
Galen hangs up. Why is Emma laughing again? Mark can't be that funny.
The girl beside him clues him in: "Mark Baker. All the girls love him. But not as much as they love you. Except maybe Emma, I guess."
"Speaking of all these girls, how did they get my phone number?"
She giggles. "It's written on the wall in the girls' bathroom. One hundred hall." She holds her cell phone up to his face. An image of his number scrawled onto a stall door lights up the screen. In Emma's handwriting.
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