I'm not sure what I expected from Bryce when it came to interacting with me in front of our classmates, but whatever it was, he proved me wrong.

Monday morning dawned all too soon, as usual, and I was already dreading the bus stop. What had made me promise to be there, I didn't know. Maybe Bryce hadn't really changed. Or what if he had changed, but the peer pressure turned out to be too much? What if he went back to ignoring me? I didn't think my heart could stand another rejection.

It doesn't matter. You don't need him to make you feel validated.

I know, I know, but agh! Why am I even doing this?

Because you don't like having to go to school wet when you don't have to.

"Not taking your bike today? It's a beautiful morning outside," Dad pointed out as he saw me walk past the garage. Darn it, he was right. Now I had no reason for taking the bus except—

No. I wasn't going to say it. I wasn't even going to think it.

"I…I just got tired of pedaling up all those hills, I guess."

"I'm surprised you made it this long. I always wondered what superhuman strength helped to do that every day," he joked with a wink as my mom handed me my lunch bag. Oh, Dad. I love you and your corny jokes.

It had been a long time since I'd last ridden the bus; longer than I'd realized before. Had the bench always been this uncomfortable, with gum and hair and cigarette burns on it? Had it always been this loud and crowded? I guess I had never had the opportunity to notice since I was always up in my sycamore tree, looking out for the bus as it came closer and closer. Right now I could still feel the sweet smelling wind kissing my cheek; could still see the green leaves rustling. I felt tears forming in my eyes. It sounds crazy, but back then, that sycamore was my only friend, the only person who listened to my troubles. It even groaned sympathetically. I like to think that it really could hear me. And now it was gone.

Abruptly, I got that strange feeling that someone's eyes were on me, and that's when I noticed the stares and the whispers.

there's the Baker girl…

Is she riding the bus again?

Did you hear Bryce Loski tried to kiss her…

dude, it's like he's flipped. Didn't he use to…

Well, at least no one was laughing at me. I ignored them and decided to pull out Anne of Green Gables, which I was rereading for the thousandth time. If Anne weren't a fictional character, I'd say I was a reincarnation of her. She's so fiery and passionate and smart and imaginative, and a lot of people think she's crazy, but she rises above all of that and follows her own path. And today, the book seemed particularly appropriate, since it also revolved around a years-long childhood feud/one-sided crush, which of course ended happily with the two main characters finally getting together in the third book, ten years later…

Hmm, on second thought, maybe this wasn't such a good choice…

I didn't have time to wonder about it, though, because I noticed how quiet it had suddenly become. I looked up, and there was Bryce, staring at me; and there was everyone else, staring at him. My breath caught with two emotions: first, that I would never get used to having that ice blue stare on me, be it negative or positive, because every time I saw it, my heart beat a little faster; second, that this was the moment he would make the decision: me, or popularity? I closed my eyes and waited to hear his voice join in with his friends, trying to assure myself that it didn't matter, it really didn't matter, I could get over it. But then I felt someone sit next to me, and heard a familiar voice whisper "Bookworm" into my ear.

"Bryce?!"

"Juli?!" he mimicked teasingly. He deliberately ignored the frenzied whispering that hovered around us and the glares of his usual crowd, focusing only on me with that beautiful smile. He came to me! He actually came to me! I was practically turning somersaults inside, but I forced myself to be rational, to prepare for the worst.

"Bryce, don't you want to talk to your friends?"

"I am talking to my friends," he whispered defiantly, without even glancing up at the aforementioned friends. As much as my heart fluttered-no, soared-when he said that, I knew it wasn't true.

"No, you're not—I mean not yet," I amended when he looked like I'd just punched him in the stomach. "Bryce, we barely know each other. We've never even had a real conversation—"

"Juli, this is a 'real' conversation. And how am I supposed to get to know you if I don't sit and talk to you, huh?"

He had me there.

"So," he continued, "we could talk about the book you're reading. Anne of Green Gables. Sounds interesting. Or we could talk about perpetual motion, 'cause I remember you're into that—"

"Or we could wait till we're on the bus so we don't get left because it's loading right now?"

For the rest of the day, we talked as we went from class to class about favorite movies and songs, subjects and teachers, foods and countries. I never knew that there was so much I didn't know about him; it was like talking to a complete stranger. When he joined me, Darla and Jon at our lunch table, he looked completely natural and at ease for the first time in all the time I'd known him; the opposite of his usual self, which was stiff, detached, and constantly aware of who was watching. I noticed things about him that I'd never noticed before, things like the tiny chip in one of his front teeth that only shows if you stand next to him when he's laughing really hard, and the little crease between his eyes when he disagrees with something, but doesn't want to show it. Also, he's hilarious. I think he could be a stand-up comedian if he wanted to. He makes these observations about people that I never would have noticed, but are so ridiculously obvious when he points them out. Take for an example when Bryce and Darla and I were walking down the hallway to Chemistry, the class we all had together. We were laughing about how the Booster Lunch auction had included reading little bios of each boy that were written by their moms and therefore mortifying beyond belief, when Darla stopped me and Bryce and said, "Whoa, witch alert, straight ahead!"

I looked up and sure enough, Shelley Stalls was right down the hallway, fixing all of us—especially Bryce—with a glare that would have made a polar bear shiver. I have to admit, I was a little scared. As Friday's lunch proved, not to mention my own personal experience, she fights dirty. But Bryce just sent her a cool stare back and rounded the corner. Darla and I exchanged glances. What had that meant? However, before we could speculate on that, Bryce had tapped us both on the shoulder and whispered, "Does Shelley ever remind you of Hilary Duff with a couple of Pomeranian dogs on her head?"

We all thought about it for a minute, then burst out laughing. It was so true! All of a sudden, the intimidating image of my arch enemy deflated like a sad balloon, and a weight, probably of jealousy, was lifted from my shoulders. For the first time, Shelley Stalls wasn't the Queen of Harpies, but an imperfect girl with visible flaws, just like me.

Even though I was having the time of my life, I was still bewildered. Bryce had hated me for seven whole years, and I had pretty much accepted that that was how it was going to be. But over the course of a single weekend, he'd managed to run contrary to everything he'd said, done, and felt for those seven years. Now he was constantly near me, asking questions, giving compliments, being attentive. It seemed less like a leopard changing its spots and more like a snake shedding its entire skin. Had he really been able to change that quickly, or was this just a fleeting mood, one that would disappear just when I had started to find hope in it?

The school day was over soon, and I waved goodbye to Darla as she got into the driver's seat of her mom's car (she's teaching Darla how to drive!) before I walked over to where the buses picked us up. I found Bryce sitting alone with his hands clasped behind his head and a thoughtful look on his face. How was it fair that anyone could look so beautiful while doing something so simple? Sitting there, with the sun shining through the leaves onto his hair and his mouth curled up in a tiny smile, he just looked…perfect.

"Bryce?"

He jumped, then smiled even wider when he looked up at me, and moved his backpack so that I could sit down.

"No, wait. I was going to say that…I sort of want to sit alone on the bus."

Bryce looked crestfallen. Why, oh why did I have to keep doing this to him?

"Okay," he murmured. Then he looked up at me. "Did I hurt you again?"

"No, that's not it at all. It's…" I sighed. How could explain my convoluted feelings to him when I had such a hard time understanding them myself?

"It's just that three weeks ago, you hated me, and now all of a sudden you're here, you're everywhere, and I'm still mad at you about what you said about Uncle David and me, and about our yard, and the eggs, but I don't want to be mad. I used to be obsessed with you but now I'm not; I want to be friends with you but I don't know if I should. So for now—at least for this bus ride—I need to be alone so I can think about it for a while."

Bryce nodded; he was still unhappy, but not completely devastated. He smiled bitterly.

"I guess even when I try to be nice, I still have no idea how to treat you."

"Bryce, you were wonderful today. I liked spending time with you. That's part of why I'm so confused." Good, that cheered him up. The tiny little bit of seven-year-old Julianna left in me couldn't stand to see him sad.

We sat in silence as the spring wind blew the sweet scent of cherry blossoms across the school yard. Maybe I could take a picture of the blossoming cherry tree across the street from our school for my dad to paint. I considered the possible angles to get the best view, but my thoughts soon wandered to the boy not five inches away from me, so close that I could touch him. It took all my will power not to gently take his hand. Thankfully the bus arrived soon, and Bryce and I both hoisted our backpacks onto our shoulders without saying a word to each other. I was just about to get in line when I felt Bryce tap my elbow with a touch so feather light, it made me shiver.

"For the record, Juli, it's been a long time since I hated you." He smiled, his eyes twinkling with something very close to affection, and left me standing there, open-mouthed.

Maybe there was more to Bryce Loski than I ever could have imagined.