A few people mutter “hi”; a handful smile or wave. I smile politely and wait for the spotlight to move off of me. After a few seconds, Mr. Jefferson clears his throat for what feels like the hundredth time and begins class. The dominoes reverse themselves and I quietly exhale.
Except that I have that prickly feeling, like someone is staring at me.
Warily, I search the classroom. Everyone in the row next to me and the next one over is paying attention to Mr. Jefferson. But when I get to the row by the door, I see that the late arrival is eyeing me. And that’s when I realize what I hadn’t before:
The guy is flat-out, undeniably, unbelievably hot.
He casually sweeps the front of his shaggy hair to the side with his thumb. The back of his hair flips out from behind his ears in that adorable way that makes it impossible to tell whether he needs a haircut or just got one. He’s got dark eyebrows—the kind that sexy TV villains have—and almond-shaped brown eyes that make him look like he has a secret. He’s slouching ever so slightly in his faded green T-shirt and worn jeans, and he smiles at me in a way that looks almost… familiar. Then he faces front and I feel like I’ve been dropped back to earth from the clouds.
I watch the guy for the rest of the period, but he never looks at me again. When the bell rings at the end of class, I lean down long enough to put away my stuff and pick up my bag, and when I sit back up, he’s gone. I’m disappointed until I realize that I’ll see him again tomorrow, and every day for the rest of the year.
And for that, I silently thank Vice Principal Waverly.
At lunchtime, Audrey and I meet up at our lockers as planned.
“Hi!” I say as I approach.
“Hey, Daisy!” Audrey says back, matching my broad smile. “How’s it going so far?”
“Pretty good, actually,” I say. And then I look away, embarrassed.
“What?” she asks, reading me.
“Nothing,” I say. “There’s just a cute guy in my English class.”
“Ooh, really?” she asks. “I want to hear all about him—but save it for the ride. We only have forty-five minutes.”
We shut our lockers and turn to leave as two girls walk by. They look at me quizzically, then offer Audrey a pair of anemic waves, like they’re being forced to say hello but aren’t feeling it. Audrey shakes her head at them and refocuses on me.
“Hungry?” she asks.
“Always.”
“Follow me.”
Audrey expertly leads us through the crowded halls and shows me a few shortcuts on the way out to the student parking lot. Soon we’re buckled into her bright yellow Mini Cooper.
“I love your car,” I say.
“Thanks,” she says. “I love it, too. I spent two summers’ worth of babysitting money on the down payment, but it was worth it.”
“You must have worked a lot,” I say.
“My parents matched what I earned.” Audrey looks a little embarrassed.
“Nice parents,” I say.
“What do you drive?” Audrey asks as she pulls out of the student lot onto the main road.
“Nothing… yet,” I say. “I won’t be sixteen until next month.”
“No way,” Audrey says, shaking her head.
“Way,” I say, and we laugh.
Audrey reaches over and turns on the radio. She pushes a couple of buttons and lands on an alterna-song. She puts her right hand back on the wheel and taps her thumbs in time with the beat.
“This okay?” she asks.