Thirty minutes into a new semester and I was already in trouble. This didn’t bode well for the rest of the year. I slumped farther, hunching my shoulders against all prying eyes, as Miss Singer returned to the front and continued the lesson.
I remained in my seat after class was dismissed, listening to the sounds of scraping chairs and shuffling bodies, bags being tossed over shoulders. Voices surged around me, students talking and laughing with each other, gelling into their own little groups. As they began to file out, I finally looked up, letting my gaze wander over the few still lingering. A blond boy with glasses stood at Miss Singer’s desk, rambling on while she listened with calm amusement. From the eager, puppy-dog look in his eyes, it was clear he was either suffering from major infatuation or was gunning for teacher’s pet.
A group of girls stood by the door, clustered like pigeons, cooing and giggling. I saw several of the guys staring at them as they left, hoping to catch their eye, only to be disappointed. I snorted softly. Good luck with that. At least three of the girls were blonde, slender and beautiful, and a couple wore extremely short skirts that gave a fantastic view of their long, tanned legs. This was obviously the school’s pom squad, and guys like me—or anyone who wasn’t a jock or rich—had no chance.
And then, one of the girls turned and looked right at me.
I glanced away, hoping that no one noticed. Cheerleaders, I’d discovered, usually dated large, overly protective football stars whose policy was punch first, ask questions later. I did not want to find myself pressed up against my locker or a bathroom stall on my first day, about to get my face smashed in, because I’d had the gall to look at the quarterback’s girlfriend. I heard more whispers, imagined fingers pointed my way, and then a chorus of shocked squeaks and gasps reached my corner.
“She’s really going to do it,” someone hissed, and then footsteps padded across the room. One of the girls had broken away from the pack and was approaching me. Wonderful.
Go away, I thought, shifting farther toward the wall. I have nothing you want or need. I’m not here so you can prove that you’re not scared of the tough new kid, and I do not want to get in a fight with your meathead boyfriend. Leave me alone.
“Hi.”
Resigned, I turned and stared into the face of a girl.
She was shorter than the others, more perky and cute than graceful and beautiful. Her long, straight hair was inky-black, though she had dyed a few strands around her face a brilliant sapphire. She wore sneakers and dark jeans, tight enough to hug her slender legs, but not looking like she’d painted them on. Warm brown eyes peered down at me as she stood with her hands clasped behind her, shifting from foot to foot, as if it was impossible for her to stay still.
“Sorry about the note,” she continued, as I shifted back to eye her warily. “I told Regan not to do it—Miss Singer has eyes like a hawk. We didn’t mean to get you in trouble.” She smiled, and it lit up the room. My heart sank; I didn’t want it to light up the room. I didn’t want to notice anything about this girl, especially the fact that she was extremely attractive. “I’m Kenzie. Well, Mackenzie is my full name, but everyone calls me Kenzie. Don’t call me Mac or I’ll slug you.”
Behind her, the rest of the girls gaped and whispered to each other, shooting us furtive glances. I suddenly felt like some kind of exhibit at the zoo. Resentment simmered. I was just a curiosity to them; the dangerous new kid to be stared at and gossiped about.
“And … you are …?” Kenzie prompted.
I looked away. “Not interested.”
“Okay. Wow.” She sounded surprised, but not angry, not yet. “That’s … not what I was expecting.”
“Get used to it.” Inwardly, I cringed at the sound of my own voice. I was being a dick; I was fully aware of that. I was also fully aware that I was murdering any hope for acceptance in this place. You didn’t talk this way to a cute, popular cheerleader without becoming a social pariah. She would go back to her friends, and they would gossip, and more rumors would spread, and I’d be shunned for the rest of the year.
Good, I thought, trying to convince myself. That’s what I want. No one gets hurt this way. Everyone can just leave me alone.
Except … the girl wasn’t leaving. From the corner of my eye, I saw her lean back and cross her arms, still with that lopsided grin on her face. “No need to be nasty,” she said, seeming unconcerned with my aggressiveness. “I’m not asking for a date, tough guy, just your name.”
Why was she still talking to me? Wasn’t I making myself clear? I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to answer her questions. The longer I spoke to anyone, the greater the chance that They would notice, and then the nightmare would begin again. “It’s Ethan,” I muttered, still staring at the wall. I forced the next words out. “Now piss off.”
“Huh. Well, aren’t we hostile.” My words were not having the effect I wanted. Instead of driving her off, she seemed almost … excited. What the hell? I resisted the urge to glance at her, though I still felt that smile, directed at me. “I was just trying to be nice, seeing as it’s your first day and all. Are you like this with everyone you meet?”
“Miss St. James.” Our teacher’s voice cut across the room. Kenzie turned, and I snuck a peek at her. “I need to speak with Mr. Chase,” Miss Singer continued, smiling at Kenzie. “Go to your next class, please.”
Kenzie nodded. “Sure, Miss Singer.” Glancing back, she caught me looking at her and grinned before I could look away. “See ya around, tough guy.”
I watched her bounce back to her friends, who surrounded her, giggling and whispering. Sneaking unsubtle glances back at me, they filed through the door into the hall, leaving me alone with the teacher.
“Come here, Mr. Chase, if you would. I don’t want to shout at you over the classroom.”
I pulled myself up and walked down the aisle to slouch into a front-row desk. Miss Singer’s sharp black eyes watched me over her glasses before she launched into a lecture about her no-tolerance policy for horseplay, and how she understood my situation, and how I could make something of myself if I just focused. As if that was all there was to it.
Thanks, but you might as well save your breath. I’ve heard this all before. How difficult it must be, moving to a new school, starting over. How bad my life at home must be. Don’t act like you know what I’m going through. You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about my life. No one does.
If I had any say in it, no one ever would.
I got through my next two classes the same way—by ignoring everyone around me. When lunchtime rolled around, I watched the students filing down the hall toward the cafeteria, then turned and went in the opposite direction.
My fellow classmates were starting to get to me. I wanted to be outside, away from the crowds and curious looks. I didn’t want to be trapped at a table by myself, dreading that someone would come up and “talk.” No one would do it to be friendly, I was fairly certain. By now, that girl and her friends had probably spread the story of our first meeting through the whole school, maybe embellishing a few things, like how I called her awful names but somehow came on to her at the same time. Regardless, I didn’t want to deal with angry boyfriends and indignant questions. I wanted to be left alone.
I turned a corner into another hall, intent on finding an isolated
