I struggle not to smile. “As flattered as I am, I can totally assure you that, come lunchtime, you’re going to pretend like I’m invisible.”
His amused smile remains, but his brows pull together. “And why’s that?”
“Because you’re an FH,” I reply with a half-shrug.
His amusement doubles. “Do I want to know what that stands for?”
I shrug. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually.”
His grin widens. “Maybe you should just tell me now and spare me the headache I always get when I think too much. And while we’re at it, why don’t you tell me something about you? Like, what grade you’re in. Where you moved from. If you have a boyfriend.”
Wait … Is he flirting with me?
It’s not like I’ve never had a guy flirt with me before. I have a couple of times, but it usually happened at school, and Dixie May always found a way to ruin whatever allure I had toward the few guys who gave me more than a second glance. And while I’m totally flattered that the prettiest guy that I’ve ever seen is semi-flirting with me, I know that, when Dixie May spots him, he won’t ever smile at me again. Because she will spot him. The guy is way too pretty for her not to notice. And while style-wise, the two of them don’t look similar, their pretty faces will go well together on those shotgun wedding invitations.
“Nah, I’d rather not,” I tell him, figuring he’ll back off. But he only grows more intrigued.
“Oh, come on. Just a little bit of information. That’s all I’m asking for.”
“Nah. I think I’m going to hold on to my mysteriousness for now. Make sure I’m representing the symbolism of my name to its truest form.”
He chuckles softly. “Hate to break it to you, but you already messed up with that, because you just gave me a little bit of info about yourself.”
“Um, no, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“How?”
He grins, pointing the sucker at me. “You let me know you’re amusing.”
“Oh, I’m not,” I assure him. “I’m being totally serious.”
“I have no doubt you are, but it’s still amusing.” He gives a short, considering pause. “And I also think you’re a little bit stubborn.”
I roll my eyes. “You can’t determine that after talking to me for, like, thirty seconds.”
He throws a dramatic glance at the clock. “Actually, it’s been a little over a minute.”
“That’s still not enough time.”
“Says who?”
“Says the person who determined the time length required to be able to give an accurate analysis of someone’s character.”
He cocks a brow. “And what’s this person’s name? Because, as far as I know, no one has ever come up with such a thing.”
“His name is Jerry.” I make up a name then decide to make up a story. “And he lives somewhere in Switzerland where there’s no internet or cell service, so he hasn’t been able to publish his findings yet. But I met him once while I was on vacation, and me and Jerry had a good, long chat about his theory on the time it takes to get to know a person. And he told me that you have to know someone a lot longer than a minute to determine what kind of person they are.”
He stares at me confoundedly, and I wait for him to back off, to realize I’m a weirdo that he doesn’t want to know. Instead, a grin takes over his face.
“You and I have to be friends,” he insists.
I shake my head. “Sorry, but that can’t happen.”
“Why not?” He sulks, jutting out his lip, pouting. He looks adorable when he does it and seems like the kind of guy who knows it.
“Because it just won’t work.” Again, I struggle not to smile.
He shakes his head then grins. “I think it totally will. In fact, I think we might be the perfect match.”
“Trust me; I know it won’t work.” Because Dixie May will make sure of it, even if she has to tell you about how I’m a murderer.
“There’s no way you can possibly know that.” He gives me a curious look. “Unless you’re a psychic.”
“As awesome as that would be, I’m just a normal girl,” I assure him, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
He stares at me in a way that makes me squirm. “I really doubt that. In fact, I think you might be one of the most interesting people I’ve met in a long time.”
I tug at the sleeve of my jacket, a self-conscious move I always do to make sure my scars are hidden. “Do I really need to tell you again about Jerry and his theory?”
“Yes, theory,” he stresses. “Not fact.”
“Did I say theory?” I smack the heel of my hand to my forehead. “I meant fact. Stupid me, I always get the two mixed up.”
His grin is as shiny as a goddamn black diamond ring and just as pretty. “Yeah, we’re definitely going to be friends.”
I’m racking my brain for a good protest when the secretary returns with a pink slip of paper in her hand. She smiles as she hands the paper to the guy. “This will get you out of last period, and last period only, which I noted multiple times on the slip. And in permanent marker,” she warns. “Do not try to pull any of that funny business like you did the last time I gave you one of these, when you erased the date and gave it to all your teachers to get out of all your classes.”
He presses his hand to his chest and dazzles her with a grin. “You have my word. No more funny business.”
She sighs tiredly. “One of these days, I’m just going to tell you no.”
“But today’s not that day.” He winks at her.
The bell rings then, announcing class is about to start and that I was right when I guessed I was going to be late.
“Just get to class,” she tells him then sinks down onto her chair.
He salutes her then turns to me. “I’ll see you around, mysterious Raven. And when I do, I expect some more details about you. You know, so we can start establishing our beautiful impending friendship.” He winks at me then pops the sucker into his mouth and strolls out of the office.
“That one is a handful,” the secretary remarks as she types a few things onto her computer.
I focus on her. “Yeah, I can tell.”
She clicks the mouse. “He’s a good kid, though, especially considering what he’s been through. It’s also probably why I have a hard time telling him no.”
I want to ask her so many questions, like why she gave him a slip to get out of class. Or what he’s been through. Or better yet, what his name is since all I ever heard her call him was Mr. Hathingford.
But doing so would mean I have an interest in him and would put me a little bit closer to knowing who he is. What would be the point in that? Like I said before, by the end of the day, he’ll have no desire to be friends with me anymore.
Chapter Four
Like I guessed, I end up having to walk into first period late. Thankfully, the teacher lets me slide on in without too much of a fuss. And as a double bonus, Dixie May isn’t in this class.
I keep waiting for something to happen. For the whispering to start. For the labels to begin being thrown at me. Strangely, though, the morning goes by pretty uneventfully. Well, until fourth period rolls around.
Like I did in every other one of my classes, I first go talk to the teacher when I walk in to tell him I’m new.
“Oh, yes, right.” Mr. Mcnellton, a middle-aged guy with thinning hair, glances up from the stack of papers on his desk. “I think your sister was in my second period class.”
“Cousin,” I correct. “But, yeah, we live together.”
“Oh, I see.” He clearly doesn’t, confusion flooding his eyes.
He wants to ask questions, but like most, he won’t, over the fear that the answer might be uncomfortable to hear.
It is, too, for everyone who dares to ask.
The girl who murdered her parents.
He clears his throat then adjusts his tie. “Well, you can sit anywhere you like. The seats aren’t assigned. And I’m sure I’m going to enjoy having you in my class.”
I want to tell him my story of Jerry and his theory that proves there’s no way he can be sure of that, but I decide to attempt to keep on the teacher’s good side for now.
I nod then wander toward a row of desks lining the middle of the classroom, choosing the far back one where I can keep my head low and hopefully not get called on.
Once I’m seated, I set my binder on the desk, pop my earbuds in, and then recline back in the seat. I have about four minutes until the bell rings, so I should be able to listen to one full song.
A minute later, I'm zoned out, tapping my fingers to the beat, when a guy approaches my desk. He has on a black hoodie with the hood drawn over his head, and his eyes are as dark as storm clouds, although completely and utterly gorgeous—and intense. His jawline is covered with stubble, along with a scar, and his expression is intense. I’m not sure what he wants, but I don’t really care too much, at least not enough to take my earbuds out. He makes no effort to move, though, continuing to stare at me.
What the hell is this guy’s deal?
I tug one of my earbuds out. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, you’re in my seat,” he grumbles.
I’m so confused. “Really? Because the teacher said they weren’t assigned.”
A beat of silence passes by as he stares at me intimidatingly.
“They’re not officially assigned,” he finally states with a hint of annoyance. “But anyone who has any self-perseveration knows not to sit in that seat.” He nods at the desk on my right then my left. “Or in those.”
I tap my finger against my lip. “Huh? I guess I must’ve left my self-preservation at home today.”
The tiniest bit of surprise flickers in his eyes, but he swiftly extinguishes it. “Well, I suggest you go find it before you end up doing something stupid.” He places his hands on my desk and leans in. “Now get out of my seat.”