Then You Look At Me
Автор
Tiffanyluvss
Прочтений
2,0M
Глав
78
Locker Guy
RAINEY
“You’re going to love it here at Crosshill High, Rainey. Think of it as a new beginning,” Principal Cameron tells me, her smile lighting up the room from across her polished mahogany desk.
I manage a small smile in return, then let my gaze drop to the pattern on my plaid skirt.
“This is just what she needs to put Freetown High behind her. She’ll fit right in here.”
She gives my mom a comforting smile, and as they continue their conversation, the office door swings open.
I glance over, and a boy saunters in. He’s grinning at something on his phone, his teeth gleaming in the light from the screen.
“Ah, good morning, Jace. This is Rainey. Could you show her around? She’s new here.”
Mrs. Cameron smiles at the boy, who finally looks up. His eyes flicker between the principal and me. He gives a half-hearted smile, but his hazel eyes reveal his reluctance.
“Go on, Rainey. I’ll pick you up after five,” my mom says as I rise from my chair and walk over to the boy, who’s already engrossed in his phone again.
He chuckles deeply as he leads the way out the door, and I pull my skirt down a bit more over my thighs.
The uniform is uncomfortable. A white dress shirt and a green and dark blue plaid skirt. It feels too preppy.
We walk down the hallway in silence. He hasn’t said much, just laughing at whatever’s on his phone.
I try not to let it bother me, instead focusing on memorizing my surroundings. I don’t want to ask him for help, especially since he doesn’t seem interested in giving it.
I unzip my bag as we walk, pulling out my timetable from between the pages of a textbook. After zipping my bag back up, I scan the paper to find my first class.
Math, room T81.
I frown, not knowing where that is, and look over at my “guide,” who’s still engrossed in his phone.
“Um, where’s T81?”
“Oh shit, she sends nudes?!” he laughs at his screen, clearly not hearing my question.
I sigh, my patience wearing thin. “If you didn’t want to help, you could have just said so.”
He finally looks up at me, his smile fading as he frowns. “Sorry. What did you say?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I’m already hating this school. At least at Freetown High I had some friends. But the kids here seem too snobby for my taste.
“Where’s T81?”
“Second room, third floor,” he says. “I gotta go, got something to take care of. You can find it, right?”
Seriously?
I just nod, and he hurries off, looking relieved to be away from me.
I wrote my locker number on the back of my timetable while in Mrs. Cameron’s office, so I recite the combination as I look for the matching number on the lockers.
I finally find it, and a smile tugs at my lips as I set my bag down on the marble floor and punch in the combination.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath.
The locker door creaks open, like it hasn’t been used in ages. I wrinkle my nose and wave away the dust, coughing. This school just keeps getting worse.
“Okay, don’t freak out, Rain. Start on a good note.”
I reach into my bag and pull out the decorations I brought from home for my locker.
After using a rag—which I’ll definitely have to throw away later—to clean the locker, I hang a photo of my dad and me at the top and decorate the metal space with small flowers.
For the final touch, I put a mirror at the back of the locker so I can always see what’s behind me.
I started doing this last year at Freetown when a kid stuck gum in my hair from behind while I was at my locker.
I run my fingers through my bronze hair, trying to tame it.
My hair is always a mess, not because I don’t comb it, but because it just doesn’t behave like other people’s hair.
I notice a figure behind me in my mirror. A guy is at his locker, stuffing books into his bag.
His black hair is messy, and even from behind I can tell he’s wearing glasses.
But he doesn’t look like a “glasses” guy, judging by his broad shoulders and lean build.
He closes his locker and turns to leave, and our eyes meet. I immediately notice his icy blue eyes behind his half-rim glasses, and I quickly look away.
Don’t stare at strangers, Rainey.
He walks away, his face blank, even though he just caught a stranger staring at him in her mirror.
Why did I do that?
The bell snaps me back to reality. I have a class to get to, and the long staircase to the third floor will probably take me at least ten minutes.
I close my locker and pick up my bag, then hurry off to class.
***
The boy who was supposed to show me around this morning gave me the wrong directions to my math class.
Honestly, I’m not surprised. He was too busy looking at his nudes.
I find the room at a quarter past eight. The teacher is at the board, writing down the day’s objectives, while I stand awkwardly in the doorway.
I clear my throat, and she looks over at me.
“You’re late, Miss…”
“Slate,” I say, walking into the room. A few heads turn to look at me. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t find the class.”
“Halfway through the term and you still can’t find your class?”
A brunette snickers with her friends.
“I’m new,” I tell Mrs. Forbes, who’s checking her watch with a frown etched into her weathered face.
“Alright, introduce yourself,” she finally says, turning back to the chalkboard.
I let out a sigh. This is the part of being the new kid that I hate the most.
…Standing in front of a bunch of kids who couldn’t care less about who you are because after high school, you’ll just be a girl they sat next to in class or took a group picture with.
High school doesn’t last forever, and neither do these people.
“I’m Rainey,” I mumble, staring at my leather boots while an awkward silence blankets the room.
They’re probably waiting for me to say more. I look up at curious faces, and Mrs. Forbes is staring at me, shocked.
“Is that it?”
“Yeah, tell us something else!” a boy in the back row urges. His friend, a guy with messy black hair, grins, a spark of interest in his eyes, “Yeah, like do you have a boyfriend?!”
The brunette who made the snide comment earlier rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Tate! She’s not even that…”
Mrs. Forbes waves her hand dismissively at the class. “Okay, enough, Olivia!” She points to a seat in the back. “Sit down, Rainey.”
I walk down the narrow aisle, clutching the straps of my bag. I keep my eyes down in case one of these girls decides to trip me.
That happened at Freetown last year, and it didn’t end well.
“Nice boots,” Olivia snickers, and her friends join in.
I roll my honey-colored eyes just before they land on a familiar pair of blue ones by the window.
The guy from the locker.
He’s sitting in the far corner. The sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled up to his elbows, and he’s engrossed in his copy of our literature text for the term, To Kill a Mockingbird.
He seems to be in his own world, oblivious to the commotion the class was in just a moment ago. I look away to avoid making eye contact for the second time in less than an hour.
I take the empty seat in front of him and pull out my books from my bag. I hate math. I’m an English person, and trust me when I say I’ve read the entire book he’s reading in less than a week.
“Ansel? Could you solve this one, dear?” Mrs. Forbes calls from the front of the room.
I notice a few girls glance my way with smitten looks on their faces.
I furrow my brow, but my curiosity is satisfied when the chair behind me scrapes against the tiles.
Locker Guy strolls to the front of the room. A sweet scent of strawberries and candy fills my nostrils as he passes by, and all the girls are now staring at him with hearts in their eyes.
Mrs. Forbes too, if I’m not mistaken.
He reaches up, and his shirt stretches against his broad back as he quickly solves the equation before handing the marker back to Mrs. Forbes.
She looks over his work, then she smiles brightly. “Thank you, Ansel.”
How did he do that in less than a minute?
“Give him a round of applause,” she says, and the class claps. Olivia is louder than the rest, and her eyes follow him down the aisle.
His captivating eyes meet mine, and I look away, gripping my pen and copying his work from the board.
He sits down behind me, and his knee bumps my back. So I scoot further down in my seat, keeping my eyes on my notebook.
“Uh, Slate?”
I look up at the sound of my name to see Mrs. Forbes pointing to the board. “Number two?”
Great.
I groan quietly and put down my pen while heads turn to watch me as I reluctantly stand from my seat.
“Hurry up, Sunny. We don’t have all day!” a girl says, and the class laughs immaturely at the lame joke.
“Her name’s Riney, Lisa. Leave her alone,” Tate chimes in, and his friend gives him a look.
“It’s Rainey, dude. If you’re going to call dibs on the girl, at least know her name.” The class chuckles again at this.
What is it with these kids and laughing?
I walk to the front of the room, and she hands me the marker. She crosses her arms and watches me as I clear my throat and start to work out the problem.
I hate math, but I’m not terrible at it. I solve the equation quickly, but not as fast as Ansel did.
I hand her the marker and hurry back to my seat. Mrs. Forbes squints at the board, then shakes her head.
“It’s incorrect.”
I slump in my chair. It’s incorrect? What did I do wrong? It looks fine to me.
“Why is it wrong?” I ask, and everyone seems shocked that I questioned her.
“Because you didn’t put the negative before the four, Slate,” she says, glaring at me.
“Ha. Too bad,” Olivia mutters, tapping her pen against her desk smugly.
“Actually, it’s not incorrect,” a calm yet assertive voice comes from behind me.
“What was that, Ansel?” Mrs. Forbes’s tone softens as her face relaxes.
“The positive is correct,” he states. “According to the rules you taught us, a negative times a negative equals a positive.
“And since she has two negatives there, the answer has to be a positive four. So, she’s correct.”
Mrs. Forbes looks over the solution, and her expression turns to one of pure embarrassment.
“Oh dear, you’re right. Haha. I didn’t see that there were two negatives there. Thank you, Ansel. And well done, Rainey.”
Olivia scowls as she squints at me, and I give a small smile before picking up my pen and writing down the solution.
***
The cafeteria curry looks like a disaster waiting to happen, so I opt for an apple and a Coke instead. I scan the bustling room, searching for a place to sit.
I spot a couple of empty tables tucked away in the back, and I make my way over. I slump down, setting my tray on the table and reaching for my apple.
“Ansel! Over here!”
I glance up to see a mixed group of girls and guys two tables away. One of them is Olivia, who’s waving at Ansel. He looks skeptical.
“Maybe another time,” he replies, and I watch their faces fall as he heads in the opposite direction.
He makes his way over to my corner, and I keep my eyes on my apple as he drops his bag on the table and sits down.
I sneak a peek from behind my hair and see that he’s got a banana and a bottle of water. Guess he’s not a fan of the curry either.
He eats quietly, his eyes glued to his book.
He seems so unfazed by everything. The cafeteria could be on fire, and he’d probably just sit there reading, not caring if the person next to him was burning alive.
To Kill a Mockingbird is my favorite book. I see a lot of myself in Scout. She’s rebellious and doesn’t like to follow rules.
She also loves her dad a lot, and she learns at a young age that the world isn’t always fair.
I’ve never found another character I relate to as much, which is why I’ve read the book ten times.
“Scout.”
Why did I just say that out loud?
I have this problem where I think out loud when I’m lost in my thoughts. It’s caused a lot of drama with the girls at Freetown High.
…Because, as my mom always says, I need to learn to keep some thoughts to myself.
Ansel looks at me, and I shrink back, feeling my cheeks heat up. Our eyes meet for the third time today, and we just stare at each other for a few seconds.
“I meant the book,” I say quickly, “…that you’re reading.”
Smooth, Rainey.
He smiles, showing off deep dimples, and his blue eyes sparkle. Up close, he’s even more handsome.
His cheekbones are high and his jaw is strong. He looks fit, judging by the way his biceps strain against his white dress shirt. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing muscular arms.
His glasses don’t take away from his good looks. If anything, they make him look even better.
“I can see that,” he finally says, and I smile a little, looking back at my tray.
“Have you finished it yet?” He turns to face me.
“Yeah, I have. Like ten times.”
He laughs, and the sound is beautiful. Is he some kind of Greek god or something?
“Well, I’m just on chapter twenty.”
“Oh, you’re almost there.” I give him a thumbs up, and he smiles and shakes his head.
I look away and reach for my apple.
“So, do you like it?” he asks.
I nod. “I do, actually. A lot. It reminds me of myself.”
He tilts his head. “Why’s that?”
“Well…I guess I can relate to the protagonist.” I shrug.
He looks curious, but he just smiles. “Oh, that’s deep.”
I smile back, and he goes back to his book. I notice what looks like a tattoo peeking out from his rolled-up sleeve, and I frown.
It’s not that common to see a smart guy with glasses and a tattoo. Wait, is he wearing earrings?
Our eyes meet again, and I look away quickly. Yep, he’s got studs in both ears.
“Do you like it here?” he asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess not.”
“Is it the kids or the terrible curry?”
I laugh. “Both, I guess.”
His phone rings, and he holds up a finger before pulling it out of his pocket. He answers it, and I can’t hear what the person on the other end is saying.
His brow furrows, and his jaw tightens. His friendly expression hardens, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going on. Is he okay?
He hangs up, and I pretend to be minding my own business as he quickly puts his phone away.
“Uh, I got to go…,” he mutters, more to himself than to me, as he stuffs his book in his bag and stands up. “I’ll see you around.”
“Um, yeah, okay.” I watch him as he hurries out of the cafeteria. What was that all about?
“Keep your eyes off.”
I turn to see Olivia sitting across from me, her arms crossed over her chest. Her uniform top is way too tight, and her skirt is way too short. She’s chewing gum loudly as she glares at me.
“Excuse me?”
“Keep your eyes off Ansel. I won’t ask again.”
I fight the urge to snort. This feels like a scene from a teen movie where the head cheerleader warns you to stay away from the popular jock. This could be fun. I should play along.
I cross my arms and glare back at her. “What if I don’t want to?”
She gasps, looking at me like I just slapped her. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and I can’t help but chuckle.
This is going to be fun. I grab my bag and walk out of the cafeteria, leaving her fuming behind me.
