Opposite Force

Chapter Six

Mikaela Martin | Present

We're still talking World War II when the sun finally dips below the horizon. Apparently, Peyton likes to listen to audiobooks about history, especially military history, while he works out. And he works out a lot.

"You should be a history teacher," I blurt out.

I've learned more from him in the past hour than I have from Mrs. Payne over the first three weeks of the school year, and Peyton's lessons, if that's what this is called (definitely not, but whatever), are far more enthralling. It's obvious how much he loves what he's talking about. He gesticulates and speaks passionately, sharing his opinions while talking about different events from World War II and the Korean War.

"Huh. I never thought of that," he says. "If I didn't have dyslexia, maybe."

That breaks my heart. I wonder what he's gone through, what lies people have told him about his potential, that would cause him to believe that dyslexia is the reason he can't aspire for careers he's interested in. Dyslexia is a fairly common learning disability—I may or may not have looked it up last night. Plenty of teachers must have it.

"That shouldn't stop you," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. I can't help but feel a little angry that he's so down on himself.

He shrugs. "Grading papers would take me five times as long. I'd be doing it all night. And taking notes is hard enough when I'm the one in class. I can't imagine writing on the board."

"You could use voice-to-text," I suggest.

Peyton's face breaks into a huge smile. His eyes crinkle and practically glow with happiness. A storm of butterflies zips around in my stomach.

"I never thought of that either, but I love that idea. Wow. Thanks, Mikaela."

My smile isn't as beautiful as his, but it's definitely as wide. Our eyes meet, his still flashing with happiness, and I feel a magnet lock me in. I feel like I can't move, like my eyes are locked on Peyton's. We just sit there on his picnic table for a weird amount of time looking at each other.

I don't know if I'm going too far or if Peyton will think I feel bad for him, which isn't the case, but I can't help but spit out an offer. A nerdy offer. "I always type my notes when I get home from school, so if you ever want me to send them to you, I can. You could do text-to-voice. Not that you'll ever need history notes, but if we have any of the other same classes..."

"You type your notes after school?" he exclaims.

That's not exactly the main point, but okay. I get where the surprise comes from. Peyton might be a history buff, but I occupy a totally different level of nerd-world. "It helps me remember everything," I mumble.

"You're so diligent," he replies. "Wow. Yeah, I mean, I wouldn't say no to notes, but I don't want you to think I only want to hang out because of school. I think you're awesome, Mikaela. I like spending time with you."

"That never even crossed my mind," I say truthfully. I'm surprised that's the case, honestly. I felt so insecure around Peyton just a couple days ago and—let's be real here—an hour ago, but I'm starting to feel at ease. I think he genuinely wants to spend time with me. I think he might even be slightly into me, which is crazy.

"Okay, good. Do you want anything to eat?"

I don't know why, but that question does me in. I was teetering on the edge of falling for Peyton Warner, and for whatever reason, him asking if I want any food is what pushes me over. I like how caring he is, but there's more, and I can't figure out how it relates to food.