Something Like Fate

two

My mom dropped me off again, like she did every day of school, except when I got out of the car, the wind was a little bit louder and the air a little but snippier than usual. It was a sign of an interesting day. The first couple hours of the day were normal, all I did was go to classes without Brody in them.
So
By the time 4th period rolled around (lunch class!), I was in English with Brody.

"Alright guys! Your new seats are already up on the board." My teacher called out as soon as he bell stopped ringing and I secretly prayed mine was next to Brody's.

Like I said earlier, it was an interesting day. Fortunately my prayers were answered! But what would I do now? I knew I would mess up, like the klutz I am. I decided, as soon as I sat down in my new seat, that I would try to play it cool.

Since Brody was under the "country boy" category (see diagram in chapter one) I decided that I would talk about country music. Fortunately, my parents had opened me up to so much music ranging from Whitney Houston to Green Day to George Strait, I knew a thing or two about the king of country music (George Strait, look it up!). Also, Brody was never afraid to hum, sing, or whistle any song that popped into his head, which for me was a good thing. The teachers always threatened to call his dad, though.

One day, he was whistling Good Directions by Billy Currington. I started doodling it in my notebook like the loser I was. He glanced over to me, which I noticed because I was looking at his chiseled jawline and clear blue eyes that made me want to jump off of a bridge.

"You know that song too?" He glanced up at me, staring straight into my eyes and did this little thing where he looks up intimidatingly and blows a little bit more air out of his nose, blushing, and clenching that beautiful jaw of his. It was extremely hot, yet made me want to cuddle him at the same time.
I wasn't great when it came to that look, so all I did was nod and blush deeply.

The next couple days passed and I'm pretty sure he tried flirting with me by putting his hands all over my desk and stretching to I could purposefully:
1. See his beautifully crafted arm muscles and
2. Not be able to see the board so
3. I would have to touch those arms and
4. Cause a scene so Ms. Gratin would have to
5. Point out how he should stop flirting with me so
6. He turned around and winked at me.

It got me every time, and he did it every day that just caused me to be wound much more tightly around his finger. He knew it, too, and didn't let it go to waste.