Once he’s noticed him, Will can’t stop noticing him. In the classroom, in the hallways, in the cafeteria. It hasn’t even been a week, but it feels like he’s spent a lifetime observing this strange new person that waltzed into his life with one horribly worded sentence.
Every day he looks a little bit dirtier, his hair a little bit more wild, and his clothes a little bit more rumpled. And this boy looks tired. There are always dark circles underneath his eyes, as if he never sleeps, yet at the same time, he’s the most alive looking human being that Will’s seen in all of Lenora.
Will’s terrified he’s becoming obsessed.
He sees him now, in the hallway, standing at his locker (diagonal and five down from Will’s, not that he’s realized) walking beside El and he almost freezes in his tracks because at that moment, there’s eye contact.
This boy, this Mike but not Mike at all, raises a lively eyebrow and grins.
Will feels as if he’s been cornered by a feral cat. His heart skips a beat. Then two. He wonders vaguely if it’s hotter in the school than it should be.
“What is it?” El asks.
“What?” Will replies, startled.
“You look…strange.”
“Oh. Nothing.”
She hums, unconvinced. Will knows, and has known for a little while that she thinks he has a crush on somebody. She’s not exactly wrong, if that’s what you can call his feelings for Mike. But they seem bigger than that, and have for a long time. He doesn’t know what to call what’s going on with this new guy though, and decides to just not think about it.
On Friday, he learns his name. Accidentally. Unwillingly.
“Today, we’ll be working in assigned pairs.”
The whole class groans. Will is paired with a boy named Kevin, who is extremely okay. Not too nice, not too mean, just someone who likes to get his work done. That’s something Will can get behind, so he has no room to complain. El is paired with Stacy, who is a little less okay, but not the worst she could have landed with.
Angela is paired with Boris, which she valiantly fights against with the purest smile she can muster. Mr. Whittaker isn’t like the other teachers though, and doesn’t take the bait.
Will, instead of listening to the ping-ponging, sickly sweet argument over her partner, is stuck on the name.
Boris.
Boris.
Now there’s something to go along with the face, rather than just Not Mike. Will thinks that he both looks like a Boris and doesn’t look like a Boris at all. What kind of a name is Boris anyway?
“You can either partner with Boris, or receive a failing grade. That’s my final word.”
Angela looks put out, but still throws out a, “Of course, Mr. Whittaker. I was just trying to provide the best work possible. You understand, right?”
“And I’m sure you can provide the best work possible with Boris. Isn’t that right, Boris.”
Boris doesn’t reply, simply makes his way to the grouping of desks at the front of the room, which happens to be so, so close to Will and Kevin.
They’re supposed to be analyzing a piece of text, and for the first few minutes it goes well. Will works great with his partner, the room is peaceful with the monotonous drone of students talking under their voices, but with Boris so close, he just can’t help it. It’s habit at this point. He has to look.
Only this time, like in the hallway, he’s looking back. This close, he can see that he has dark eyes (Like Mike! His brain supplies.), and they feel heavy, weighted, almost as if he’s touching with his gaze alone. Boris tilts his head at Angela and smirks before rolling those eyes at Will, and Will can’t help but grin, something that says, yeah, she’s ridiculous.
He turns back to his notebook then, feeling unusually pleased.
