The Line Between Us

Chapter Three

The rest of my day goes by pretty smoothly. I got a perfect score on my Chemistry exam, which boosts my mood and pushes Baker Scott further out of my mind. Yes, things are going to be just fine. I definitely haven't lost my mojo. AP American History is boring. Just a video about JFK as my teacher argues with his wife on the phone in the hallway. I take extensive notes, just in case there's a test on the subject later. I get a few odd looks, and a text from Beth, who sits just a few seats away from me, calling me a freak.

After History, I run to my locker and grab my lunch before heading down to the library, where I have a short study group with a few kids from my French class. The bell rings, and it's time for English. I take my seat in the middle of the class and pull out my personal copy (with all the annotated notes) of The Catcher in the Rye. I expect my teacher, Mr. Watkins, to jump straight into the lesson on chapters eight through ten. But he doesn't. Instead, he lifts up the hanging projector screen, and we all groan as we see, written on the board in bright green letters, the words GROUP PROJECT.

God, I hate group projects. They're the absolute worst. I always end up carrying the team, whether it's a presentation on Queen Elizabeth I, Lithium and all its elemental properties, or our favorite geometric formula (I'm not joking). They always take up so much time, and they seem to have very little reward. At least very little for me. I have the briefest hope in my chest that maybe we can choose our partners, and that maybe Ollie Thompson will turn around from three seats up and ask me, with those heavenly green eyes that remind me of grass in the summer, if I'll be his partner.

I shouldn't be thinking these thoughts. But ever since my conversation with Beth this morning in the locker room, I've been unable to stop thinking of Ollie. Because the thing is, we had some really great moments together. And despite everything he did, he's not a bad guy. Just the timing of things have always been off between us. And no matter what, we keep having the same issue. I'm just not ready for sex. But I am a junior now. Maybe I can be ready this time?

I drift off in a daydream, wondering what a sexual encounter with Ollie would be like. He was always sweet and playful when he wasn't cheating on me or breaking my heart. Maybe he'll be gentle with me in bed too. My pulse is quickening as all these images enter my head, and suddenly I am way too hot in this classroom. Damn these teenage hormones.

But I don't even get much of a chance to hope for Ollie as a partner before Mr. Watkins ruins it by announcing that the project will be an oral presentation on a theme from The Catcher in the Rye, and that no, we will not be choosing our own partners.

Several groans ensue from the rest of the class, and he smiles as he speaks over the voices of his unhappy students to read out the list of paired students. Henry Dennison will be partnered with Vincent Young. Bella Crawford will be partnered with Sally Winford. Ollie Thompson... my heart races... will be partnered with Sylvia Underwood. The hope in my heart dissolves, and I realize that it's probably for the best that I'm not partnered with Ollie. He would be way too big of a distraction. Mr. Watkins continues to go down the list until finally he gets to my name.

"Summer Lumen," he reads from his list of names in his high squeaky voice that does not fit him somehow. "You will be partnered with...."

I know before he says it. I can't explain how I know. I just do. I can sense a disturbance in the force. A shift in the magnetic poles or even in my own personal atmosphere. Everything seems to have frozen, even time. I feel the eyes of the rest of the class on me, like they're waiting to see how I'm going to react to what our teacher is about to say. But they don't know. They couldn't possibly know what I'm thinking. What I'm feeling. Mr. Watkins opens his mouth. And words come out. Just two words.

"Baker Scott."

Disappointment drains from my stomach like water from a bathtub. I turn to look at the boy who is now both my partner and my rival. My eyes drink him in, and I find that he doesn't seem nearly as impressive as I had imagined in my head. His dark chocolate brown hair is messy and standing up in all directions as if he'd just walked ten miles in a massive windstorm. His left cheek is slightly shiny and discolored, a light purple in comparison to the rest of his skin. Probably a football injury. Or an injury from a fight. Beth did say he was a scrapper. He's staring back at me with stormy gray-blue eyes, and his lips are curved downward in the world's deepest frown, and I get the sense that he's just as disappointed to be my partner as I am to be his. I scowl at him, and he blinks in surprise as I turn my head away from him swiftly. He's probably thinking he's going to have to carry me through this project. My competitive spirit rises in me like lava about to burst through the mouth of a volcano. He probably thinks he's so much smarter than me. But I'll show him. He won't be top of the class for much longer.