The Charmer

3

The final bell rang while Trini was placing her books away in her locker. She checked her Benetton backpack to see if her math notebook was inside, for homework later tonight. There was a mirror tucked in the door of her locker. She glanced at her reflection and nearly dropped her bag. Jim stood behind her.

"Oh my god, Jim!" she gasped, turning to him.

"I'm sorry." He grinned, but his eyes looked genuinely apologetic. A sweatband nestled between his floppy, wet hair and shiny forehead. He wore an Orlando Magic jersey. Behind him was the basketball court, game still in play. "Leaving already?"

"I finished chem seatwork early."

"Oh." He scuffed the toe of his Air Jordans on the floor. "I went back to the Entrep Fair this afternoon. You weren't there?"

She blinked. "I—uh. Mrs. Velez called me into registration, some stuff with my mom's last payment. Were you looking for me?"

He nodded...almost shyly? This was odd.

"Okay..." she said, when he didn't speak. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Wait." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You walk home, right? I've seen you a couple of times."

This was really odd. "Yeah, I live in Narra Road."

"Close here."

"Yep."

Again he stared at her.

"So...I gotta go." She closed the locker door and locked it.

He took a deep breath and seemed to come to a decision. "Can I walk with you? To your house?"

She was so surprised she blurted out "Yes" before she knew what she was saying. She was about to walk it back when Jim lit up, those eyes of his sparkling.

"W-wait for me by the gate. Let me just—" he tugged on his jersey and wrinkled his nose. "Okay? Don't go."

"Don't you need to finish the game?"

Jim glanced behind him and made a face. "I'm not starting tomorrow; they can deal with it." He walked backwards. "You. Wait. Okay?" He smiled, turned on his heel, and ran to the boys' bathroom.

Twenty minutes later he walked up to her. She was sitting on the bench behind the guard's podium, her Walkman in her ears and the liner notes of a cassette tape in her hand. She'd been humming along to Garbage when the toes of his Jordans came into view. She pushed her headphones down. She wanted to tell him off for making her wait so long, but her heart got stuck in her throat. He wore a fresh white T-shirt and a new pair of basketball shorts. His hair was wet and pushed back, his face scrubbed clean, no trace of sweat from practice. He smelled heavenly, like he'd doused himself with half a bottle of Cool Water.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, running his fingers through his bangs.

"I thought you already left," she said, standing while pushing her Walkman into her pocket. Before she could press stop on the tape, he pulled the headphones from her neck and pressed it to his ear, walking out the school gate so that she had no choice but to follow him, tethered by the wire

"What are you listening to?"

She showed him the liner notes, which she had carefully refolded and tucked back into the cassette case.

"Garbage," he read, pausing at the parking lot, then gave her the headphones back. "I didn't take you for a rock chick."

She stopped the tape and made a face. "Please don't say things like 'rock chick,' Jim." She walked to the end of the lot, and he had no trouble keeping pace.