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THE NEXT MORNING, LUCY RICHARDSON'S pen tapped repeatedlyon her desk as Mr. Winston began his class. She was incredibly anxious.
Lucy had shown up to school early to redo her Calculus paper. After her tutoring (and apparent bonding session) with Leah, she had actually been able to work through questions – and even solve them correctly!
Bolstered by her new knowledge, she had studied all night for the resit. The test itself went so quickly she wasn't exactly sure how she did, or if she even completed it. She was now awaiting Mr. Winston's verdict, after stressing all day for this very class.
The irony wasn't lost on her.
The more he babbled on, the more anxious she became. If she failed this test again, there was no way she would pass the subject. And she would have to redo junior year.
With Quil.
Disgusted, she released a heavy sigh. She couldn't move backwards.
"Are you okay?" A deep voice beside her asked.
Embry Call could not stop thinking about Lucy Richardson. She was on his mind all the time; images of her cascading dark brown hair, beautiful smile, the sound of her laughter, the smell of peonies that followed her. Everything about her was addictive, but most of all, her piercing mint eyes. He dreamed about those eyes, woke every morning purely so he could catch a glimpse of them.
He was trying so hard for her attention. Every day in Calculus he would sit next to her (much to the amusement of Paul and Jared), desperately attempting to initiate a conversation. But thanks to his limited knowledge and experience with the female species, the best he could do was questions about homework. Her responses were always one-worded; short and blunt.
If he knew anything about her, it was that she was incredibly protective. Even before he imprinted, he sensed her fierce loyalty for Quil when she came to visit, and most profoundly, at prom. Any snickers or jokes made at his expense that originated from outside his friend group was met with fiery glares that shattered a person's very confidence. He had a feeling he knew exactly why her animosity had originated.
Lucy Richardson, on the other hand, didn't know why he was trying to converse, but she did know she felt compelled to answer him, every time. It was extremely irritating for her, as she had not, in even the slightest bit, changed her position on the junkie squad.
"Yes." She spared him a cool glance; mint eyes suspicious. Her voice was as sharp as knife, and her pen stopped tapping.
Mr. Winston, having finished his ramble about the chain rule, slowly approached the back of the room, to the desk where Lucy sat. In his hands was a stack of paper, pen smudges on the back. To Lucy, it appeared blindingly white. A stark white so pure her eyes burned. Her chest lurched in anxiety and she suddenly felt faint.
