He was staring at me again. I'd noticed it about a week ago. Someone's heated gaze boring into my back during Advanced Chemistry. At first, I played it off. No one knew I was here. I casually turned and looked over my shoulder only to see the new boy with eyes of the lightest amber piercing me with his gaze.
Flustered, I blinked at him and turned back around, frowning at my beaker full of caustic chemicals. My lab partner, a mousy girl named Cecily, asked me what was wrong, and I growled at her to shut her mouth. She opened her mouth to protest but seemed to think twice as she stared at my thunderous expression.
As soon as the bell rang, I shoved my books in my backpack and pushed my way through the crowd of students rushing toward the door. A few of them were brave enough to exclaim outrage at my bullheaded rush to get out, but the glare I sent back at them cowed everyone enough to allow me to be the first out.
It was good to be feared.
I realized a long time ago the only people who could betray you were the people who knew your secrets.
Here, no one knew anything about me, other than that I spoke first with my fists and asked questions later.
Usually. Sometimes I asked no questions at all.
I hurried over to my locker and replaced my chemistry books with English, my favorite subject, though no one could tell because every time the teacher asked me a question I'd pretend like I was both deaf and mute. Some of the students found it hilarious, but my teacher was wary of me. I could see it in her eyes. As if she knew there was something not quite right about me, but couldn't put her finger on it.
We were studying The Taming of the Shrew this week, one of my favorites.
I headed into the classroom, my head down and my field of vision only the floor, my dirty boots, and a hank of bright blue hair that had escaped from my thick French braid hours earlier. Without even bothering to look up, I made a beeline to my seat and threw my backpack underneath.
From my assigned desk, I pulled out my barely used notepad and a pencil. Scribbling my name in the right-hand corner of the paper, I laid my pencil down, lifted my head, and crossed my arms against my chest.
Only to see the amber eyed boy staring at me from the seat right in front of mine.
"Quit looking at me," I hissed at him, unable to tear my gaze away.
He didn't even blink. "No," he said with no preamble. Even that simple word sent a shiver down my spine.
He was familiar. But he wasn't. I'd never seen him before but there was something about him that set all of my internal alarm bells ringing. I studied him even as I glared. Light brown hair, hastily cut, lay messy around his head. His tan skin was flawless, a disturbing fact in and of itself because hello, we were supposed to be teenagers and skin issues were the name of the game for at least three years of our lives.
His amber eyes were highlighted by stupid long lashes. So long that when he blinked, and he did, finally, they brushed the edge of his cheekbones. Deep, jet black eyelashes so at odds with the lightness of his eyes weren't the only thing odd about him. Peeking through the top of his collared shirt was something black. A tattoo? It appeared to creep toward his neck, but it was obscured by his shirt and his too long hair.
"Like what you see?" he asked me, his generous lips curled up at the edges in something that could have been the start of a smile if it hadn't been edged in derision.
"No."
With deliberate slowness, I looked away from him and kept my focus on the blackboard at the front of the room.
The strange boy didn't look away for an uncomfortable amount of time, but when he did and he turned around, I allowed myself the luxury of studying the play of rippling lean muscle in his back and the way his hair curled lazily around the bottom of the collar.
I lied. I did like what I saw.
Which told me I should stay far away from the boy with the eyes like a lion.
Soon enough, it was my least favorite time of the day. The bell rang at exactly 2:45. Every day, I couldn't stop the slight shudder of despair that shook my thin frame as soon as the first peal of the bell began.
The boy, still nameless, had already gotten up. As soon as the bell stopped, his gaze flicked over to me, only to see me shake.
A frown turned his mouth down, but as he opened his mouth to speak, I growled something unintelligible at him, snatched my pack up, and rushed out of the classroom.
I could not get close to him.
I could not get close to anyone.
It was both my curse and my blessing.
