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I don’t—can’t—reply. Instead, I sit perfectly still waiting for this dream (nightmare) to end. Any minute now my alarm will go off and I’ll find myself asleep on my half-finished book, a drool line down my chin the only thing keeping me company.
“What are you reading?” my Matthew mirage asks, and I’m beginning to think that this is really happening. That the most popular person in our school is sitting next to me, talking to me, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Are you OK?” I finally find the words to ask the obvious question. Because although our school isn’t like the ones shown on all those Gossip Girl/Mean Girl-type shows and movies, there is and always has been a social structure. Cliques, if you will, that people know to stick to. And Matthew talking to me is blowing it all up.
He smiles, flashing his perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth at me. How can that be? Don’t sports people get knocked in the mouth on a regular basis?
“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” His voice is deep and smooth and feels like honey.
Wait, what am I thinking? I’ve never once noticed the way a person’s voice sounds before.
“Are you lost?” I try again. There’s got to be some way to get order back in the chaos he’s creating.
He looks around. “I’ve never really spent much time here.” He flashes a smirk at me. Sweat pools in my armpits. “But no, I’m not lost.”
Huh? So, he’s suffering from a concussion, amnesia, a stroke? That’s got to be it.
“Well, can I help you with something?” My voice is not coming out as smooth as his, sounding more like a chattering mouse than an actual human at this point.
“Ah…” For the first time, he looks unsure of himself. “Maybe I do need your help?”
“With?” The faster we get to the point, the faster we can be done with this. And I can hyperventilate in peace.
He looks at my textbook in front of me, his enormous hands picking it up to read the front cover.
“The Fundamentals of Human Physiology,” he reads out loud, raising an eyebrow at me. “Just some light lunchtime reading?”
I flush, snatching my book back from him. “If you’ve just come over to mock me, you can go now.” To my horror, my voice wavers. I clear my throat, not wanting to show any weakness.
“No,” he says quickly, straightening his spine, his eyes darting over my face. “That’s not it.”
I sigh. “Then what is it, Matthew?”
Silence sits between us as I feel his gaze on me. I actively look anywhere but him, not wanting to risk getting lost in his chocolate-coloured eyes. My one weakness in life is chocolate.
“I need you to tutor me.”
Finally. A reason for this unprecedented turn of events. “You what?”
He points to the book between us. “In Science class. I need a tutor.”
A scoff escapes me. “You’re a straight-A student, no way you need my help. I’m two years younger than you and not even in your class!”
His eyes crinkle at the corners as his smile grows, and I notice how ridiculously long his eyelashes are. Not fair.
“You been paying attention to me, New Girl?” He looks delighted at the thought, and I hold tight to the arms of my chair to keep from bolting away from him.
“You’re hard to miss. And my name is Natalie.”
“I know,” he says softly. “And I do need your help. I’m struggling to keep up with some of my classes, what with all the practice and stuff I have to do.”
Hmm, that could be right. He seems to be always playing some sort of ball sport. It’s possible that his schoolwork may suffer as a result. But still…
“Why me? There are a dozen brainiacs in your class that could help you. You don’t need me.”
He leans in close, his face now inches from mine. “But I do.”
Air! I need air! He’s so close that I can count the freckles on his face (he has five) and I can confirm he has no visible pores. His skin is flawless.
