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He drops his backpack next to the desk and then settles himself into the chair next to me. He stretches his leg out from under the desk, and I can’t help but stare. He has grown even bigger and taller than the last time I saw him. How is that possible?
The way he has to fold himself in behind the desk, makes everything look so small compared to him. I can’t stop staring. Oh God, I’m such a creep.
What the hell is wrong with me?
His sharp jawline is partially obscured by the rough stubble he’s sporting. And his hair is slightly longer than I remember. He’s so big, but for some odd reason, I’m not intimidated by him.
He’s Jay…
The guy who drew me in his sketchbook.
He saw beyond the fake mask I was wearing, and he drew the real me.
I can’t possibly be intimidated or scared of him, even if he looks like he can snap me half without even trying.
A muscle ticks along his jawline and then I see his lips twitch, with a ghost smile. “You’re staring,” he says under his breath, loud enough for only me to hear.
“You,” I say, when my words fail me. “What…how? You’re here.”
“I would say, I’m just as surprised.” He turns his head toward me, and his smile widens when he sees me still staring at him like a complete loon. And that’s when I see it. A dimple.
He has a dimple.
And it happens again — that flutter in my stomach.
“So, I guess you’re not Daisy.” There’s no accusation in his voice, just keen interest.
“You’re not Jay either.”
“No, I’m not.” He slowly cocks his head to the side, watching me.
The teacher hasn’t arrived yet, and the class is boisterous. No one is really paying attention to me or him; it’s just the two of us here. In the back of the classroom.
I lick my lips. “What’s your name then?”
He grunts in response. “I’ll tell you my real name, if you tell me yours first.”
“Riley.” I swallow.
There goes the fantasy I’ve created in my head, where I was Daisy and he was Jay. My imagination is now tainted with the reality of us. He’s here, at Berkshire Academy now, and if he doesn’t know my truth already, he will eventually find out.
“Riley,” he says my name, almost like he’s testing it on his tongue. “It suits you.”
It suits me? What is this supposed to mean?
He must see the confusion on my face when I simply blink at him in response. “Do you not know the meaning of your name?”
I shake my head. “No?”
It never occurred to me to check the meaning of my name because I can’t imagine my parents gave any importance to it when they named me. So it never mattered before.
“There are two possible meanings to your name,” he explains. “The first is derived from a Gaelic word, which means “valiant.” The second meaning is derived from the Old English words, Rye and Leah, meaning a field or a meadow.”
“Oh. And you think that suits me?”
“I passed by a meadow once. It was filled with yellow lilies. This is why it suits you. Your hair…” He trails off as the teacher walks into the classroom.
Everyone quiets down, settling back into their respective chairs. I drop my hand back to my lap when I realize it has drifted up, unconsciously touching the loose strands of my hair.
