My attention narrows at a pair of broad shoulders gliding from the orange-dotted table attached to ours. Perfectly imperfect wavy blond hair frames a clean-shaven face. Like a Greek sculpture dressed in a GQ spread. He moves with a quiet confidence that should come with a theme song. With a flick of his wrist, he returns his tray and floats toward the door. The subject at my table has moved to classes this week, but my eyes are stuck. Upperclassmen have only been back a couple weeks, but I’ve already heard enough about Noticeable Guy to know his name—Levi Whitaker. Oddly, none of his fans have talked to him much. You’d think a guy like that would have a list of exes as long as Taylor Swift’s.
The edges of my vision darken, snapping me out of my daze.
What is wrong with me? Drooling about the popular, powerful guy after last year? I know better. I hate that he’s pulling my attention. I hate him and everyone like him. I cringe and rub my eyes. Not exactly the ‘love your neighbor’ thing I should be doing.
I squint, forcing myself to see him clearly, objectively. His haircut, manners, and clothes—bought with the money I’ve heard he has in spades. His fit physique—earned with discipline. So this guy made himself into who he is.
It’s not fair. He can afford to position himself squarely in the spotlight. He’s strong, not vulnerable, so he’ll never have the consequences I did. He can protect himself. I hide my clenching fists before the girls notice. I beat back my attraction to him,angry that my body refuses to hear my mind. He’s arrogant, well known, sought after—a walking, talking Nope. Guys like him cannot be trusted. I will never make that mistake again.
A guy from my differential equations class strolls in and claps Levi on the shoulder. Austin, I think. He’s bulky but guileless, treats girls with respect, and hasn’t paid me any attention. I’d guess he’s more guy’s guy than ladies’ man—a relief considering we’ll be in class together twice a week.
As they talk, Levi listens intently, twirling something in his hand.
Another guy walks by with fist bumps. “Samwise. Jeeves.” His voice carries.
Those must be their floor names—nicknames that stick with them their whole time at Mayberry.
Two girls follow. One calls to Levi with a suggestive look while the other giggles. Levi replies impassively and turns back to Austin, questioning him without words. Austin shakes his head, and they continue their conversation.
That dude has more red flags than a bullfighter’s arena. Sure, he has a spotless reputation, but I know better. Aiden’s reputation was just as misleading, or I never would have gone out with him. That kind of power and popularity isn’t put to waste. I stamp this verdict across the Levi Whitaker folder and slam closed the filing cabinet in my mind.
As if he heard the clang, Levi zeroes in on me. His lips part.
I whip my head away. Quick—what are my friends saying? If I could just make a relevant comment to look preoccupied. Something about the resident advisor on our floor?
“… so she somehow got her brother a spot on Flooders …”
I force a casual nod, but there’s no jumping in the middle of a Sophie story. Just one last peek? He’s pushing the door open and stealing a last glance at me too.
“Not you too, Kit.”
I yank my focus back to the table and contort my face to look innocent. “What?”
Mia snorts. “The young blond Tony Stark, I assume.”
“Levi? He’s a snack.” Sophie’s eyes scan the room and snag on the boys at the door.
I shift in my seat and suppress a head shake.
“His pecs are visible through his shirt,” Ayumi says.
Sophie cackles. “I knew that was in there somewhere.”
Ayumi bristles. “I’m not saying I like him.”
“Sure you don’t,” Sophie taunts.
“I’m just saying …”
Ayumi needs a subject change too. I break in. “So tonight?—“
“Everyone says Levi is mission impossible,” Mia interrupts. “But you’re pretty enough to level a guy like that.”
That’s not how this works, I want to yell. My heart pounds, but I tighten my filter and study her silently across the table. Mia’s rich brown eyes match her creamy skin. Tall, curvy, and fabulous—like a young Tyra Banks. She’s clearly had a different experience with beauty than I have. Then again, maybe she earned her grit the hard way.
“And she’s got that Miss Congeniality vibe,” Mia says.
Ayumi nods along, but Sophie purses her lips.
