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But it froze the moment I saw him.
Tall, dark, and hot leaned against a pillar, watching me as I took my place in line. Tousled dark hair went every which way on his head. His eyes were slitted and intense, like he might need to have sex at any moment. Maybe even with me.
I had to look down, I was so flustered. I felt like I’d been the one caught staring.
But just as my eyes flitted away, I caught a glimpse of the tattoo peeking out from under his T-shirt sleeve. It was a quote.
Something niggled in the back of my mind and I looked back, feeling my cheeks blaze red with the fear that he was still watching me.
The first half of the quote was obscured, but the end bit was clear: c’est le paradis perdu.
My breath caught. Goose bumps rippled across my skin in a way that had nothing to do with the excessive air-conditioning. I knew the line well. Le seul paradis c’est le paradis perdu.
The only paradise is paradise lost.
Wow. My first college boy, and he liked Proust. I’d found home at last.
Holding my breath, I forced myself to raise my eyes to his. His hair was dark but his eyes were . . . lighter. Green. They locked with mine, and the rest of the world fell away.
The receptionist called my turn and I stepped forward, a ventriloquist dummy’s grin pasted on my face. I tried not to trip. God, I was such an idiot.
“Hi,” I said to the lady, thrilled that I’d managed to get a word out despite the college boy’s laser-sex stare. “I’m here to . . . I’m here. I need to register. ”
Such an idiot.
“Name,” she croaked, bringing me back to the matter at hand. I gave her my facts, wondering if the college boy was still watching me. Clenching my hands, I forced myself to stop fidgeting.
He was the kind of guy I dreamt about. At least he seemed like my ideal. Smart and worldly. He’d drink espresso with a twist, and do the Sunday crossword, and recite lines of intense and passionate poetry from memory. He’d appreciate a bright and quick-witted companion. He’d see me as a bright and quick-witted companion—not a weirdo with a freaky-high IQ. Just a girl who was really good at Jeopardy! and some of the more obscure Germanic languages.
I’d even do the whole French-manicure thing if it meant attracting a guy like him. Did sophisticated college guys think that was sexy? I stole a look at my chipped, stubby nails.
I was supposed to have a mom around who could give me advice. I’d always felt like the other girls had been issued some sort of Girl Handbook that I just wasn’t privy to. How had my mother worn her nails? Long press-ons the color of berries, or short like mine?
“. . . I’m sorry,” the woman was saying. The smile on her face was almost real, and it alarmed me.
“Sorry?” My fake grin was back up like a photon shield. “Wait. What did you say?”
“I said, you can’t matriculate until you’ve been issued a diploma. ”
Did they need to see a piece of paper or something? I racked my brain, trying to remember whether I’d been given an official document among all the other reams of paper I’d received. “What are you talking about?”
“You need to finish high school before you start college. ”
“But I did finish high school. I graduated. ”
“Not yet, you didn’t. ” She gave me a condescending smile.
It made me want to smash her little windowpane. I gripped the counter. “I did. In December. I’m registered for the spring semester. ”
Tap, tap, tap. Those fuchsia nails flew over the keyboard. “I’m afraid the best I can do is defer your enrollment to the fall semester. ”
“Wait. ” I leaned my forehead against her window. “Are you sure you have the right person? Annelise Drew? Dale R. Fielding High School. ”
“Yes. ” Behind the glass, her eyes narrowed, making her look like a pinched, angry Muppet in some Office of the Registrar puppet show. “They haven’t issued your diploma. We can’t accept you without a full transcript. Officially, you’re still in high school. ”
“No. ” Not possible. Not effing possible. I could not still be in high school. I thought I might vomit. “That’s impossible. ”
She tapped some more on her computer. Her fake smile crackled into a frosty glare. “You need to pass your swim test. ”
