“You share an address.”
“Different mailboxes. Separate roofs.”
But Naomi isn’t listening. Neither is Harper. They’re too busy gawking as Jude removes a binder from his bag. He’s pushed up the sleeves of his Ralph Lauren quarter zip pullover, highlighting tan forearms and a leather wristwatch.
For a brief moment, I consider telling them about Jude’s cousin, Rafe the Rake. But something tells me that particular encounter would give them both an embolism. It nearly did Twig, and he had zero interest in Rafe’s good looks.
Jude hitches his backpack over his shoulder and shuts the locker. Every eye follows him as he walks down the hallway—inourdirection—with his brow drawn low, a muscle in his chiseled jaw ticking ever so slightly, like he’s annoyed to be here.
He passes Lainey Sikes, a notorious drama queen who thrives off theatrics. She catches Kate Calloway’s attention across the hall and fans her face like she might swoon. Kate giggles. Lainey’s boyfriend, Griffin Tate, doesn’t look so amused. He glares after the new guy, his chest puffing like a bull in rut.
Meanwhile, Sterling Bogaard comes around a corner into Jude’s path, but avoids collision with a quick step to the side. Sterling walks the halls withhis face locked in permanent discomfort, like he’s being forced to mingle with the commoners. One might think he’d be glad to have another of his pedigree. Strength in numbers and all that. Instead, he watches Jude like a wary jackal.
Jude strides closer, paying no attention to any of it.
I pinch Naomi’s elbow and mutter under my breath, “Stop staring.”
She gets the hint. Perhaps a little too enthusiastically. She grabs our arms in an attempt to feign conversation only to knock Harper’s phone from her hand.
It clatters to the ground.
Jude’s attention flicks in our direction as Naomi and Harper bend over to retrieve it.
Our gazes collide.
And—oh. His eyes aren’t just brown. They’re the color of late autumn leaves dappled in sunlight.
A flush creeps up my neck, because he’s not looking away. His gaze remains locked on mine as he passes, steady and unflinching. There’s no hint of amusement. No wicked gleam. No cocky smirk. He may be as gorgeous as his cousin, but something tells me they are very different.
The first bell rings, shattering the moment.
Jude looks away, leaving me to stare at his retreating back, heart pounding as Harper and Naomi stand up straight, having no idea what just happened.
To be honest, I’m not sure I do either.
I don’t catch another glimpse the rest of the morning. But I do hear plenty of whispered conversations—in class, in the hallways, in the girls’ bathroom.
It’s getting ridiculous.
I grab a cafeteria tray and slide it along the metal lunch counter, where steam curls from unappetizing food options.
“Has anyone actually talkedtohim?” I ask, snagging a slice of pizza. “The poor guy’s being treated like some weird mixture of Messiah and leper.”
Twig hands me a chocolate milk and grabs himself a yellow Powerade. “I still can’t believe his cousin tried to kiss you.”
I swipe my student ID at the cash register. “Me neither, but I can’t faulthimfor something his cousin did.”
Twig swipes his ID, too.
We stand together, holding our trays aloft. The cafeteria is a large, open room filled with round tables, some crowded, others empty. A few students loiter on the edges, leaning against beige walls while voices hum and trays clatter and backpacks thud against industrial carpet. A cacophony of sound interspersed with the occasional burst of laughter, usually from Lainey.
In the midst of the organized chaos sits the man of the hour. He doesn’t have a tray or a lunch box. Just a steel thermos, the contents of which he mindlessly stirs while reading from his book. He sits by himself at a table, but he might as well be the center of gravity.
I tip my mouth toward Twig. “If we had superhuman hearing, how many of these conversations do you think would be about him?”
“If I had to make a bet, I’d say all of them.”
I twist my lips to the side. Beneath all that obscene perfection, he’s just another student, stuck in this cafeteria, forced to breathe the same air as the rest of us. I glance left, toward our usual table, and make eye contact with Harper. The moment I square my shoulders and turn toward Jude’s table, her eyes go buggy.
