This school is top-rated, though, with state-of-the-art gyms and practice fields and a long line of champion athletes. If I’m stuck here, at least I still have football. It’s my last year to do something because I want it, not because my father decided it for me.
The school is laid out like a circle, with hallways branching off from the center. I missed the first period talking to the principal, so when we finally reach my second class, the kid showing me around turns to me andsays, “This is Mr. Adams, he’s a really good teacher. He also coaches football as one of the assistants, so I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of him. I have class on the other side, so I probably won’t be here when you get out. Can you find your next class, okay?”
I nod, and he waves and takes off the way we came.
I take a small breath and steel myself as I push open the door. When I enter, everyone is still up and talking while the teacher is at the board writing something down. A large whiteboard takes up most of the front of the room, with a teacher’s desk in the opposite corner from the door. Roughly four rows of five desks take up most of the room.
The teacher, Mr. Adams, looks up when he notices me at the door. He caps the marker and sets it down, a polite smile on his face. “You must be Kane,” he says.
“Yes, sir,” I answer, hands in my pockets, not yet looking at the other students, though the noise has quieted down a lot since I walked in.
Turning toward the class, Mr. Adams gestures to me, as if the whole class isn’t already locked onto me at the front.
“Class, this is Kane D’Antonio, a new student. Please welcome him and take your seats. Let’s get started.”
The new student orientation never gets easier, even if being stared at doesn’t bother me much. I care little about what people think of me, but there’s always a hierarchy at schools, everyone falling into cliques made up of sports and social statuses. The haves and the have-nots. Whether society wants to believe they’re a thing of the past or not, every school has one, and day one always begins with figuring out where you are going to fall into it.
After all the upheaval over the recent years, I’d just like a few chill friends to look forward to seeing, to try to enjoymy last year. Who knows, maybe I’ll actually go to homecoming—though prom is a definite no.
It’s never been hard to get girls, but my last name always sends some unwanted attention my way—people hoping to get in good with me to benefit from what that name offers. What they don’t know is that I’d trade with any of them just to be free from the shackles of it.
I finally look out at the class, quickly glancing at each student until I get to the row closest to where I’m standing My gaze almost skips right over her at first. Then it whips right back to the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Her stunning blue eyes are locked on mine, her long brown hair falling over her shoulders. She has her full pink lips wrapped around a pen, as if she was mid-thought.
My tongue gets stuck in my mouth, and my palms instantly start sweating. I can’t seem to tear my eyes from hers.
She sits forward in her seat, elbows braced on her desk, and the way her breasts are pushed up in a tight long-sleeve shirt, pulls my gaze there for a moment before I force it back to her eyes.
Cornflower blue.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been able to pick up a color that easily before, but the way they stare at me matches my mother’s favorite flowers in her garden. Cornflower blue. Not as piercing and vibrant as a cerulean blue, more muted but no less stunning. My mother always built a new garden in any house we moved to. I used to work on it with her—that was our thing together.
My heart feels like it’s palpitating, the beats feeling irregular in my chest.
Is this acid reflux?
Should I ask to see the nurse?
I’ve never experienced such a visceral reaction to another person before. The girl’s eyes burn a hole right through me.
“Sit anywhere, Kane,” Mr. Adams says, gesturing toward the seats and turning back to the board, effectively dismissing me.
I spot a seat behind the girl, so I urge my feet to move me closer to her. It’s almost as if an invisible string is pulling me to her by some unknown force. My feet have no other choice but to be wherever she is.
The closer I get, the more stunning she is. Her features fit her face perfectly, light makeup dusting her face, the mascara enhancing her blue eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed such small details on a person’s face before, but I cannot seem to stop myself from cataloging every detail, as if she might disappear at any moment. She tracks me with her eyes as I make my way toward my seat. Some people wave as I walk by, a few girls looking me up and down, but I ignore them.
As I pass by her, I get a whiff of something citrusy. I take the seat behind her and slide in, noticing her shoulders tense a bit. I drop my bag to the ground and lean back, legs spread slightly, unable to take my eyes off her.
Her long dark brown hair flows down her back, narrow shoulders followed by a slimmer waist. Her blue long sleeve shirt stands out against her pale skin. She reaches back and pulls all her hair off her neck, making that scent of hers drift toward me again.
Lemons. Fuck if I don’t want to bottle that up and take it with me.
Never in my life have I cared to focus on a girl’s scent before and fuck if I don’t sound like some lovesick idiot, whimpering after her already.
Mr. Adams has started his lecture, yet I don’t hear a word. Unable to wait a second longer to speak to her, I lean forward and tap her shoulder. She jumps in response before turning to me.
Fuck, do her eyes hold me hostage. They’re even bluer up close, standing out against her dark hair and pale skin. I swear she’s a fucking goddess sent to lure me to the underworld. A siren playing her music from her eyes only, snaring me in and never letting me go.
