Page 160 of You + Me – Against the World

I tip my chair forward, slamming the metal legs as hard as I can onto the tile floor. As I slowly make my way toward the front row, I stare the teacher down. I’m not the type who looks away. I’m not like Alma Lancaster.

I don’t care if I end up looking like an idiot. Abrams shouldn’t have tried to get smart with me. He backs down first though, and I slump into the chair next to my new partner.

She doesn’t say anything, and neither do I, but I know she’s looking at me. Studying me. Maybe she likes me. Or maybe she just wants to see what a scumbag looks like up close.

Still, I’ve got to admit it—there’s something a little special about her. I don’t need to check her out to know she’s a pretty girl. More than pretty: there’s something almost graceful about her. Long, shiny, chestnut hair, barely styled at all. A slim, lithe figure, but one that has curves, which she neither hides nor shows off. Clothes that are neither trashy nor classy; put together with just the right amount of effort to ensure she doesn’t look like she’s trying too hard. A delicate, slightly childlike face. Fair skin, and cheeks which flush easily. And eyes a shade of green I’ve never seen before. There’s something pure and innocent in her gaze, but also something raw about her, an uncalculated quality, a somewhat tragic side that I quite like. I’m sure she’s smart.

Too bad she’s such a pain in the ass.

“I made the first move, Chanel. It’s your turn,” I say, hoping to rattle her.

“My name’s Alma.”

“I know what your name is, Alma Lancaster.”

“Then I’d prefer you use my first name, Vadim Arcadi. My real one.”

“And I’d prefer to work alone. But we don’t always get what we want in life. Oh, sorry, unless we’re like you, Lancaster.” I purse my lips and exaggerate her English accent just to piss her off.

She smiles and gives me a thumbs up, unimpressed. I think she’s torn between laughing and taking offense. At least she can hold her own. And she hasn’t started crying yet. I guess I intrigue her. Maybe she actually likes being teased. That’s fortunate, because it’s the only way I know how to communicate.

There are, in my opinion, three types of girl on campus: the hopeless romantics who start whining when you haven’t proposed marriage by the third date; the brainless leeches who would sell their souls just to get invited out for a drink, but have nothing interesting to say; and finally, the well-bred girls who think they’re too good for me but can’t resist flirting with the campus bad boy. Yes, I know, I shouldn’t put them in pigeonholes like that; I hate it when people do it to me. But for the moment, I can’t manage to fit Alma Lancaster into any of them. And that bugs me.

I’m going to need to dig further.

“You don’t like being judged, but that’s exactly what you’re doing to me right now, isn’t it?” she says. “You don’t know me.”

It’s a little aggressive, but she’s got a point.

She locks eyes with me for the first time, and I can clearly see that it’s difficult for her.

“Who says I want to know you?”

“Well, you’re going to have to work with me, whether you like it or not.”

“I might like working with you, Lancaster. That depends on you.”

My smirk clearly exasperates her. Or maybe it does something else to her.

“Like I said, my name is Alma. What is it you want me to do, anyway?”

“We could start by getting out of here. I can’t work with all this noise. Look at them, all excited about making movies like the grown-ups. They just want to suck up to Abrams. And what’s the deal with your French friend staring at us like we’re a pair of freaks?”

“You always do things differently from everyone else, and you expect people not to stare? Seriously… how do you get through life with so many contradictions?”

I wasn’t expecting that. I tilt my head and observe her for a second, in silence.

“We only have forty-five minutes left. Alma, are you coming or not?”

I leave without waiting for an answer. We’ll soon see what she’s capable of, this well-behaved little girl trying to act like an adult. I bet she’ll never agree to walk out of this classroom when we’re supposed to be in class. I bet she’s wondering what people will think of her if she’s seen hanging out with me. She’s already asking her best friend what she thinks—the friend who seems a little sassier than her and who still hasn’t stopped looking at us.

At the doorway, I look back at the French-British girl as she hesitates. Our eyes meet, and in the end, she follows me outside.

Hmm, maybe she isn’t as uptight as she seems.

Less dull than I thought.

Damn, she is really beautiful.