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Mr. Schubert lifts an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“I go by Vann.”
“Oh. Well, alright. Noted. Please take your seat, Vann.”
With that, Donovan—or Vann, I guess—heads down the aisle of tables. It isn’t lost on me the reactions of all the girls he passes, how they seem to push up their boobs, run hands through their hair, or give him alluring, thirsty looks. One girl by the aisle even shamelessly drops her gaze to his ass after he passes by, biting her lip. When he finally reaches my table, he merely flings his black backpack (adorned with a line of safety pins down one side like a path of metal) onto the floor with a heavy thump, then slides right onto the stool by my side and stares ahead, ignoring me.
I catch a hint of something fragrant. Is that his deodorant? Or is it soap? Or the leather of his jacket? Whatever it is, it captures my senses in a gentle gust of air that washes over me from his claiming that stool. Clean … He smells clean. After that initial glance from the front of the classroom, however, he seems to have no further interest in looking at me. Mr. Schubert finishes the roll call, then begins to tell us about the subjects we should expect to cover this semester and what he expects from us in return.
And I catch absolutely none of the teacher’s words, distracted as I am by my sudden neighbor. Even just sitting there, Vann has a strong, stoic, masculine demeanor. The sturdy way he breathes. The slight crease of concentration in his face muscles, which is the subtle, artful difference between him appearing adorable … or dangerous. This type of masculinity is different to me. Maybe I’m just used to the boorish type my stepdad Carl exudes, or the cocky dumbness I put up with daily from Hoyt and his talking jockstraps.
Vann is something new. He’s something that isn’t Spruce-like in any way, and maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to him.
Despite the fact that he might’ve been expelled from his last school. Or sent a kid to the hospital. Or murdered someone.
He-said-she-said, right?
“I recommend getting comfy with who you’re seated next to,” Mr. Schubert announces to the class, my attention pulled back by the authoritative lift in his voice, “because you’ll be partners the rest of the year. If you wish to pair up differently, now’s the time.”
There is a calm murmur among the room before, in a shuffle, some fast choices are made. Two people trade places in the front. A girl hurries to another table to ask the boy there if she can partner with her friend next to him, which he agrees to, taking her place next to a guy with glasses. Someone else’s head pops up like a deer in the woods, window-shopping who else they can pair up with, while their current tablemate sulks, bored.
I glance tentatively at the side of Vann’s gorgeous face. My heart pumps blood into my ears. Will he try to partner up with someone else? Of course not. He doesn’t know anyone else.
In fact, he doesn’t know the first thing about me, either. Not my social status, nor who my friends are, nor what anyone thinks of me. Something about his demeanor tells me he wouldn’t care anyway. Maybe he’s my chance to start anew. With Vann, I can be a whole new person. To Vann, I’m nothing more than a blank slate.
It’s that thought that gives me the courage to speak. “Well, I don’t have any, um, objections.” The words, however, come out in a humiliating squeak. My throat is trying to close up on me. “If you’re, uh … fine with our seating arrangement. I’m okay with it.”
It takes a whole turn of the moon before Vann responds—and all he gives is a grunt followed by a mumbled: “Arrangement?”
“Y-Yeah. I have no problem if you, uh … have no problem.”
He isn’t even looking at me. He’s just staring straight ahead, unresponsive. Is something wrong with this guy?
I try again. “So … you don’t mind being … being my partner for the year …?” Sweat dances down the middle of my back. I’m running out of air with every word I manage to squeeze out of my neck. “You’re new here, right? I-I’m Toby. My name. My name is … Toby.” No reply. Like pulling teeth. “Okay … I guess I’ll just assume your murderous silence means you don’t mind.”
Vann’s lip twitches. Still no response.
Murderous. Was that a bad choice of word?
Mr. Schubert announces that our seating arrangement is now locked in place, and he’s taken note of everyone’s partners. With that, he launches into a brief lecture of something to do with the periodic table, to which I pay absolutely no attention. By the time the bell rings, I realize the first page of my notebook is still blank.
