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“Sure it is taken or sure I can sit?” he asked, a smart-aleck smile forming over his face.
“Uh, no, I mean yes. Umm, sit please.”
Breathe, Claire.
“So, how was chemistry? You do any experiments with water and bottles?” he asked jokingly, his teasing smile carving even deeper.
Sitting down next to me, he pulled a bottle of flavored water and a sandwich from his bag lunch.
“Oh good, you heard. Great, yes, I tried to flood the chemistry class,” I exaggerated, hanging my head, drowning in embarrassment.
He smiled and laughed a very boyish, familiar laugh.
“Well, Blake, it seems you are the talk of the school today,” he joshed, poking fun at my humility.
“Greeeaaat,” I whined, turning my head to pout. Setting my book down, I picked up the apple, taking a bite before looking back at him.
“So what brings your family back to Northfield?” he inquired, thankfully changing the subject.
“Oh,… just me,… I mean, not my family. My parents passed away over the summer.” I muttered, hoping he would move on quickly. The wound of my parent’s death was still fresh. I wasn’t quite ready to remove the band aid and talk about it, especially with a boy I just met.
“Oh, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“No, really, you didn’t,” I apologized. “It’s still hard for me to talk about it. I moved back to live with my aunt. What about you? How long have you been in Northfield?”
“I just got back this summer also, but my family moved here about fifteen years ago.”
“Oh. So you’re somewhat of a newbie, too, then. Where have you been?” I asked curiously.
“Boarding school…mostly. My parents thought I was getting into trouble a few years ago, so they shipped me off,” he replied.
“Oh, I see. Rebel child, huh?” I joked, picturing him a few years younger, hanging out causing a little ruckus in town. He had that bad boy vibe. The term sounded so cliché and I blushed, praying he didn’t notice my expression.
His crooked grin told me he did.
“Not really. Just made the wrong friends, I guess. Anyway, I wanted to come home for my senior year so they let me.” Brent checked my gaze to see if I thought less of him. “So, what about you, Blake? What do you like to do for fun?” he asked, before twisting the lid off his water and taking a sip.
Here we go. The questions were getting personal and I didn’t get personal. Wanting to crawl away, I thought to myself, Keep it simple, Blake.
“Well, I play guitar
and I read a lot,” I offered tentatively.
“Really, a musician huh, and here I thought you were all brains,” he said flirtatiously, causing my insides to flip. Unwavering attraction between us was palpable, and I wondered if he felt it too.
“Well, you can call it that, but mostly I play just to lose myself. My dad taught me to play and it’s given me a great outlet.” I said, slapping myself on the inside. I took another bite of my apple.
“Outlet?” Great, you don’t sound like a freak or anything.
“I think that’s cool, Blake,” he approved, with a reassuring, you’re not a freak, smile.
“What about you Brent? What’s your outlet?”
“I draw,” he answered softly. The way he said it had me wanting to melt. “And I read, too,” he added.
Weakening immediately, I let out a heavy sigh. Of course he did – sexy, artistic and totally my type – which scared the hell out of me. I pictured him lying outdoors, head propped up on a tree with his knees bent, his sketch book resting against them. There was a pond nearby and he was tracing the outline of it. No, maybe he was drawing me. That made my heart drop suddenly, the pit of my stomach feeling the weight of it. Seriously, what was wrong with me? The desire to bail coursed through me because the conversation was getting friendlier than I was prepared for.
“I should go. I have a few things to get from my locker before my next class,” I announced frantically, wanting to escape the innervation.
