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I alternated between watching her and trying to pay attention to the professor for the rest of the hour. It was a good thing I could usually just read the textbook and catch up later because I never retained much the teacher actually said. Not when she was in the room.
When the hour let out, I started to pack my things in my bag, only for Rush to swipe my phone from the corner of my desk.
I sent him a dry glance. He lifted the phone meaningfully. “I’ll give this back as soon as you talk to her.”
Sighing, I shook my head and reached out. “Just give me my phone back, dick head.”
He held it away. “Not until you talk to her.”
I dropped my hand and narrowed my eyes.
He laughed. “Come on, man. I’m not saying you even have to ask her out. Just talk to her. That’s all. Find out her name and learn if she’s even worth all this daydreaming she’s got you doing.”
“No,” I argued. “The time’s not right.”
“And just when the hell will the time be right for you?”
“I don’t know. Just…not now.”
“Why not? Because you’re a pussy?”
I glowered. He lifted his eyebrows mockingly. Then he pulled his head back as if a new thought had just occurred to him.
“Wait, you do know how to talk to girls, right?”
Not really.
With a groan, I growled, “Stop being such an immature asswipe and give me my phone already?”
He leaned closer, holding the phone against his chest. “Not until you talk to her. Think of this as a learning experience, because if you can’t even talk to a girl, then you’re never going to land one. And if you don’t land one, you’re going to grow old alone, a poor, miserable, pathetic virgin. And I don’t hang with pathetic miserable virgins, so… Go!”
“God. Fine!” I jerked to my feet and stomped moodily toward the front of the class. “Whatever gets you to shut up.”
Now I really had to do this or he’d know I was a coward. He’d realize that one girl whose name I didn’t even know intimidated the shit out of me. He’d never let me live it down, then he’d tell everyone else in band, and no one would respect me for the next four years until I graduated.
This was like high school shit. I glanced back, scowling at him for reducing me to high school shit.
The fucker merely grinned and waved me on.
Once I reached the edge of the desks and stepped into that open space where the professor lectured, I paused. I could either go left and approach her or right toward the exit.
Fuck. My stomach began to churn. Nausea welled. Sweat clogged my glands. My vision darkened at the corners, and I suddenly felt dizzy.
So I shifted to the right, away from her.
The nape of my neck burned, knowing Rush was back there in his seat, laughing his ass off because I hadn’t been able to do it.
A new fear rose when I pictured the humiliation I was going to have to endure at practice later that afternoon. I couldn’t decide what would be worse: trying to talk to her and just flat passing out at her feet or living through hell from my bandmates for the next four years.
Dammit, dammit, dammit. I paused at the doorway and stepped to the side, letting others pass, then I turned to look her way.
She and her friends were standing, all their things gathered.
What the hell did I say?
My mind went blank. My palms went damp. My breathing stuttered. My vision grayed out completely before sharpening and focusing on only her to the point that everything else blurred around her, giving me a surreal sense of vertigo. Oh God. What if I really did pass out?
I guess that would leave a lasting impression. Who would forget the guy who collapsed at the sight of you?
