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Before I can stop myself, I inhale until my lids shut. It’s a good thing the action is done with stealth because it might appear creepy otherwise.
Geez. What’s up with me?
I break out of it as our English teacher shows up. I’m grateful she doesn’t draw attention to me when taking attendance.
Not sure why, but I watch and wait to hear my neighbor’s name.
“Brandon Decker,” Mrs. Cartright calls out.
He slightly raises his hand.
Brandon, I repeat in my head. I like that.
As the lesson commences, I find myself stealing glances at him. He’s so expressionless, jotting down notes and flipping the pages of his textbook.
Brandon is about to write something, but pauses, and creases his forehead. Time slows as he looks over, catching me watching him.
I wince and flick my eyes to the front of the room.
Crap. That was so not smooth on my part.
For the remainder of the class, I sense Brandon’s gaze on me, causing me to fidget in the seat.
At the end of the period, he rushes off.
My brows curl with curiosity, realizing how people avoid brushing him. They clutch their arms at their sides, nervous as he goes by.
Well, damn.
“You and Sam have social studies,” Rajid informs me after draping his bag over his shoulder. “I’m heading to AP Chem. See you both at lunch.”
“Cool.” I look at Sam.
She smiles in return. “Come on. Mr. Worley is fantastic. He’s head of the drama club, too.”
While walking to class, Sam fills me in about clubs. Art is the only thing I’m interested in, and that alone will consume most of my time.
Not sure why, but I’m hit with a slight flutter in my stomach from the realization Brandon Decker is in the same social studies as well.
“Don’t stare at him so much,” Sam advises out of earshot of everyone.
“What?” I murmur, crumpling my temples.
She juts her chin out at the two empty seats in the back. They’re across the room from Brandon.
Once we sit, she leans over to talk. “Brandon Decker doesn’t like people staring at him too much. And he absolutely hates contact.” She swallows hard and goes on. “In freshman year, a kid bumped into him by accident. He shoved the boy into the lockers so hard that he dislocated his shoulder. Brandon was only fourteen, but that kind of aggression scared the crap out of us.”
My brows shoot up. “How come he’s still here? Isn’t that cause for expulsion?”
She snorts. “His father donates a lot to the academy, probably more than others.” Of course.
Students are still entering. But the teacher isn’t here as yet.
Sam continues. “If Brandon thinks you so much as look at him funny, you could end up getting bullied by girls obsessed with him. Not physically, but they do stupid stuff like keep you from having lunch in the cafeteria, post shit about you on social media, and…” She catches her breath. “Puncture your tires weekly.”
“Sheesh.” My eyes steer to Brandon again out of amazement.
“Don’t, Kayla,” Sam urges, seeming afraid for me.
