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“You better watch your back.Fish Girl,” Maddie hisses, confirming I’m so very, very right. She gives my backpack a vicious kick with the side of her shoe, sending it sliding along the side of the wall in the opposite direction of my World History class. Then she turns on her heel and struts back down the hall. And I’m left to retrieve my backpack, hefting it over my shoulder, thankful that at least today is Friday. At least I have a full two-day reprieve from this shark-infested cesspool known as SH Prep.
The news of Sebastian Murdoch’s return to school on Monday fills every corner of the hallways; the whispers so frantic they continue to bounce off the walls well past lunchtime. And of course he’s welcomed back like a hero home from war instead of a high school jock who likes to push limits and leap across buildings for kicks.
The intense whispering and huddled conversations grow louder as I approach the science lab for my second period, alerting me that the local deity must already be in the classroom. He’s sitting at the lab table just in front of my usual spot when I walk in, surrounded by a handful of carbon-copy popular kids who hang on his every word. In the few short weeks since we started school, he’s hardly ever sat in the same spot twice. And despite my disdain for the guy, I am slightly fascinated by these random behaviors of his—mainly because his totally uninhibited way of living is such a foreign concept to me. It’s the kind of luxury I can’t even fathom.
He looks taller than I remember from the beach, even sitting down. And louder. One of the guys leaning over his table says something and Sebastian’s head tips back and he lets out the most full-bodied, uninhibited laugh. It’s actually a beautiful laugh. One more thing that makes me envy him even more. One more thing to add to the pile of reasons I could never like a guy like Sebastian Murdoch. It’s obvious he’s never had a reason not to smile or laugh or jump into everything with both feet, consequences be damned.
His amber eyes flick up as I walk past and I see it right away: the glimmer of wildness that hints at a hundred different reasons why he might get himself thrown in detention over the course of a month, or the principal’s office, or relegated back to his house for a four-day suspension.
His gaze returns to the flock of kids surrounding his table and I continue my slow walk down the aisle, my eyes taking in his profile as I brush past. His flushed cheeks, the almost regal shape of his nose, the square jaw, and pillowy lips that are quirked up in a perpetual grin.
“So, did the police end up coming?” Victoria, the girl sitting next to him, elbows his arm lightly. “After you got down from the roof last Monday? Did Mr. Cameron really call the cops on you?”
He lifts his arm to run a tanned hand through the soft waves that fall into his eyes. Still slightly sun-bleached from hours of outdoor practices over the summer, it curls over his ears and brushes below his neck in wild, wayward strands. It’s the color of wheat—not blond or brown, but a perfect mix of the two and ruffled in a way that’s only possible for someone who can’t be bothered to style it. Because even his good looks are infuriatingly effortless.
“Nah…” He drops his arm and rests it on the table. “Just my dad and Mrs. T. in her office.” He pauses. “Which totally feels like the inside of a huge-ass coffin, by the way. It’s freakin’ creepy.”
“Oh my God… That’s so true!” Victoria squeezes his bicep.
It is kind of true. Mrs. Tromely’s office is covered in wall-to-wall wood paneling. Even the ceiling is covered in rich, mahogany beams.
I reach my usual table, just behind the one Sebastian’s sitting at, and mumble a quiet “hey” to Daniel, the guy who always sits next to me. Like me, Daniel is a total outcast. Only I think his status is more out of choice than peer rejection. He seems like he’s a pretty content guy; just really quiet. And super smart. His GPA is almost as high as mine. I see him studying in the library a lot and we’ve had a few brief conversations over the past couple years, but that’s it.
I study Sebastian for the first part of class, hoping it might help settle my nerves some if I can get a sense of what to expect from him during those two dreaded hours later today; the level of douche-bagness I should expect, the extent of cockiness and condescension. Any tells or traits or cues would be good, because honestly, I’m really, really nervous about this tutoring thing. Terrified, actually.
What I notice studying him closely like this, though—more even than his stunning looks or general stupidity or the reputation that precedes him after just an eighteen-day kick at the popularity can—is that the guy moves All. The. Time. There isn’t a second where his thumbs aren’t drumming against the tabletop or his thighs or the higher rungs of his stool; or his fingers trailing back and forth along his leather bracelet or the metal rings of his binder. Then there’s the foot tapping and the fidgeting and the raking of fingers through his already disheveled hair. Also, the way his eyes keep straying from the front of the classroom, his attention distracted by every little thing; constantly wandering.
Mrs. Tromely told me he’s on meds for ADHD, which I’m familiar with, because my sister has ADHD. But this is next level.
It is going to be a nightmare keeping him focused for two solid hours.
Mrs. Coleman is obviously aware of his wandering attention, too, because she calls out to him a few times, asking variations of lines like, “Are you still with us, Mr. Murdoch?” and “Eyes up front, Sebastian.” And eventually, “Sebastian, why don’t you tell us what you think might happen if the organism is deprived of these high-energy molecules?” She taps her finger against the molecule diagram posted on the smart board. The one she’s literally been talking about in detail for the past twenty minutes. “Remind us how the body would compensate.”
Sebastian’s gaze slides from Mrs. Coleman to the board, then back again. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
“Uh…” His eyes narrow as he studies the diagram, like he’s never seen it before in his life—even though Mrs. Coleman practically outlined the answer for him two seconds ago. He rubs the knuckle of his thumb back and forth against his full lower lip. “Um, does it… Uh… Maybe, does it like,die?”
Of course, no one laughs at his stupid answer, like they would if anyone else said it. Like they would laugh at me for giving thecorrectanswer.
Mrs. Coleman sighs. “Interesting guess, Sebastian,” she says. “But not the answer I was looking for.”
Sebastian mumbles something to Victoria, who ducks her head and hides a silent laugh behind her delicate hand. Everything about her is delicate. And elegant. Two things I am not.
Mrs. Coleman’s shoulders lift as she inhales a slow breath, shifting her attention to the rest of the class. “Does anyone else want to take a stab at the answer here?”
As a tall guy in the front row answers her simple question, Victoria drops her hand and inches it slowly toward Sebastian’s forearm resting on the table. She extends her index finger and brushes the tip of it lightly along the thick vein that stands out against his bronzed skin. He leans in and writes something on the corner of his notebook and pushes it toward her and her eyes go wide for a couple of seconds as she reads it. She smiles coyly at him, and he grins back, popping that dimple.
I refrain from rolling my eyes. My God, this guy is nauseating. I’m starting to question if I’ll have the patience to stomach his next-level brand of insipidity for six hours every week.
But of course, I know for the money his parents are paying me, I will put up with the vapid football God and whatever annoying tics and ego-fueled personality traits come along with it—for however long it takes to raise my portion of the Braden Hall tuition difference. Getting Sebastian Murdoch to pass his first term classes means getting that much closer to my ticket out of here, and away from people like him.
I arrive at the library meeting room twenty minutes early for my first tutoring session with Sebastian Murdoch. I want to be super prepared. Iamsuper prepared. My plan is to just work on science today, and we’ll split the time between general review and then completing the assigned homework for next class. I’ve even scheduled in a few short breaks because after watching Sebastian in class today, I’m aware that sitting and concentrating for a full two hours, right after a full day of classes, is going to be impossible for him. It will still be tough, even with the breaks I’ve scheduled. But if he takes this seriously, that will at least make a huge difference. Make it easier to stay focused. I’m not holding my breath, though. In all the times I’ve been around Sebastian, I’ve never seen him take anything seriously.
And sure enough, ten minutes after our scheduled meeting time, he’s already confirmed my suspicions, because he still hasn’t shown up. But I was expecting this. He’s at least five minutes late to most classes. So I accounted for this in my schedule. I’m going to make it clear that in the future, we’ll be cutting however many minutes late he shows up from the time I scheduled for breaks. He’s not going to see the kind of results I’m expected to help deliver if he doesn’t put in at least the bare minimum required time.
Another ten minutes, and I’m no longer as cool with Sebastian’s first session tardiness. Ten minutes is one thing, but now we’re into a whole other level of tactless. It’s insulting on top of being rude. This is my time he’s wasting, too.
After another ten minutes, I pull the plug, thoroughly pissed off.
