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Scarlett catches my eye and gives me this quick look, which is either a forced smile or a snarky smirk. It’s hard to tell the difference with her. I focus on searching for a pen in my pencil case and pretend not to notice her. Not that she cares; she turns and rests a hip against the table and starts up a conversation with Victoria.
“Good weekend, NG?” Sebastian asks, giving me no choice but to look at him. He’s standing right in front of my table now.
“Yup,” I say, glancing up briefly.
His long lashes flutter and he gets that familiar confused look on his face. Like he was expecting me to be way happier to see him.
“Did you make it to the game Friday?” he asks.
Of course. Because forget that he missed his tutoring session yesterday, what’s really important here is whether I made it to his oh-so-important football game.
“No,” I say. “I was busy.”
He studies me for a second. His eyes flitting across my face, still with that same slightly puzzled expression.
Oh, Sebastian. How this must confound you; a nerdy, science geek not falling all over herself every time you deign to speak with her.
Scarlett sidles up to him and says something just inches from his ear. I still don’t look at him, but I can see them out of my periphery. Also, I can feel his eyes on me, even as he listens to whatever Scarlett is saying. And still when she turns back and starts talking to Victoria. There are a few other people gathered around their table now, too. Because wherever Sebastian or Scarlett go, followers flock. And when they go anywhere together, it’s practically cause for a full-on fan-fest.
Sebastian leans in and places both muscular forearms on my table, so he’s right up in my space and I’m forced to look up at him again.
“Are you mad at me or something?”
His honey brown eyes zero in on me, and I have to remind myself why I’m working so hard not to let them ensnare me. How that look he is giving me right now is the same one that lured me into trusting him in the first place. It pulls everyone in, that one-two Sebastian Murdoch beautiful eyes-gorgeous face combo.
“No. I’m fine,” I say.
And he just stays there, with his perfect tanned forearms, and his stupid gorgeous eyes and his delicious smell of laundry detergent and faint cologne and something outdoorsy that makes me think of fall leaves, but is probably just the smell of him rolling around in the woods with Scarlett Thiels this morning before class.
“You sure?” He nudges my textbook lightly with his long finger, and gives me a tentative grin, which I pretend not to notice.
“Yup.”
Both his eyebrows lift, like he definitely doesn’t believe me, but after waiting another couple of seconds with no further reaction from me, he pushes himself back up and finally,finallyturns and settles in at his own table to join whatever conversation is going on with the popular kids. At this point, there’s barely anyone in their actual seats; there are so many people surrounding Sebastian’s table to hang out until Mrs. Coleman arrives. It’s like a round-table discussion about nothing, with a bunch of people who have nothing to prove.
I try to block out the boring, detailed play-by-play some tall blond football dude—Trevor, I think—is giving everyone from Friday’s game against Brewster Academy but it’s pretty much impossible, since he’s recounting it at the same decibel level as a sportscaster would who was at the actual game.
Sebastian isn’t listening, I notice. His eyes are focused on the shelf at the far end of the classroom. Always distracted by something other than what is going on right in front of him, this guy.
He leans forward, drumming his thumbs against the tabletop as he continues to take in the rows of bottles. Then he turns suddenly to his friends. “Hey. You guys want to blow something up?”
The rest of the group looks surprised at the sudden interruption, but Trevor beams wildly, stepping closer.
“Damn straight. What do you have in mind, man?”
Sebastian grins, but ignores the question. He’s leaning so far forward on his stool now, surveying the shelf across the room, that his T-shirt rides up, exposing a tanned crescent of skin.
Victoria notices right away and trails her fingers along his waist as she follows his gaze to the rows of chemicals. “You don’t even know what’s in those bottles… What if—”
“Sure I do.” He flashes those pearly whites and winks at her, then swivels toward the front again. “It’s ethanol…” He squints as he strains to read the labels across the room. He removes his ball cap and rakes a hand through his hair, like that will somehow help his long-distance vision or something. “…and acetone and uh, Tetra… hyder—hydrofuran.” He sits back, turning to give her a satisfied smile. “Chemicals, right? In a science lab.” He shrugs and holds up the container from the table in front of him. “Mix ’em together and you’ve got an explosion!”
“Oh my God, you’re crazy…” Her eyes widen. “That’s awesome.”
Seriously?
These people are unbelievable… the way they fall so easily into step with whatever plan this guy concocts. My nostrils flare, not just with frustration at their blind admiration, but the fact he is so completely oblivious to the luxury of being able to say or do or act upon whatever the hell he wants. I tried to start up a stupid marine biology club and I’ve been ridiculed for over two years because of it. I have to fight just to walk the halls un-noticed. He blew off another tutoring session with me, after swearing he was going to make an effort. And now here he is concocting a way to blow stuff up in science class. And despite all this, he’s held up on some kind of pedestal; cocky and carefree and clueless.
I lean toward them. “Actually, they won’t explode.” I speak loud enough that they know I meant to interrupt their conversation.
