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"I think she should introduce herself, don't you think, Mr. Evans?" the cold voice drawls. I say cold, but the sound of Noah's voice is enough to set my blood boiling.
As if his gaze has a tractor beam on it that's forcing me to stare at him, I find him immediately. His seat is of course next to the only empty one. There's another jockish dude to the right of him, and three pretty girls in cheerleader uniforms in the other seats surrounding him. He’s sprawled back, his hair a mess, looking unbelievably gorgeous—no, I didn't just think that.
Argh, Sky!
Get a grip girl.
There's a challenge in his gaze, like he expects the idea of speaking in front of the room to send me running for the hills, which it very well could.
I glance back to Mr. Evans, I'm sure a plea written all over my face. He glances down, a small frown on his face, and he fidgets with the buttons on his long sleeve dress shirt, like he has issues not doing whatever Noah says.
"Well—" Mr. Evans begins.
"It's been years since there's been a new face in the school. We should make it the big deal it is," Noah continues. Unlike with Daisy, there's no missing the mocking air in his tone. I highly doubt Noah thinks my starting school here is a big deal.
"Well then, go ahead," Mr. Evans says sheepishly, a note of apology in his gaze as he flicks his head at me.
I immediately feel lightheaded. There's only around fifteen people in the class, but it might as well be a thousand.
"My name is… Skylar," I begin in a choked voice. My hands are shaking, and I wonder if I really might pass out. My gaze locks with Noah’s though, and somehow it gives me the strength I need to muster through. Because he's such a freaking asshole, it makes me want to run over to him and punch him in his too perfect face. “I just moved here from Falmouth…and if I’m honest, I really, really hate math.” I finish lamely, causing a few people to laugh.
And for once, it doesn’t feel like they’re laughing at me…it kind of feels like they’re laughing with me.
Noah’s face scrunches in annoyance as I head to my seat. I don’t meet anyone’s eyes on the way there, and it feels like I’ve accomplished something when I finally slide into my seat.
“Hopefully, I can change your mind about math,” Mr. Evans says with a smile, looking as relieved as I feel that it’s over. He flips the page of the math textbook on his desk and then asks us all to turn to page thirty.
My hands are still trembling as I reach into my backpack and pull out a notebook, praying that I can follow the lesson without the textbook that I failed to bring.
“You looked like you were about to pass out up there, little stalker,” he murmurs, casually twirling a pencil in between his fingers while Mr. Evans talks about complex numbers.
It takes me a moment to realize the nickname he’s called me.
“What did you just call me?” I snap, my voice a little too loud.
I wince and sit back in my seat, determined to ignore him as I try and listen to what Mr. Evans is saying.
But it’s freaking hard to concentrate when Noah’s sitting there…clearly not paying attention at all. And then there’s a girl seated in front of me, who keeps turning to stare at him and give him flirty smiles. In fact, it’s not only her…it seems like the whole class is taking turns trying to stare at him. Like he’s some Hollywood star they’re desperate to get the attention of.
It’s really…weird.
And really bad for Noah’s ego. I’ve never seen someone occupy so much space in a room. I mean, he’s tall, already over six feet. But it’s like his aura is a living, breathing thing. Or maybe that’s my writer brain imagining things again.
I guess I’d been hoping that the waitress’s worship was a one-off. But it’s obvious it’s not, because everyone else in the room is doing the same thing she was. Bleeding all over themselves for his attention.
The jock next to him, who is handsome in his own right, glances over at Noah every few seconds, like he’s checking to make sure Noah approves of the way he’s breathing.
It’s all very…gross.
And fascinating.
And what did he mean when he called me “little stalker?”
The boy strode through the hallway, a devilish gleam in his gaze…
“Ms. Ames, can you please tell us the answer to question number four?” Mr. Evans’ voice cuts through the story I’m writing in my head.
My cheeks flush and I eye my empty notebook page in a panic, searching for question number four that of course isn't there. Agitated, my gaze falls to Noah’s open textbook on top of his desk, slanted in a way that I’m able to perfectly read the problem I’ve been called to solve.
