AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She didn’t have to middle-name me, that’s for sure. It’s a pretty name, I get it. My mom chose the name after her favorite city in Italy, where my dad proposed.
It sounds romantic, but if you only knew the tension that blankets the room when they are together, nothing about the two of them screams romance.
Mrs. Nabb’s lips move as she reads the rest of the information on the cue card. “Jenna, dear, why don’t you have a seat in the empty chair next to Natalie? Natalie, raise your hand for Jenna, please.”
I glance up and peer around the room to see who is raising their hand. My stomach sinks when the only hand I see above someone’s head is attached to the most exotic-looking, beautiful brunette I have ever seen. She looks a hell of a lot older than fifteen, more like the Hawaiian Barbie I used to play with, and by the crinkle of her nose and the squint of her eyes, she’s less than excited to share her narrow, two-seat desk with me.
Keeping my head down, I move quickly to the wooden desk, and pull the empty chair out and away from her, hoping to avoid any tension by giving her the space she so clearly wants. When I think I’m safe, that I’m seated and class can continue and everyone can forget I arrived, I look up and see Mrs. Nabb standing at the corner of my desk, a toothy grin on her face.
“Jenna. Why don’t you take a minute and tell the class a little bit about yourself? What brought you to Chicago, what your interests are. Stand up, dear.” She tucks a hand under my elbow, not giving me a choice on whether I want to stand.
I take a deep breath and rise, prepared to give the same speech I’ve given at the last three schools. “My name is Jenna. I was born in Chicago, but I’ve been moving around a lot with my dad. He’s in the military. Decided to move back to Chicago to finish high school. That’s about it . . .” I finish awkwardly and immediately sit back down.
“Tsk-tsk.” Mrs. Nabb ushers me to stand again. “Tell us about your hobbies. What do you love?” She pumps two closed fists in the air. “Whatmotivatesyou?”
My hobbies? I haven’t lived anywhere long enough to develop legitimate hobbies. At my last school, I lied and said I was on the verge of being a professional acrobat, but a terrible broken ankle put an end to that dream. My parents grounded me when they found out I lied, but I loved pretending I was good at something. Books and TV are my only hobbies because I can take them anywhere, in any climate. But moving here changed everything, and there would be time for “planting my roots” or whatever my dad said.
I shrug under her stare. “I’d like to try out for a sport maybe, since I’ll be here for a while. I think I’d be okay at volleyball.”
The exotic Barbie next to me grunts at that. “Of course, you would. You’re built like a giraffe.”
A few of the students around us snicker at her insult, but it doesn’t faze me. I’m a fifteen-year-old girl who peaked at five feet ten inches, several inches taller than most boys my age. This isn’t the first time someone’s bullied me about my height.
Before I have a chance to defend myself, to ask her if all the other smurfs are this crabby in the morning, a deep voice behind me—way too deep to be a fifteen-year-old—barks, “Natalie. Knock the fuck off.”
Natalie immediately stops her giggling and whips her head forward.
Great. Just great. With my luck, it’s a student teacher, or an assistant principal shadowing the class. Nothing screams cool new girl like having a teacher defend you against the bullies. Although, a student teacher cursing would be a new touch.
Mrs. Nabb drones on about dough and oven temps, and I’m feeling relaxed in my seat when she clicks the cap back on her dry-erase marker and chirps, “Time to break into groups of two for our cooking lesson today!”
I hate picking partners. In my experience, after the initial new-girl buzz has worn off, I’m seemingly forgotten. I slink back a little further, waiting for everyone else to pair up. I’ll partner with whatever sad sap is left.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nasty Natalie sit up a little straighter, lick her lips, and with a casual flick of the wrist, flip her silky black hair over her shoulder, an afterglow of coconut following. As the sleek strands glide effortlessly through the air, I’m reminded that it’s winter, and my frizzy blonde curls are unruly by now. How on earth she looks so freshly polished is beyond me.
She turns toward me, eyeing me up and down for a second before sliding her arm across the back of her chair to face the table behind us. “What do you say, Emmett? Be my partner?”
If she had ended the sentence with a moan, it couldn’t have been more obvious that she wanted to bang whoever Emmett is.
It isn’t until I hear the same dark voice from earlier, the one that told her to fuck off, that I’m shocked wide awake: “No thanks, Nat. I want to ask Jenna to be my partner.”
That voice. There isno waythat voice can belong to a student. Let alone a student my age. Maybe it’s a fifth-year senior a few credits shy of graduation, and they needed a Home Ec course to finish off that college application.
I slowly sit up in my seat, run a palm over my stomach to flatten the wrinkles in my rock-and-roll tee before turning slowly and looking over my left shoulder to see who sits behind me.
There’s a skinny kid with black, shaggy hair at the table who first gets up and walks away, so I continue turning until I meet the source of that voice.
Dark blue eyes perfectly blend with his fleece pullover. Dark hair, messy, possibly a bit damp as if he put on a ball cap after his morning shower, not caring how it would look because he knew each strand would fall into the perfect place on its own. It puts him into the I-didn’t-mean-to-look-good-but-I do category. But it’s his size that stuns me.
Maybe he was considered chubby as a younger kid, but puberty blessed him. His weight and height filled out, making him the perfect balance of softness and strength. Seriously, do they pump hormones into the HVAC system here? Kids at this school have developed a lot quicker than the fifteen-year-olds I’m used to seeing.
“What do you say? Do you want to be my partner?” he asks, flashing a warm smile that softens his face, calming my jittering nerves.
I swallow and nod, unable to speak a full sentence.
I stand up when he does, and though I’m tall and girls like Natalie make me feel bad about it, he’s still a head taller than me. With a large hand he grips the back of his chair and pushes it under the desk, telling me to go find us an open table.
I slide past him, making sure not to touch him so my hormones don’t catch fire. I can feel him turn to follow me, staying a respectable distance away while still guiding me to an open cooktop table. We pass Natalie and her equally beautiful friend, and I notice the eyes they give me as they whisper behind their palms.
