Once Again (2 page)

My silent plea for rescue was answered when
the warning bell rang, sending students scattering on their way to
homerooms.

Squaring my shoulders, I took a deep breath
and turned toward my hallway. The school building had seen better
days – probably in the 1960s – and the painted cinderblock walls
and dingy gray tile floors held the scents of aged textbooks, the
odd, generic odor of a school cafeteria, and the more recent smell
of endless mists of body spray.

My homeroom was the third door on the right.
A few students still loitered by the hall entrance, so I smiled as
I walked past. One boy greeted me with a nod of his head that I was
sure he believed to be very suave and cool. He wasn’t much taller
than me, and I was five-three. Another guy, this one average
height, looked at me with guarded, narrowed eyes, as if trying to
figure out who I was. Two girls, clearly cheerleaders with their
school-spirit shirts and ponytails tied with matching bows, looked
at me with judgment in their eyes.

I sighed inwardly. Some things were the same
no matter where you lived.

Behind the others was a taller boy, with dark
blond hair, a deep golden that picked up the dreary fluorescent
lights from the lobby and turned them into something special.

A zing of awareness barreled into me, an
uneasy combination of both
rightness
and menace settling
heavy in my stomach, and I had the strangest sensation that I’d
felt exactly this way before.

Unlike some of the other guys I’d seen during
that brief moment of panic in the crowded lobby, Mr. Dark Blond
didn’t look like a slob. His green polo shirt was tucked into his
jeans, and he wore a belt.

Of course, he had the kind of body that
looked good with a tucked in shirt and belt accentuating his waist.
Long, tall, and lean. And though I’d never considered myself a
superficial, all-about-appearances person, I was girl enough to
notice.

In the split second that I passed by him, all
sorts of thoughts bounced around in my brain about how to
acknowledge him. I’d smiled at the group, after all, and even
nodded back to the shorter boy who’d wowed me with his head-nod. I
couldn’t just ignore the cute one, could I?

But at the same time, I couldn’t make too big
of a deal about him either.

I looked up at him, figuring some brief eye
contact and a generic smile would do the trick.

But when my eyes met his, it was to find him
already looking at me. Staring really, like he’d seen a ghost. Eyes
wide. Mouth open slightly as if he wanted to say something but
didn’t know what. The intensity was almost uncomfortable. And his
eyes were crazy beautiful, deep and brown.

Did I have something on my face? Toilet paper
stuck to my shoe?

Because really, there was no way he was
actually noticing me. Not with the two Barbie dolls hanging all
over him. I was not the kind of girl who attracted attention from
boys like him.

And besides, he looked like he couldn’t
decide whether or not to be happy about my presence.

But his stare continued, so I half-smiled at
him, kind of apologetically, and with a shrug pushed my way into
the hallway and found my homeroom.

***

My first class was chemistry, and the scent
of hot Bunsen burners and what they’d once heated filled the room.
This class was not going to be my favorite. I’d been indifferent
about my biology class last year, and had gotten through it,
managing to maintain my grade point average. But I had a feeling
that chemistry was going to be a struggle.

Fortunately for me, I didn’t have a social
life that got in the way of my study habits.

And also fortunately for me, I ended up
paired with a science nut for a lab partner. Her name was Jessie
Spencer, and she was actually really nice.

She seemed to be like me, an under-the-radar
type.

I suppose you could say she was my first
friend.

“I’ve never been further south that Boston,”
she told me as the bell rang to end first period. “I bet Tennessee
is really awesome.”

“I liked it a lot,” I answered. “But I lived
there all my life, so I probably took it for granted.”

“You miss it, I’m sure.” She grabbed her
books and headed for the door, her chin-length curly brown hair
bobbing with every step.

Sure I did. But I wasn’t going to dwell on
it.

“Some.” I picked up my backpack and walked
into the hallway with her. “It’s hard starting over, but Sky Cove
is really beautiful.”

It turned out Jessie’s locker was only three
doors down from mine, and while we picked up books for our second
period classes, she introduced me to two of her friends.

“Hey, this is Layla Bradford. She’s new
here.” Since Jessie had been so kind to me this morning, I decided
not to deduct points for stating the obvious.

“And these are my friends, Marsha Foster and
Tiffany Caldwell.” She turned back to me. “Tomorrow after school
we’re going to the beach. You should come.”

I told her I’d think about it, and said a
quick hello to Marsha and Tiffany. We left moments later, as we all
had classes to go to, but I had to admit Marsha and Tiffany had
been just as kind and welcoming as Jessie. It seemed the three of
them were just like I’d always been, middle-class citizens in the
caste-system that was public high school.

Which was fine. It was a status quo I was
familiar with.

A shiver of sensation danced up my spine as I
left the row of lockers to find my next class. Looking around, I
made certain no one was staring at me, then did a quick check of my
appearance. My pants were not unzipped, bra strap was not showing.
Short of mascara running down my face, it seemed nothing was wrong
with the way I looked.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling of being
watched. The disturbing sense of unease returned full force.

Somewhere in my mind words bounced and
ricocheted, and at the door to my classroom I stopped and closed my
eyes.

Behind my eyelids a sentence began to take
shape. Each word falling into place, like slot machine wheels,
until I saw it clearly.

I won’t lose. Not this time.

Opening my eyes I took a deep breath to clear
my head. How weird was that? What the heck did that mean? I chalked
it up to the stress of starting a new school.

The hallway bustled with movement as kids
rushed to second period. A sea of unknown faces washed passed
me.

I must’ve been more nervous than I
thought.

I squared my shoulders and stepped in to the
classroom. Literature class. It wasn’t a required course, but
rather one of the “elective” classes that I got to choose. So, of
course, I chose something that involved reading.

I expected to see other bookworms in the
room, and to some degree I wasn’t surprised. When I stepped through
the door, I noticed three kids sitting quietly with books already
out and opened. I smiled. Others like me, who read not because they
were forced, but because they enjoyed. Near the front of the room
were three girls with cell phones out, frantically sending text
messages before the warning bell rang. I wondered if they were in
this class because they signed up late and all the other electives
were full.

Just as I was about to take a seat with the
bookworms, I noticed him.

Him.

Mr. Dark Blond and Brown-Eyed.

On the far side of the room, with the one of
two empty seats in the class right next to him.

When I looked at him, his eyes narrowed, in a
way that seemed familiar and very unsettling, and reached over to
remove his books from the unoccupied desk beside him. He dropped
his eyes from me to the now empty desk and back again, like some
sort of silent invitation.

And did he expect me to just sit there
because he said to?

I was pretty certain that was how most girls
reacted to him, so why should he think I’d be any different?

Well, I was different, and I was going to
prove it by going over and taking the other empty seat with the
bookworms.

But when I took a step, it was toward him.
Despite the argument in my head, my feet took me in his direction
until I was sitting in the very seat he’d cleared for me.

When had I become so weak?

I dropped my backpack on the floor, and
stared at it, wondering what in the world I was supposed to
say.

“I’m Lucas.”

Man, his voice was nice. Deep and mature,
there was no hint of the cracking and squeaking of many guys my
age. Nope, this was the voice of a boy solidly on the other side of
puberty. Smooth and dark, like melted caramel.

“Hi,” I said, angry with myself for sounding
sheepish, even to my own ears. “Layla.”

He nodded and leaned toward me, the wariness
in his expression still present. He tilted his head, as if he
needed a closer look. “Nice to meet you Layla.”

I knew I was blushing. I hated that. I could
feel the heat creeping into my cheeks as his eyes scanned back and
forth across my face. It made responding verbally to his compliment
almost impossible.

I managed a muttered “thanks”, just as the
warning bell rang and the teacher, Mrs. Chadwick, started
class.

I glanced at Lucas once more, as Mrs.
Chadwick took attendance, and found him looking at me with an
expression that same expression… oddly curious, knowing. I couldn’t
look away. And when he made no move to say anything, I broke the
staring contest by opening my notebook.

Forty-seven minutes later, the bell to end
class rang. The texters from the front of the class immediately
went for their cells. Rolling my eyes, I reached toward the floor
for my backpack, and my hand brushed Lucas’s as he bent to pick up
his.

Electricity streaked through my arm, and I
barely resisted the urge to wrench my hand away. Lucas’s eyes met
mine, and though I felt certain he hadn’t felt the same punch I
did, I was pretty sure my face was plastered with shock.

How embarrassing.

“Why are they even in this class?” I nodded
toward the girls with the cell phones, hoping my question would put
a stop to the awkward moment.

“They probably got stuck here when the other
electives filled up.” He shrugged and grinned. Not only was it the
first pleasant look I’d gotten from him, but his smile was a total
killer. “Not a lot of kids choose to take a class where you have to
read books.”

But apparently he did. Which was both a
selling point and a mystery.

We stepped into the hallway at the same time,
and before taking off, he looked back at me as if he wanted to say
something. In that moment of hesitation before he spoke, the words
began falling again, faster this time.

I stood, rooted to my spot. From the end of
the hall someone called his name, and Lucas turned to join
them.

Paralyzed, I didn’t move as the words fell
into place.

No matter what I have to do.

Though I
tried not to, I worried about lunch all through the next two
periods. I should’ve asked my new friend Jessie what time her lunch
break was, but being overwhelmed with everything, I hadn’t thought
about it. As a result, U.S. History, which under normal
circumstances I would’ve enjoyed, was a blur, and the geometry
class had seemed much more difficult to endure than it would have
otherwise.

What if I had nowhere to sit and no one to
talk to?

I imagined the worst-case scenario. Standing
in the cafeteria, lunch tray in hand, looking at a room of full
tables, the occupants staring back at me with no hint of invitation
in their eyes.

So I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw
Jessie, along with Marsha and Tiffany, waving to me from a table in
the center of the cafeteria.

The banana was the best part of lunch, as the
turkey sandwich was pretty dry and the steamed broccoli was mostly
tasteless, but I did meet a few other people at lunch. A couple of
boys at our table seemed overly attentive, as if jockeying for
position on the new girl’s priority list. They were decent guys,
and I was pretty sure they didn’t often get the opportunity to try
and impress girls. I felt bad, in a way, that they didn’t make an
enormous impression, but I couldn’t recall any names by the end of
the day.

Walking to my car, I thought to myself that
as far as first days at a new school went, this one hadn’t been
completely terrible. It was also worth noting that a late-August
afternoon in Nashville, Tennessee would’ve most likely been
sweltering. But here in Sky Cove it was warm without humidity, and
the breeze was almost balmy as it lifted my hair off my
shoulders.

Groups of kids were gathered at various
locations in the parking lot. The traditional end-of-the-day
debriefing I figured. I was almost to my car when one group of
particularly athletic looking boys called my name.

I stopped, looked over my shoulder. I
recognized none of them. Apparently they’d heard about me.

“Hey Layla!” the one with the short brown
hair yelled.

I just stood there, unsure of how to respond.
I didn’t even know their names.

“Lay-la,” he said again, putting the emphasis
on the first syllable.

Great.

The other guys snickered. A slight crowd
started to pile up.

“Lay Lay Lay-la,” he went on.

I began to hope the ground would open up and
engulf me.

“Lay-la, why don’t you come over here and lay
this.” A not-so-subtle pelvic thrust accompanied the last word.

I felt like a statue, and a complete idiot,
rooted to the pavement, unable to move. I shook my head and rolled
my eyes in disgust, thinking it would be best to just head to my
car and ignore the display of ignorance. Even though a part of me –
a part that never, ever found the nerve to come out – wanted to let
loose with a series of stinging insults, all of which would be way
above this moron’s vocabulary level.