Reckless Roses (Pacific Shores #3)

Chapter 1 – “Jump Then Fall （Taylor’s Version）” – Taylor Swift

ELENA

“JUMP THEN FALL (TAYLOR’S VERSION)” – TAYLOR SWIFT

AGE TWELVE - JANUARY

“You’re late, Miss Ramos,” Mr. Holden, my seventh-grade algebra teacher, mutters as I interrupt the silence of his classroom, the slam of the metal door bouncing off the walls.

About thirty or so heads turn my way, and I force myself to glare. I’m not embarrassed. I didn’t do anything wrong. Stop staring.

Lips sealed, I clear my throat and hand him my doctor’s note.

He slips a pair of glasses over his beady little eyes and reads through it at a glacial pace.

Harrumphing, he hands it back to me and nods toward my seat at the back of the room.

“We’re working on textbook pages forty-six through fifty-two in partners.

Whatever is not completed during class will be your homework for tonight.

” He sighs, looking around the room. “It appears everyone is already paired up.” He waves his hand to his left, and I notice a tall, dark-haired boy sitting on the other side of Mr. Holden’s desk, looking down at a book in his lap and not bothering to acknowledge my existence.

“Zachary, can you please pair up with Elena for the remainder of the class period?”

The boy looks up, his brown eyes meeting mine.

My stomach does a cartwheel, and I don’t know why.

I’ve never seen him before, but there are lots of boys I’ve never seen before, and they’ve never made my belly feel like a bird might fly out of my throat.

His hair is almost black, flopping in the center of his forehead with a singular curl, and his gray T-shirt fits his arms perfectly.

Speaking of arms , he has muscles. Biceps, in fact.

He stands, and he’s so tall . Wow. His skin is perfectly smooth, a stark contrast from the pimply boils I’m coming face-to-face with every time a middle school boy gets a little too close to me.

My eyes are drawn to his lips as he licks them.

I’ve never noticed anyone’s lips before, but I can’t stop staring at his.

I watch them turn into a smile until I can see his teeth, and now, my heart is beating about a million and a half miles per hour.

I shake my head, snapping out of whatever spell he has me under, realizing the class is still looking at me, Mr. Holden is still annoyed, I’m still not in my seat, and whoever this boy is, he’s now waving at me. It’s totally obvious I’ve been caught staring at him.

As fast as I can, I spin around and hustle to my desk, dropping my backpack on the ground with a thunk as I fall into my seat.

The classroom slowly returns to the hum of a hundred different quiet conversations, but I only stare at my hands.

Suddenly, I feel the presence of a person next to me, and before I can look at him, I’m being dragged sideways.

I snap my head up, and the boy—Zach—has a hand around the leg of my chair, pulling it closer to his. “Hi.” He smiles.

“Hi,” I murmur, careful not to show my teeth.

“You’re Elena?”

I nod.

“I’m Zach. I’m Holden’s T.A. this class period, so I can help you with your assignment.”

I nod again, digging through my backpack for the textbook and my notebook. Red—because math is always red. I set it down on my desk, and Zach immediately pulls the textbook in front of him, flipping it open to the page we’re supposed to be working on.

“So, do you speak, Elena? Or only make sound effects?”

I scoff.

“Guess that answers that question.” There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as his eyes remain on the page in front of him.

I let my curly hair fall against my face like a curtain to separate us. “I’m trying not to open my mouth today.”

He laughs loudly, and my stomach does those cartwheels again, like making him laugh is something to be proud of.

"Why?”

“I got braces.”

He turns to face me, and his stare heats my cheeks. He doesn’t speak until I look at him. “Do your teeth hurt?”

I shrug. Dropping my head again, I say, “I mostly just don’t want anyone to see them. They’re ugly.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” His voice is so smooth; it sounds like butter, if butter made noise when it glided against toast. I don’t like the way I can feel it. Or maybe I do like it, and that freaks me out. That’s the part I don’t like.

No way am I showing him my braces. Heat creeps up my neck, and it must show in my cheeks because he laughs again.

“C’mon. I’m joking.” He bumps his shoulder against mine, and those cartwheels start spinning faster, in a way that makes it hard to catch my breath.

“Why have I never seen you before?” I ask.

His smile grows wider, and again, I can’t stop staring at how soft his skin looks. His cheeks are a natural rosy color, but I like it. I kind of want to touch them. He has big, broad shoulders, and veins in his arms that run into his clenched fists atop the desk.

I think he has definitely gone through puberty already. Even my brother hasn’t gone through puberty. His voice still cracks, and he only has, like, three armpit hairs. Zach’s is deep. I bet Zach grows hair all over the place.

My cheeks heat. God, why am I thinking about his body hair ?

“I’m in eighth grade.” He shrugs. “And my family just moved to town this past summer.”

That explains it. We don’t share any classes with eighth graders, not unless they’re a teacher’s assistant, I guess. “Oh.”

His arm touches mine again, and it feels like a bird’s wings are flapping in my chest. “I still think you’re cute when you’re talking, by the way.”

“You think I’m cute?” I blurt.

He tilts his head, smirking. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know you’re cute, Elena. I’m sure boys tell you that all the time.”

I shrug. Yeah, boys have had crushes on me before, at least, I think. “Most boys are too afraid to talk to me. They only want to text, and I share a phone with my brother.” I roll my eyes. “And he’s crazy.”

Zach laughs. “Well, they’re missing out, because you’re pretty when you blush.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, hiding my face.

Is he flirting with me? He must be flirting with me.

Why does my whole body feel hot? Why do I feel like I’m going to throw up?

“Bet you’re even prettier when you smile.” He mindlessly twists his finger in one of the curls hanging by my shoulder. He’s so close to touching me, but he’s not, and I kind of wish he were.

I’ve had boys pass me notes in class, or had their friends run up to me at lunchtime to tell me someone has a crush on me. I’ve had boys ask for my phone number and then ask me to date them over text message, but I’ve never had a boy tell me I’m pretty right to my face.

I don’t think anyone has ever had the courage before.

Zach thinks I’m pretty, and he’s touching my hair. He’s smiling at me, and he wants me to smile at him too. That makes me feel like I have wings, like my stomach is flying out of my chest and doing somersaults down the street.

I thought I’d had crushes on boys before—boys I thought were cute, or maybe funny.

But this feeling of flying is something new, something I think I hate because it’s scary, but at the same time, I don’t want it to go away.

I realize I’m frowning.

As quickly as possible, I flash him a smile, hoping he can’t see the brackets on my teeth, and then I return to my resting frown-face.

He chuckles. “Yeah, you’re pretty when you smile.”

“Even with the braces?”

“Definitely.”

I can’t help the small giggle that comes out of my mouth. I never giggle. He tugs on the hair wrapped around his finger, opening his mouth to say something just as the bell rings, signaling the end of the class period.

His mouth clamps shut, and he slides my textbook back to me.

“We didn’t get much work done.” Snatching my pen from my hand, he grabs my notebook and scribbles something down.

“Here’s my number. I get home from practice around seven.

” He stands from the table, smirking down at me.

“And you can call me. That way, your crazy brother won’t see our texts. ”

Words, thoughts, and my entire stomach are caught inside my throat.

I’m basically a blushing, giggling, gaping fish at this point. Embarrassing.

He doesn’t wait for me to respond. He walks to the front and swipes his backpack from the floor, tossing it over his shoulder. I’m paying way too much attention to the way he looks in a pair of jeans. As if he knows it too, he turns back one more time, winking at me before he exits the classroom.

My face feels like it’s covered in flames, my heart beating out of my chest, and I spend the rest of the day counting down the seconds until I can call him and ask him to help me with my homework, even though homework is the last thing on my mind.