3. 1990
Chapter three
1990
Five Years Prior
Maria
G od, I hate geometry.
Or math in general, if I’m being honest with myself.
I roll my shoulders as I ready myself for the next forty-five minutes of torture. I grasp the old copper doorknob of room 213, Mr. Madison’s geometry class. A gust of air that smells like mold and chalk dust smacks me in the face as I swing it open. None of my friends are with me in this class, so not only do I struggle, but I have no one to help me through it. Or pass notes to. Not that I’m close to any of them, but it helps. The only saving grace is that my lunch period is right after.
With my books clutched to my chest, I walk over to Mr. Madison’s desk and drop my homework into the black plastic tray that rests in the corner.
“Hello, Ms. Bryant. So nice of you to join us today.” His comment is dripping with sarcasm because side note—I skip this class from time to time.
He looks over his dirty glasses at me with a sneer, his greasy nose shining like a disco ball. “Should we expect at least a C today?” As usual, he smells like mothballs. He’s wearing another ugly 80s sweater, and his toupee is two shades lighter than the natural hair that he has. He looks like the uncle you can’t stand to be around at family dinners.
I hate this teacher.
I lower my head and murmur back to him, “Mm-hmm.” Pretty sure that paper will get me a D at best.
On heavy feet and with an anxious heart, I make my way to my seat, last row, corner desk right by the window. This seat is perfect because it allows me to blend into the background, making me feel invisible. Plus, I can look out the window and let my mind wander instead of focusing on how to calculate the distance of a triangle.
As I approach my desk and tear my eyes away from the floor, my heart skips a beat and I stop dead. I’m met with the most beautiful brown eyes I have ever seen, staring at me, following me as I land at my desk.
It’s Sam Harper.
He’s the one guy that I’ve always had a little crush on. Okay … a big crush. Huge crush. We’ve never spoken, but when he’s in the hallway, my eyes always find him somehow. He’s the type of guy that exudes confidence but isn’t cocky, nice without being fake, and gorgeous without being too full of himself. Also, he is one of the oldest in our class. Sixteen.
He’s kinda perfect.
But right now? Well, he’s sitting in the seat right beside mine, which is weird because it’s been vacant all year. I know he hasn’t been in this class—trust me, I would have noticed—so I can’t seem to figure out what he’s doing here. My eyes dart around the room, still trying to process what’s going on and also looking for an answer. I find none. Obviously.
Our eyes meet again as I shift my focus back to him, and he responds with a gentle smile. The moment his attention lands on me, my face becomes warm, and my knees turn to jelly. Which causes me to stumble into my desk as it shifts, scraping against the floor. He snickers.
Way to be graceful, Maria.
Settling into my seat, I shove my books into the tray below. With a tired exhale, I grab my math book and open it, dreading the next lecture full of equations and formulas. I’m also trying my hardest to regain my composure because the air has escaped my lungs. How in the world one small smile can affect me this way is mind-boggling, to say the least.
His eyes are on me as I tap my pencil on my notebook, looking straight ahead at the chalkboard because if I look at him, I may melt.
“Hey,” he says. His voice is husky and masculine, like I knew it would be.
Oh, God! He’s talking to me. Sam Harper is talking. To me!
I turn my head, which feels woozy, and offer him a nervous smile. “Hey.” He pivots in his desk to face me. He stares, not talking, which is unnerving, to say the least.
It is intoxicating.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “Have you always been in this class?” I ask out of pure curiosity because I’m sure I would have seen him.
“Nope. Just transferred yesterday.” He extends his hand across the aisle. “We’ve never actually met. I’m Sam.”
He wants to shake hands? Who does that? What are we, thirty?
After sitting my pencil down, I reach out and grab his hand to shake it because what else am I supposed to do? What I wasn’t expecting was the jolt of electricity that surges through me when our hands connect. My breath catches because it’s like nothing I’ve experienced before. He must feel it, too, because his grip on my hand tightens. We study each other, our eyes locked across the aisle.
Now that I have a second to take him in, I do. Sitting behind the desk, his tall frame is concealed from sight. Sam’s height is perfect, making him appear both confident and approachable. He isn’t basketball tall but not the average girl height either. I haven’t been close enough to him to know if he towers over me. I wish I knew, though. His hair is dark and cut close to his head and styled perfectly. His shoulders are broad, and his grip on my hand is firm and not letting up. Which I like.
With a sly smile and his eyes filled with mischief, he asks, “Is it okay that I sit next to you, Maria?”
Wait. HE KNOWS MY NAME!? !
I open my mouth to answer him and tell him he can sit here every day just as Mr. Madison starts class. “Alright, people! Let’s get started!”
I moan internally at the interruption. Sam clears his throat and drops his hand, releasing his grip. The warmth of his touch lingers as he turns in his seat to face the front of the class, looking completely unaffected by the events of the last two minutes.
Class begins, and Mr. Madison drones on and on about … something math-related. The chalk is gliding over the blackboard as he explains equation after equation. I have no clue what he’s trying to teach us because I can’t stop thinking about something as simple as a handshake and how cute Sam’s smile is.
And how intense his stare was.
And how it made me feel.
The minutes tick by and instead of paying attention, I doodle. It’s no wonder I’m struggling in this class. Suddenly, I’m taken aback when, out of nowhere, Sam’s hand extends across the aisle to my desk, gripping a pencil. He’s jotting down a note next to my flower doodle. I watch as his hand pulls back, and I scan the words on the page.
You didn’t answer my question.
I glance up at Mr. Madison to make sure he isn’t looking, then my eyes dart to Sam. He’s playing the part of the star student, paying attention as if geometry is his favorite subject. Mr. Madison’s back is to us, oblivious to what’s happening in the last row of his class. I take my pencil and reach across to his notebook. Sam slyly slides it closer to me. I write.
You can sit here. I don’t mind.
He reads it and gives me a quick side glance and a slight smile, checks Mr. Madison, then reaches over and starts writing again. His words appear one at a time as the anticipation grows in my belly. I’m mesmerized by his masculine hand manipulating the pencil as I swallow the nervous lump in my throat.
I have lunch next period. Care to join me ?
I smile when I read the words and glance up to look at him. I know his lunch is next period, like mine, since I always try to find him in the crowd. His stare is pleading, as his brow furrows, a clear sign that he genuinely cares.
I mouth my answer. “Yes.”
Relief floods his face as he lets out a long breath. He sits back in his seat, a look of pure satisfaction washes over him.
I think geometry is my new favorite class.
The bell rings, and the entire class stands up and leaves like it’s on fire as Mr. Madison spews off our homework assignment.
Mr. Madison is no one’s favorite, apparently.
As I bend over to gather up my stuff, Sam lightly grasps my elbow. “I’ll meet you there, okay?” I turn to face him, and his eyes tighten. It’s like he thinks I’m going to change my mind.
I’m not. “Okay,” I choke out and plaster on a nervous smile.
He grins, grabs his books, and practically runs out of the classroom. Honestly, I was kinda hoping we would walk down together, but whatever.
After a quick stop at my locker to grab my afternoon books, I weave through the crowded hallway as the next bell rings.
As soon as I cross the threshold of the open cafeteria doors, I hear my name from across the room.
“Maria!”
My head snaps up at the sound of my name, and I see Sam waving me over from a table in the corner. It’s the most coveted table in the cafeteria because it’s out of the way and private.
My heart thumps, quick and hard, as I wave back and maneuver through the other students to reach him. He continues to watch me as I pass the popular table, the band geeks, the burnouts, and the nerds. A knot of nervousness tightens in my stomach. Once I get closer, I spot him clenching and unclenching his hands. He’s nervous, too. Why in the world would he be nervous? It’s only me. Boring Maria. Unless he actually cares.
Now that’s a crazy thought.
I reach the table, and the first thing that catches my attention is the colorful floral tablecloth. One that looks like it belongs on my grandmother’s dining room table. Gently, I place my books down, and my eyes immediately focus on a handmade tented sign.
Reserved.
Also, in the center rests a small vase with two fake red roses in it. Two pieces of rolled plastic ware lie in front of our seats.
I shake my head, trying to process what is going on. Then, it clicks into place. The reason he rushed out of class now makes sense. He was here … doing this.
For me.
All the commotion of the cafeteria fades into the background, and I can’t help the huge smile that stretches across my face. I study him as he comes around and pulls out my chair for me.
I’m pretty sure I’m going to die because this feels like a date. In the cafeteria. During school hours.
It’s a first but I’m digging it.
I want to appear confident, so I round my shoulders and raise my chin. “I was hoping you wouldn’t have changed your mind.” The words come out hoarse as I sit and he scoots me closer.
With a playful snicker, he circles the table and pulls up a chair, positioning himself across from me. “Are you kidding me? Not a snowball’s chance in hell. I have been planning this for months.”
Wait … he’s been planning this for months? Sam. Cute, adorable Sam that I have always watched and admired from afar. The boy that always seemed too far out of my league. The most beautiful guy in the entire school has been planning this. For months. For me.
Impossible.
I can feel the blush creep onto my neck and face at this revelation .
He continues. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have rushed out of class like that.” He shrugs. “I was just nervous, I guess.”
He was nervous? I can’t process that statement, so I turn my head downward and wipe my palms on my jeans.
Out of nowhere, Sam snaps his fingers, causing me to jolt upright. Ricky Holland comes scurrying over … wearing a freaking white plastic apron. The same ones the cafeteria ladies wear.
I suppress a giggle, barely audible. Ricky is the class clown, and this whole set up fits him to a tee.
“Hello and welcome to Cafe Fitch,” he starts, his eyes darting between me and Sam. I look across the table at Sam, bewildered at what is happening.
He winks at me. My stomach flips.
Ricky continues. “Today’s selections are Pizza Noodle Casserole with a side salad. For dessert, we are offering a chocolate brownie smothered in icing.” He whips out a small, spiraled notebook from his back jean pocket. “What can I get the lovely lady to drink today?”
I glance at Sam, not sure if I should play along or not. “You heard him,” Sam gestures to Ricky. “Order whatever you want to drink. I wish there were more menu options, though. We may have to dine elsewhere tomorrow.”
I can’t believe this is happening. Nobody has done something this sweet for me. Ever.
Ricky stands tall, his eyes fixed on me as he patiently waits for my so-called order, pencil and notebook in hand. “I’ll have a Sprite.”
“Certainly.” Ricky writes this down as if it’s hard to remember. For him, it might be. “And for you, sir?” He shifts his attention to Sam.
“I’ll have a Coke.”
Ricky scribbles down Sam’s drink and bows to us. “I will be back momentarily with your drinks and entrees. In the meantime, would you like to order an appetizer? Today, we are offering bags of chips and pretzels.”
“No, thank you. We’re good.” Sam replies between gritted teeth. I’m thinking Ricky may have taken his duties too far because his grin is playful as he turns and gets in the food line .
This whole thing is surreal. And pretty darn amazing.
I lean forward on my elbows. “What did you do to talk him into this?”
“I have to pay for his lunch for the rest of the school year.” Sam leans back in his chair, resting his forearm on the worn wood. “Totally worth it.”
There is an awkward pause after this loaded admission, and now it feels like we are the only two people in this noisy cafeteria. My whole undivided attention is on Sam.
“You said that you have been planning this for months.” Sam nods his head in agreement. “Why?”
He cocks his head to the side, as if I should know the answer to my own question. His face softens.
“Because I have been wanting to ask you out for so long. I never had the nerve. So, I figured, start small with a cafeteria date.”
“Is that even a thing?” I can’t contain my amusement as a soft laugh bubbles up from my throat.
“It is now.” Sam’s hand stretches across the table, his palm open and inviting. With his eyes locked on mine, I ease my hand inch by inch to meet his as the tablecloth moves and shifts. The thrill of feeling his touch is growing with each passing second. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to eat my lunch due to how many butterflies are swarming around in my stomach. My breath is quickening as Sam’s fingertips lightly brush against mine.
“Here you are.” Out of nowhere, Ricky reappears, causing us to jerk in surprise and tearing us away from the moment. On instinct, I pull my hand away, as does Sam. Ricky now has a white paper napkin draped over his arm. He must have forgotten this part of his costume earlier. He gently places the trays on the table. “Please be careful. The trays may be hot. Is there anything else I can get you today?”
“No, that’s all,” Sam counters. “You can go sit with Brittany now. Thanks, man.”
Ricky pulls down hard on the plastic apron, and it snaps in half. “Thank God!” He balls it up and throws it at Sam hitting him in the face. We watch as Ricky trudges off in a huff to his girlfriend Brittany a few tables over. As he approaches her, he leans in to kiss her on the cheek, but she jerks away. “How come you have never done anything like that for me?” The disgust on her face matches her tone.
Sam and I turn back around, laughing under our breaths.
I take a bite of my casserole, which is by far one of the best things on the menu. “You’ve set the bar kinda high now, Sam. For all the guys.”
“Possibly.” He takes a bite, chews it, and swallows. “But if you really like a girl, you need to go full throttle.” I stop mid-bite and look at him as he winks at me.
What is he saying? Plus, that wink is going to be the death of me.
I lower my plastic fork. “You like me?”
With a slight lean forward, he utters in a quiet whisper. “I’ve liked you for a really long time.”
This can’t be happening .
With every ounce of courage, I muster the strength to ask my next question, feeling my entire world spiraling into chaos. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
“You were with that loser, Max.” He takes a bite of his food as I watch him, trying to take this in.
He’s right. I did date Max for a few months, and he did turn out to be a world class loser. But if I had known that Sam was interested … well, I would have broken up with Max way sooner than I did.
I take a drink of my Sprite, using the few seconds to compose myself as the bubbles coat my throat. “You said that you have been planning this for months.” I need the details.
“Yep. I was just waiting for the right day. The right time. When I requested to switch to your geometry class, I knew today was the day.”
“Wait.” I shake my head in disbelief. “You switched to my class. On purpose?”
I can’t breathe.
“We didn’t have any classes together.” He says it so casually as he drinks me in with his eyes. It’s the same intense stare he gave me in class and when I arrived here. A stare that is doing crazy things to my emotions.
I glance away to break the connection. “So, is this our first date?”
He shrugs. “Sure. Why not? But I really want to take you on a proper date if you’ll let me.”
“Are you asking me out?”
“I am.”
As I smile, I can feel my cheeks heat. I glance at my pizza noodle casserole, now cold and unappetizing, as I try to gather my thoughts. I can’t bring myself to look at him because my nerves are completely shattered by now. The words are bubbling up inside me, ready to burst, as I know exactly what I’m going to say. There is no other way to answer this. My eyes slowly meet his again.
“I would love to go out with you.”
The last fifteen minutes of lunch fly by due to the ease of our conversation. It flows. So relaxed. And so good.
The bell rings, and we both frown, not wanting this to end. He gathers up our trays and slips me a piece of paper with his number on it. I give him mine as well, and a promise to eat together tomorrow.
We reluctantly part ways as we each head to our next class.
I leave the cafeteria, walking on a cloud, and I can’t help but wonder … if my life just began.