Chapter 2
Klutz. Definition: Clumsy or stupid person.
The latter defines me more than the former.
A stupid person. A stupid girl. Smart girls look where they are going, hold their head high.
But not me. I look at the ground. Always at the ground or at him.
Never making eye contact is how I stay hidden, invisible.
But it is also how I collide with the most solid human I have ever encountered.
My life flashes before my eyes. My face heads toward the scuffed-up blue-and-white-checkered linoleum floor of Aurora High.
I woke up this morning feeling optimistic, which is a feeling I rarely experience.
But now the universe seems to be mocking me.
Today is the first day of senior year, the last year in this mile-wide town.
My last year living with her. My last year surrounded by the most vile populace of teenagers who thrive on attacking the different and weak—i.e. me.
And falling on your face in front of the entire hallway is an issue. But it's even worse since the entire hallway is the entire school. It's prime rib for these scavengers. Like predators drawn to the bird with a broken wing, all eyes turn to me.
“I got you.”
Strong arms halt my sudden descent. The smell of his letterman jacket surrounds me. Leather with hints of cinnamon make my already racing heart soar. My eyes widen in fear at the recognition of his voice. Shit, shit, shit.
I have spent five excruciating years avoiding Everett James Rowan, but here I am.
In his arms, paralyzed by embarrassment.
It’s not that he is an awful human. He is the all-American star quarterback, the mayor's son, and, of course, incredibly and cruelly handsome. Over the years, all I have seen from him is incredible kindness, to everyone. Even those who, in my opinion, don’t deserve it.
The issue is that anyone associated with him is immediately placed in the spotlight.
A spotlight I want to avoid more than I want to avoid the bubonic plague.
I would be lying if I said I hadn’t stolen glances his way.
Okay, so I can’t take my eyes off him when he is in my near vicinity.
So what? Sue me. But actually speaking to him? No. Absolutely not.
We have had brief chance encounters over the years. They all resulted from him approaching me, trying to be nice to the quiet girl, I assume. But they all ended with him speaking, me freaking out, him smiling, and then me running away.
He pulls me up with his arms around my shoulders. Then a little pat down, as if he's dusting me off, even though I never even touched the ground. I drag my panicked gaze from the floor, up to his gentle eyes, and stutter out my thanks.
“No problem, although you did shoulder check my throwing arm…” Grabbing his shoulder, he rolls it out and I about die of embarrassment.
You have got to be kidding me. Did I just injure our star quarterback right before the season starts?
"I—." Glancing to his shoulder, I pray that he isn't hurt that bad.
A chuckle leaves his lips, and a dimpled smile graces his face. "I’m kidding. You’re tiny. You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.” He winks. He actually winks at me. And did he just call me tiny? Maybe in height, but my size ten hips and butt would disagree.
I don’t respond. I can’t. My voice is stuck in my throat.
So instead, I kneel down to collect my books.
I expect him to walk away, but he doesn’t.
No, he leans down and begins collecting my things with me.
Glancing up at him, I try to sneak in a look without him noticing, but his eyes are on me already.
His crystal-green gaze dances across my face, like he's playing connect the dots with all the freckles on my face.
He is so close, the urge to lean in and…
Nope. Jesus, no. I shake my head, clearing away those dangerous thoughts, and quickly avert my eyes.
My heart is hammering away like it suddenly sprouted little hummingbird wings.
When we stand, he hands me the items he collected. He towers over me. My head comes to his chest, but with my curls, it appears that I am at least three inches taller.
“Thanks.” My voice timidly leaves my dry throat. My eyes connect with his again, and he looks like he wants to have a conversation. Nope. Abort! Abort! I turn on my heel and walk away, dragging my massively large bag of embarrassment with me.
“It’s Leora, right?” Unlike my voice, his is bold, fearless. He does not hesitate; he wants to be heard.
I've always been a people pleaser, so I can't ignore him. I glance back at him and nod then try to walk away again, but he is persistent. He takes two steps with his long, dress-slacks-covered legs, and he is beside me, but I continue to walk. If I pretend I don’t see him, he will go away, right? But I do see him. Boy, do I see him.
“I’m Everett.”
“I know.” My eyes remain on the ground. I begin counting the dirty checkered squares as I walk past them. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Blue, white, blue, and white pass beneath my black knock-off Converse. It’s making me dizzy now that I am so intently focused on them.
“Are you okay?” He steps in front of me now, and I am forced to stop to avoid colliding with him—again.
My eyes stay glued to his black sweater.
The little Ralph Lauren logo mocks my thrift store baggy band tee.
I can’t force my eyes up. Why is he so close to me?
Can’t he see that I am freaking out right now? Does he have no mercy?
“Fine.”
He wraps his warm hands around my cheeks and lifts my face. I am forced to look in his devastating eyes. They bounce back and forth between my own blue ones.
His brows furrow with a question. “Are you sure? Because I think I may need to assess you for a concussion. You can’t seem to form a sentence longer than two words.”
His grin is sweet. Pulled up to the left, and a little dimple pops out. My head feels a little foggy at his closeness, his touch. Maybe someone should check me for a concussion.
“My baseline is two-word sentences.” I hold my breath as soon as I speak the words.
“Ah. Six words. Don’t worry, everyone. She can indeed form a coherent sentence. I know you were all worried!” he loudly exclaims, and whoever wasn’t looking at us before sure as hell is now.
Great. Who the hell does that? Shouts into a crowd of people. Apparently, the same people who boldly just grab a stranger's face.
“Well, Leora, can I walk you to class? You know, make sure you don’t try to tackle any other guys? It would make me quite jealous.”
“I did not—!”
He throws his head back and laughs, clearly amused with the defensiveness that must have been on my face. I don't notice the corded muscles in his neck or the smooth, delicious-looking skin. I want to kiss him there, where his pulse is. Feel it flutter beneath my lips.
Nope, I don't notice that. Not at all.
Liar.
“Kidding! Really, it was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention. Actually, confession time? I might have done it on purpose.” He gives me a coy grin.
I don’t know how to feel about that confession. So I resort to my comfort reaction—run.
I step around him without saying a word. I practically speed walk the rest of the way to my class, or at least that was my plan. But a hand around my elbow stops me. Plans ruined.
“Wait! Okay, I’m sorry. No flirting. Got it. Just don’t run away, please.”
The please is what gets me. Always the please.
I turn to look at him, and his face is apologetic.
He did catch me when he could have let me fall.
He has been kind, but something in my gut tells me to no longer entertain our encounter.
I can’t trust him. I can’t trust anyone, except Ski, and I for sure can’t get close to anyone.
Get through this year and get out of town. That’s my plan.
“I’m sorry. Thank you…for catching me. Okay, bye,” I say with a touch more confidence, hoping this time he understands the finality in my words.
Turning on my heel and clutching my belongings to my chest, I restart my journey to my first class. I make it down to the end of the hall, finally releasing a breath, knowing their eyes aren’t on me any longer.
“You’re welcome, Leora Laney!”
He screams it down the hallway. All eyes turn to me again.
Kill me now, please.