8 Years Ago
Mrs. Griffin has it out for me.
As a senior, I thought I tactically managed to skate by these four years, avoiding situations like this. But with this new assignment, I just know this is goodbye to my social life forever.
“Mr. Rutherford! How can I help you?” Mrs. Griffin smiles, clasping her hands together under her chin.
“I was just wondering about our assignment partners…” I say quietly. “How final is final?” I smile gently, trying my best to give her my signature charm. It works on everyone for the most part. Most of the time… fifty-percent of the time.
She tilts her head and frowns. “Assignment partners are already chosen for you.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “But, he doesn’t even talk to anyone. How are we supposed to do a project together?”
I mean, come on. Be interviewed by a junior before graduation for the yearbook? Who comes up with these things?
He shouldn’t even be in this class.
And to pair me up with him…
Jeremiah Blackwood.
He’s too busy pretending the rest of us don’t exist.
Hunched over his desk, his pale face is drowning in his shoulder-length black hair, as he scribbles away at some sort of drawing on his desk. What could he possibly be working on so intensely? This is home room for crying out loud.
Mrs. Griffin glances over my shoulder. “Okay…maybe I can help.”
“Yeah?” I smirk, squeezing my backpack strap on my shoulder.
“I could ask Theo to pair up with him—“
My eyes snap back to hers. “Theo? No, never mind.”
Her brow arches. “You sure?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
Mrs. Griffin clasps her hands together, smiling carefully.
“I think that’s a great decision. You may find that given the chance, some people can surprise you.”
Something in her voice settles an anxious feeling inside of me.
I look back over my shoulder and sigh. Here goes nothing.
Marching over to his desk, I stop a few inches away. Unbothered, he continues to scribble away on what now looks like a list. I thought it’d be a sketch of something, but it looks more like a plan of his day.
So anal.
I hear some snickers beside me. Glancing to my right and left, I see some watchful eyes on me.
As the football quarterback, it’s pretty standard that I speak to a certain group that doesn’t involve guys like him.
The ones who are quiet or keep to themselves.
I’ve never truly understood why, since to me, it kind of seems like you should do the exact opposite, but it’s just the way it is and always has been.
Who am I to try to change the status quo?
“Hey,” I bark out, trying to get his attention.
He still doesn’t look up, so I make the impulse decision to kick his worn chucks under the desk.
That seems to have gotten his attention since he stills, his pencil stops moving as his gaze tilts up to mine.
For some reason, his eyes on me feel like a punch to the gut.
I swallow deeply as I take in his face. I guess I’ve never been this close to him before. Under all his hair, he looks...different from what I expected. I’m sure if he cleaned himself up a bit, he’d make for a good model…he’s chiseled in all the right places.
Shocked by my train of thought going so far off the rails, I step back.
“We’re partners, so…we’re going to have to meet after school,” I rush.
His brow creases as he stares up at me. His fixated gaze makes my skin hot.
What’s his problem?
I clench my jaw as I step forward, grabbing the pencil out of his hand.
“I’m assuming you have a phone?” I scribble my number on the edge of his paper.
“Text me your address. I’ll be at your place at five.
” I secretly hope that he lives close by since, with my car still in the shop, I’ll have no choice but to walk there.
Without waiting for an answer, I turn to walk away just as the bell rings for the next period.
My stomach doesn’t feel good.
Why’d I have to ruin his paper?
It’s what they expect of you.
It’s how you’re supposed to act.
They’ll leave. They always leave.
I squeeze my eyes shut, shushing the thoughts flooding my brain.
I’m sorry.