Left Behind

“Sounds yummy. Eyes?”

“Yes, he has two of them.”

“Smartass.”

“Blue with a hint of green. The color of Caribbean water.”

“You’ve never been to the Caribbean.”

“Shut up.”

“Go on.”

“Nice lips. Full.”

“Mmmmm,” Ashley groans at the visual I’m painting for her. “More.”

“Dimples. He has dimples. And he doesn’t even have to smile to show them…he just sort of smirks and they appear.”

“He sounds perfect.” She exhales loudly before adding, “For me.”

I can’t help but giggle at her reply. Though I know she’d never go for the same boy as me, even if we were still in the same school. She likes boys she meets in detention, like Tommy Damon who smokes pot under the bleachers alongside the track…not the boys that run on it.

“Is his voice sexy? I like a deep voice. A guy who squeaks my name ruins it for me. Totally.”

“I don’t know.”

“You haven’t spoken to him?” she asks, confused.

“Nope.”

“I thought you said you met him.”

“I did.”

“Is he mute?”

“Maybe,” I tease, resting my chin in my hands as I prop up my head while still lying on my belly, diagonally across the bed.

“So you’re hot for him, but you’ve never spoken to him?”

“I didn’t say I was hot for him,” I respond, a bit too defensively for her statement to be wrong.

“You’re hot for him,” she insists.

“Ugh,” I groan. “I don’t know why I tell you anything.”

“Because I’m awesome at giving fishing advice.”

“Fishing advice?”

“Yeah…I’m going to tell you exactly how to bait the hook and reel him in.”

***

Day four of school and I’m finally getting the layout of the building, actually making it to English before the bell rings for the first time. Allie is busy provoking Keller as I walk over and take the seat behind her and across from our other two team members.

“I’m a vegan, I don’t consume animal protein,” Allie says with a flick of her wrist, dismissing whatever Keller has just suggested.

“So? They have chicken.”

Allie’s eyes bulge in disbelief. “Chicken is animal protein!”

“No chicken?” Keller looks appalled at the thought.

The two continue on while I set my backpack on the floor, head down searching for my textbook. Of course, it’s all the way down at the bottom of my bag and I need to unpack everything to get to it. I make a mental note to figure out a packing regimen that will work for my class schedule.

Abruptly, the class goes quiet, a few whispers replacing the loud chatter from just minutes before. I look up, expecting to see Mr. Davis has just entered the room. But instead I find Zack.

He doesn’t do anything for a minute while he looks around the room. His jaw clenches as he takes in all the eyes locked on him. For a second I think he’s going to turn back around and leave, but Mr. Davis walks in, oblivious to whatever is going on, and tells everyone to take a seat.

Allie lifts her hand and quietly calls to Zack, pointing to an empty seat across from her. Begrudgingly, he takes the seat, never looking up again.

Mr. Davis wastes no time jumping right in. “Alright everyone, take out a sheet of paper and a pencil.”

There’s some grumbling, but a minute later, everyone is ready. Everyone except Zack, that is. It looks like he doesn’t have anything to write with. He turns to the guy in the row on the other side of him and mumbles something. The guy shakes his head. Then he turns in my direction. Mouth poised to say something, most likely to ask for a pencil, he looks up and stops short before speaking. For a second, I see what I think might be a flash of attraction in his eyes, but it’s quickly extinguished. Instead, he looks down for a moment, regrouping, then back up at me, a glint of amusement in his eyes. Pursing his lips together, he motions with his hand, pretending to write in the air, a wordless game of charades.

I can’t hide my smile as I extend a pencil in his direction with only a nod and a grin.

Mr. Davis doesn’t waste any time beginning his lecture. Today we’re going to discuss the summer reading assignment, Wuthering Heights. He asks for a show of hands to see how many have actually read the book. Just about everyone raises their hands. Everyone except Zack. Somehow, it seems unlikely that every senior has done the summer reading. The reality is probably that Zack is the only one brave enough to admit he hasn’t.

I do my best to concentrate on the lecture, but my eyes keep wandering back to Zack. He’s seated across from me, but one seat up, so it’s easy for me to steal glances without being caught. He’s wearing jeans and a plain black t-shirt, dark sneakers…very simple, yet sexy at the same time. Only, it’s not the outfit that does it, it’s the way he wears it, fitting snugly across his wide shoulders, the sleeves yielding tightly to the thickness of his arms. Somehow it doesn’t seem like he’s trying to look good, or even knows that he does.

His sandy blonde hair is messy; it looks as if his idea of styling it might have been to run his fingers through it in frustration, daring it to move out of place. It’s longish, the back hitting almost to the collar of his shirt. He could probably use a cut, but the unstyled, just-out-of-bed look only adds to his sex appeal.