Significance (Significance #1)(81)

“Hey,” Summer said, throwing her two cents in. “That’s the guy from yesterday, the one who was totally stalking you.”
“No one’s stalking me, Summer,” I snapped. The look of shock on every face in my line of sight had me instantly regretting my impulsive display of emotion. “You watch too much Gossip Girl,” I added with a carefree laugh.
Faces relaxed somewhat, but I knew it wasn’t quite enough.
“So who else is going to Caster’s party?” I asked, knowing that was the only thing more interesting than me having a stalker. If I didn’t nip it in the bud, something like that would be fodder for the gossip mongers for weeks, maybe months.
Everyone but Trinity and Drew fell right into party talk, just as I’d hoped they would. Trinity was too sharp for that, though. She’s got a nose for deception. She can smell evasiveness at fifty paces. And Drew, he was a naturally jealous guy, so they were both a little harder to throw off the scent than the others. Finally, though, after a few tense seconds, my casualness won the day and they took the bait. Much to my relief, they pitched in with everyone else on the subject change.
Mentally, I sighed and tried to put lingering obsidian orbs out of my head—tried being the operative word.
********
Chemistry: the last class of the day and by far the most boring. You’d think Chemistry would be one of the most interesting subjects and, really, it should’ve been. In this instance, the problem was the teacher. We had a mind-numbingly boring one named Mr. Dole. I pondered the incongruity of it on the way to class; anything to keep my mind off of him.
With a sigh, I turned in through the door, taking my usual seat at the second long black science table beneath the window. I threw my messenger bag up on the table and slouched down in my chair. I just wanted it to be over so we could go to Norton, cheer at the away game and get home. I was in no mood for extra time on my hands and that’s what I’d surely find under Mr. Dole’s tedious instruction.
In Mr. Dole’s class, no one sat at the front two tables in the room. It was a well known fact that they were semi-dangerous. Mr. Dole spit a lot when he talked and it was nothing to get sprayed in the eye or, heaven forbid, in the mouth if it happened to be open. We all kept a good distance whenever possible. One of our best defensive measures was boycotting the first two tables.
Today, however, there was a black messenger bag lying atop the table to the right and in front of mine, at one of the off-limits tables. I looked at it curiously then put my head down on my crossed arms. My temples were throbbing.
I heard Mr. Dole slam his book down on his desk, just like he did every day, and I raised my head attentively. My expression was immediately one of interest, or so it would seem to the casual observer. I could fake it with the best of ‘em.
My pretense was soon to be genuine, however, when I spotted a familiar dark head directly in front of Mr. Dole. It caught my attention so quickly and held it so completely it might as well have been a flashing neon sign.
He didn’t have to turn around for me to recognize the stylishly disheveled practically-black hair. Or the charcoal hoodie. I’d have spotted it anywhere, probably even at a store that sold black hoodies. It drew me like gravity. He drew me like gravity.The material was stretched taut over broad shoulders as he leaned forward on his elbows. It hugged his back all the way down to his trim waist and narrow hips. My eyes were lingering on the way his jeans strained over his butt when I saw his head turn.
Our eyes met and, for an instant, I wondered if he could feel me looking at him. But then, just like before, I fell into the sparkling onyx and was lost to the world.
In them, I thought I could see a thousand emotions, all twirling restlessly in the dark. Some of them were painful, some bewitching, some haunting. All of them were thrilling.
Mr. Dole’s voice penetrated my thrall.
“Class, let’s give a warm welcome to Mr. Jonathan Bowman. He’s a transfer from Southmoore,” Mr. Dole said in his bland monotone.
The new guy turned to Mr. Dole and I heard a husky rumble, but couldn’t make out the words. Mr. Dole quickly assuaged my curiosity, however, when he announced, “And he goes by Bo.”
“I hope he’s not the Southmoore Slayer,” Troy Dennison said from the back of the room.
Troy was a snot and, though I think he just couldn’t help himself, it didn’t make it any easier to tolerate him. I usually just ignored him, but for some reason, his making fun of the new guy, Bo, made me angry.
Everyone snickered. Tight-lipped, I wanted to make a comment, but, as per my usual, I refrained. Nevertheless, I felt stirrings of strong emotion bubbling just beneath the surface.
I tossed a withering look over my shoulder at Troy and when he saw it, he stopped smiling and muttered a quick “sorry”, casting his eyes down at his book.
When I looked back toward the front of the room, Bo was watching me and I smiled uncomfortably. He looked at me for a moment longer, straight-faced and serious, and then turned his attention to Mr. Dole who was ready to begin the lesson.
I got absolutely nothing out of class, although I could hardly have called it boring today. I was on pins and needles the entire hour. Though he didn’t make eye contact with me again that period, I saw Bo turn his head numerous times, as if glancing at me via his peripheral vision. My heart stopped each time he did it, thinking he might turn all the way around and look at me, let me melt into those striking eyes. But he never did. He just teased me.
When the bell rang, I was usually the first one out the door. Today, however, I dawdled as much as possible. I watched Bo from beneath my lashes and he didn’t seem to be in any hurry either. I matched my pace with his, wondering if he was waiting to talk to me, hoping that he was.
I got the feeling by watching him that he never hurried, that very little bothered him or ruffled his feathers. I don’t know what would make me think that, but I was almost certain of it. He carried himself with a languid ease that said he had all the time in the world, and therefore felt no need to rush. 
With my books secured in my messenger bag and nothing left to linger over, I made my way to the front of the class and walked in front of the Bo’s table, heading for the door.
I didn’t look his way. I thought for sure he’d say something, anything, as I passed. I mean, he had been watching me an awful lot. But he didn’t say a word. I thought I saw his head come up briefly when I walked by, but otherwise he didn’t move.
I hesitated at the door for a heartbeat, giving Bo one last chance to say something, but he didn’t. So I left.
At my locker, I threw my books inside and took out my duffel then slammed the thin metal door shut. I was feeling prickly and irritable and, though I was loath to admit it, it had everything to do with Bo.
I was really disappointed that he had turned out to be such a dud. I mean, he didn’t speak to me, didn’t even acknowledge me, like he hadn’t been watching me like a hawk for two days. What’s up with that?
Determined not to think about him any more, I sought out Trinity and Aisha and we made our way to the bus. We had a long trip ahead of us.
********
Several annoying hours later, the bus was pulling back into the lot at the school. Maintaining my usual ambivalence had been a true test of my resolve. I felt itchy all night and had to make a concerted effort not to snap at anybody or let on that I was out of sorts. I knew that if I did, the inevitable questions would follow and that would’ve been a disaster.
So, I smiled and cheered happily, all the while seething inside. I messed up three different cheers. After the third one, it wasn’t difficult to conclude that I needed to stop thinking about Bo and his eyes. It was becoming glaringly obvious that he was not doing my life any favors.
On the way home, it seemed I was constantly pushing thoughts of him out of my mind. The problem wasn’t in getting him out; it was in keeping him out. He just wouldn’t stay gone, at least not for very long anyway.
I knew that I needed to be persistent, however, to resist thinking about him. It’s what needed to be done, so I told myself that’s what I’d do. Simple as that. The funny thing is that, at the time, I thought it would be easy. Turns out resisting Bo was anything but easy.
“Ridley, you need a ride?” Trinity was calling to me from the rear of the bus. We were back at school, unloading people and equipment into the parking lot.
“No, thanks. I drove. I’ll just see you tomorrow night,” I replied, lugging my duffel to my car way out at the end of the lot.
“T,” Drew hollered from behind me. I stopped and waited for him to catch up. “Why don’t you leave your car and I’ll take you home tonight. I can bring you back over tomorrow before the party to get it,” he suggested.
“My mom will worry if she doesn’t see my car in the driveway.”
“You can call her when you get home,” he said. He stepped closer to me and rubbed my arm suggestively. “We can take a detour on the way to your house.”
I looked up at Drew, at the wholesome, handsome face of the most popular guy in school, and for the life of me I couldn’t remember why I liked him. I mean, he’s occasionally funny, fairly smart, sporadically thoughtful and he used to turn me on, but now it seemed that whatever was between us was just gone.
Unbidden, luminous coffee-colored eyes drifted through my mind. Angrily, I swept them aside. Again.