“F-fine,” Corrine stutters. Her face is beet red. She gapes at both of us for a moment before abruptly turning and rushing in the other direction. Kieron smiles down at me.
“Friendly people here,” he says.
“Yeah, a little too friendly,” I mutter as Drusilla swoops in and touches his arm.
“Oh, Kieron, there y’ar,” she says, exaggerating her southern drawl. I’ve noticed she does this whenever she talks to cute guys. She must’ve heard somewhere they like it. Tramp. “I was hopin’ to have ya escort me to biology. Give us a chance to chat.” She pronounces it bah-awl-gy, bats her false eyelashes, and smiles coyly. Great. Now she’s morphed into Scarlett O’Hara.
“Can we do it later? I need to talk with Liora for a moment,” he says, matching her phony smile, eye-bat and all. Score one for Rhett Butler.
Drusilla is not used to boys saying no to her. Her face freezes and at first she’s confused. Then her gaze flickers over to me. For the first half-second, it seems like she’s never seen me before; for the second, like I’m a fly in her nonfat yogurt. But she quickly recovers. “Why, certainly, I understand,” she says as if she’s never heard of anything more ludicrous. “Find me at lunch. I’ll save us a seat by the fountains where we can have some privacy…and not be bothered.”
Kieron nods. “Sounds good,” he says. I want to punch him. And her. Drusilla spins on an inappropriately high heel and stalks away, but not before flashing me a death-ray glare.
Walking down a hallway with Kieron is an entirely new experience for me. Even when it’s filled with bustling bodies scurrying between classrooms and lockers, I’m usually given a pretty wide berth. But Kieron seems to have the exact opposite effect on people. They’re all moving closer, trying to be as near him as possible, hoping to meet his gaze, or, if really lucky, ‘accidentally’ touch him on their way past. It’s sort of like being with a celebrity. I’m thinking how the only thing missing is the flashing light bulbs of paparazzi when I catch Carrie Stevens snapping a picture of him with her cell phone. And now I’m embarrassed for my entire gender.
“So, I don’t want to impose myself on you, but I was serious when I asked if you wouldn’t mind helping me catch up to speed on the reading. Mr. Sodenberg excused me from the paper due next week, but I’m not a dumb guy, and I’d really like to pull my own weight. Get started off on the right foot, if you know what I mean.”
“If you want to get started off on the right foot I don’t really recommend hanging around me,” I say quietly. Right now the only thing outnumbering the desirous looks sent Kieron’s way are the hateful ones being sent toward me.
He stops and places his hand lightly on my arm. My stomach threatens to leap into my chest and I avert my eyes from his intense stare. “Why would you say that? I asked several people who the smartest person in our class was and they all said you.”
“I’m sure that’s not all they said,” I mumble, very aware of his hand still resting on my arm.
“That’s the only part I listened to,” he says with a small smile. Our eyes lock.
I take a deep breath. “Okay, if you’re really desperate, I guess I can help you out. But if you change your mind, I’ll understand.”
“I won’t,” he says, his eyes sparkling again. “When’s a good time for you? My afternoons and evenings are free for you—”
“Afternoons only,” I say hurriedly. “”Evenings are out. Totally.” He gives a quizzical glance but just nods.
“I understand. Hey, thanks a lot. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem…today’s no good, though,” I say as I remember a special errand I have to do later.
“Tomorrow, then?”
I nod.
The warning bell rings, and we enter class together. This time, I’m not surprised when he takes the empty seat beside me.
“So, we meet again,” he raises an eyebrow and winks.
For the first time in a long time, I laugh.
******
Tatiana is sitting in the lotus-position levitating dried rose petals when I get home. I know better than to bother her when she’s ‘feeling the flowers’—her version of reading tea leaves—so I retreat to my room to start my homework and do some laundry.
I plop on my bed and set up my laptop. First up: A ten page paper on the causes and effects of the French Revolution. Thrill me now. I deliberate for about thirty seconds before my fingers fly across the keyboard, and less than twenty minutes later I’m done, footnotes and all. I spend five more minutes on Trig, an assignment that’ll take even the brightest of my classmates over an hour to complete.